(NOTE: I’m aware that some sweeping generalizations are made here. I intend to deeply sift through this further down the road.)

I play many different styles of music. Regular readers may already know this but, for example, in the last six months I’ve gigged in the following styles: Americana, folk/singer-songwriter, cocktail/wallpaper jazz, “jam band” (for lack of better term – improvisatory rock), sound/ambient, musical theater (Annie), rock. And I’m already in the process of lining up further disparate gigs over the next few months. I’m well aware that I’m not unique for doing so. A number of my colleagues and peers do the same, and there are many musicians in general that do so. However, one supposedly “limiting” factor is that I’m doing all of these gigs on saxophone (tenor, soprano, alto; plus the occasional flute and/or clarinet).

The jazz-, musical theater-, and classical-oriented stuff is no big thing in the sense that there’s already a place for me. In the latter two cases, the music is precisely notated in such a way that there should be no deviation from one performance to the next. In jazz, the history and vocabulary provides a natural context for the horn regardless of who I’m playing with. However, many of the other styles – notably rock, indie, and others of such ilk – aren’t common settings for my instrument. And in those cases where sax is often used, especially in older rhythm and blues and rock and roll styles, it’s performed in such a specific manner that eschewing such conventions – growling, squealing, blues-ing – can be jarring. It’s not that I dislike such affectations – quite the opposite – but over time they created a box that largely remains today.

Over the last four decades, the saxophone has been a sort of cameo rock instrument. (Before then it was often a staple.) When present it is noticeable. It usually seems to be the case that it’s “band + saxophone” as opposed to a band that happens to have a saxophone as a mainstay. There are of course exceptions to this rule – my beloved Dave Matthews Band springs to mind. In the case of DMB, the sax originally substituted the position of lead guitar (trading such responsibilities with violin). Also with DMB, the music has enough jazz-, jam-, or crossover influence to comfortably allow a variety of instruments to fit in. Another band known for marathon concerts, Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band, of course features sax (the late Clarence Clemons, now his nephew Jake Clemons and Eddie Manion). However, even with The E Street Band, the heavy guitar presence sort of places the sax within the aforementioned box. (Disclaimer: I’m not intimately familiar with Springsteen’s deep cuts, but these are my impressions having explored his catalogue as much as I have.) Just picking one song off the top of my head, “Rosalita” definitely follows in the “rock sax” tradition. Even Pink Floyd‘s use of the saxophone stayed mainly within this vain – e.g., “Money,” “Us and Them,” and “Shine On You Crazy Diamond Pt. 1″ (the latter being perhaps my favorite PF song). There’s even a hint of it in Ron Holloway’s playing with The Warren Haynes Band (last week’s MTH-V). Or you could just listen to some George Thorogood. Or Bob Seger. Or…you get the picture…

It’s worth reiterating that I have nothing against the above sax examples or style at large. For the most part, I quite like all of them. But they passively reinforce the stereotypical “rock sax” sound – a near-anachronistic rhythm and blues punch in the face of the 70s, 80s, 90s, or 2000s listener. It’s as if the saxophone stayed in the fifties and sixties while rock continued to evolve alongside it over the next four decades.

Whenever I play with a rock band – sitting in or regularly – I’m compared, consciously or otherwise, to this tradition. (And I mean a real rock/pop band, not just a funk/fusion band that features an electric guitar.) Though I always appreciate it, I can’t help but laugh a little each time I’m told something to the effect of, “I didn’t know what to expect when I saw the saxophone” or “that was really good [or different, in a positive way]!” Because I know that that comparison took place at some point in the performance, even if only for a few milliseconds. And why shouldn’t it? That old R&B – the real R&B: rhythm and blues – sound is deeply embedded in that aural combination of “band + saxophone.”

By no means do I think I’m going where no saxophonist has gone before by avoiding this hangup. To cite a current example, one of the many things I love about Bon Iver‘s sophomore album is Colin Stetson‘s saxophonic contributions. (“MTH-V” on Bon Iver is here.) He plays throughout the material but is rarely at the sonic forefront – his presence is felt as well as heard. And his choice to mostly play the bass saxophone (with some alto and clarinet thrown in for good measure) is definitely unique in a rock setting. He is effective because he adds another noticeable, functional layer without sonically drawing attention to himself. If you were to just sit down and listen to Bon Iver straight through, you wouldn’t necessarily consider it “band + saxophone” (or “band + French horn,” etc.), but rather just a band.

(There are of course other modern/recent examples – Morphine springs to mind.)

When I’m playing with a band – rock, folk, jazz, or anything remotely along those lines – I don’t necessarily think of myself as the saxophonist per se. Instead I’m just another musician in either a lead or supporting role. Or both. Idealistic? Perhaps. But it has an effect on my thinking and consequently my playing. This of course is part of trying to find one’s “authentic voice,” to quote George Carlin. A primary goal for any musician or artist of any kind is to hone one’s craft to the point of developing an original voice/POV. This shouldn’t exist in a vacuum – ideally I should sound like me regardless of style. As I’ve said many times before, I grew up on rock and pop music. The sound is buried in my DNA. If anything I just see myself as another guitarist without getting hung up on the instrument hanging from my neck.

In Teag & PK, for instance, I have a lot of room to explore. There are just two of us – Matt (guitars, vocals, effects, electronics) and myself (saxes, flute) – and we cover a lot of stylistic ground from experimental ambience to straight-ahead songs. (More on that here and here.) The ambient improvisations are “easier” than the songs in the sense that the sonic landscape is wide open and there’s mostly no form. The more indie-esque songs are challenging at first because it’s often tricky to figure out where and how to implement a monodic instrument without getting in the way of Matt’s chords and voice. We can’t always have countermelodies – that’d get old fast. And I don’t want to just stand there as the de facto soloist in the final act of every song. So instead I find other ways to fit and truly collaborate: subtone a bass line, offer responsorial phrases, play an occasional counter-melody, regularly switch instrumental for timbral effect, etc. In a number of songs I’m able to fill out our sound without distracting from Matt’s singing; it’s truly a duo instead of an alternating singer and soloist.

Regarding straight-ahead rock, I’ve recently been sitting in with The Fencemen. (They’re rock with a capital R-A-W-K.) It started as a one-off recording contribution but I’ve since sat in on a couple live shows. As a bit of an experiment on their part (I’m guessing), they gave me carte blanche on the last gig’s entire set. I did my homework – happily so; their upcoming debut album is great - and did what I thought was best for each song. The band’s instrumentation of vocals, guitar, bass, drums, and keys is already sufficiently full, so above all else I intended to stay out of the band’s way. I gave myself some legitimate “parts” that simply enhanced the texture in some areas, other times I soloed. And other times I simply acted as a second guitarist, complementing the primary guitar parts. At no time did I stress over where to put a saxophone. Instead I thought about where I, not my instrument, would fit. (And if the answer was nowhere I’d lay out.) I didn’t want to just add sound for the sake of adding sound. I wanted to do fit inside what was already there. And it seemed to work. (For the most part, at least.)

Understandably, the above two examples may not seem like much. But I can tell you that, from a horn player’s perspective, the impulse to play a lot of notes is enormous and difficult to temper initially. In classical and jazz ensembles the saxophone often has a busy, featured part. This creates a sort of default mentality of always needing to play similarly in all settings. And on top of wanting to let the fingers fly, a trap I’ve seen a number of people fall into is a stylistic misunderstanding. It’s not uncommon to see a horn player execute jazz licks within pop music. (I guess that whole “knowing your predecessors” thing only applies to jazz and classical styles?) I’m sure part of it may just be the natural defaulting to what he/she knows best. Beyond that, I’m convinced that part of the reasoning is also a mindset that focuses on a traditionally “jazz” or “classical” instrument juxtaposing with a pop style. This then reinforces the reverting to type that often occurs.

I’m not going to allow my choice of instrument limit my choice of style. It’s not that I have “guitar envy.” Obviously I love the saxophone or I wouldn’t have spent all these years devoted to it. In fact, in full disclosure, I’ve played in the aforementioned “rock sax” style a number of times – sometimes that really is the best option. But often it’s definitely not the only option. An instrument is just a means of expression, not an end. And despite all my rage I won’t be just another horn in a cage…

(Photo: Meat Loaf as Eddie in Rocky Horror Picture Show. Duh.)

I know I have my Top 5 that I reference quite regularly. But if I were to limit that to rock alone, RATM would definitely make that list. (Note: RATM and TOOL both emerged from the same LA scene and knew each other quite well – in fact, the two bands’ guitarists were high school classmates in Chicago.) RATM’s second album Evil Empire came out in 1996, a year I all but obsess over and praise at length without prompting, and I listened to it non-stop. (Some of my still-favorite albums were released that year, and a number of the releases from late 1995 to early 1997 made a big impact on me.) The band’s inventive and assaulting mix of rap and heavy metal are absolutely infectious, and Tom Morello‘s virtuosity gives the only-guitar-bass-drums-vocals combo near-endless sonic possibilities.

Controversy regularly followed the band – and continues to through today – because of 1) their uncompromising socio-political focus and 2) misunderstanding and overreaction by the mainstream media. For example, their music was banned from the airwaves by Clear Channel during the months following 9/11. Much of their profits have gone to support charitable and political causes over the last two decades, and they are regularly participating in demonstrations and rallies, especially Morello and singer Zack de la Rocha. And when I say socio-political focus, I mean exclusively so. Without getting deep (and lost) in the weeds here, every song – save some of the covers included on 2000′s Renegades - deals with social, political, economic and/or environmental commentary of some kind. Considering the group’s singular purpose, their longstanding commercial success and popularity is quite amazing.

I was fortunate enough to see Rage Against the Machine once in late 1999. (They abruptly disbanded a year later and reformed in 2007, performing sporadically since.) It remains one of the most INTENSE shows I’ve ever attended, and it was by far the most aggressive mosh pit I’ve ever been a part of. (Even though I was only feet from the stage, I had to leave the pit before Rage even took the stage and find an open seat from one of the many people who rushed the floor.) The band didn’t need a light show, lasers, or any other special effects. All they had was a backdrop that read “The Battle of Detroit” and their instruments. And it was one of the best, most energetic performances I’ve witnessed. Hopefully the below videos convey that.

“Know Your Enemy”
One of my favorite RATM tracks. (TOOL’s Maynard James Keenan sings the bridge on their debut album. A clip of both bands together on stage at the 1994 Glastonbury Festival is here.) This 2011 performance at Brazil’s SWU festival is ELECTRIC. It was part of RATM’s first string of South American dates ever, and it’s obvious that much of the audience had waited two decades for this.) Watch Morello work his magic throughout!

“Freedom”
From Germany’s Rock im Park 2000

*I had tickets to see them again in 2000 as part of the Rhyme & Reason tour featuring Beastie Boys, RATM, Busta Rhymes, and No Doubt, but the tour was cancelled to due an injury sustained by Mike D. That’s one tour I’d love to alter history to have seen…

Today, this leads me to Warren Haynes Band. Last summer, during my annual DMB pilgrimage to The Gorge on Labor Day weekend, I saw Warren Haynes’s solo band perform a smokin’ set. Haynes & Co. were my favorite (save the headliner) of DMB Caravan 2011 – last year’s full-blown festival. (TR3 and The Roots also get honorable mentions for also tearing the nonexistent roof off the place.)

Warren Haynes, a who’s who rock and blues guitarist, has earned his reputation as a top-notch gunslinger playing for The Allman Brothers Band, The Dead (and various Grateful Dead satellite projects), and Gov’t Mule. 2011 saw the release of Man in Motion, for which he’s been touring in support of with a killer backing band. After seeing this band (the same personnel as the below video) absolutely destroy last September, my first order of business upon returning home was to purchase Man in Motion. Good songs and good jams abound, although I must say I prefer the live band of more obscure side(wo)men – the studio effort understandably features a few more “name” acts. The same live band is also featured on the recently-released Live at the Moody Theater (2012). Besides the band simply being filled with solid musicians, it’s one of my ideal instrumentations: drums, bass, keys, guitar, male & female vocal, horn. Very versatile.

This video is from the band’s performance at last year’s Bonnaroo festival in Manchester, TN. Oddly enough the first time I saw Warren live was at Bonnaroo 2005, both with Gov’t Mule and when he sat in with DMB – talk about coming full circle for this post! The one and only Lewis Black introduces the band and enjoys the show from the wings. (Black himself is a fan of good rock – he often uses “U.S. Blues” as the audience exit music after his shows.)

Warren Haynes Band:
Warren Haynes – Guitar, Vocals
Alecia Chakour – Vocals
Nigel Hall – Keys, Vocals
Terrence Higgins – Drums
Ron Holloway - Saxophone
Ron Johnson – Bass

With Damien, I can recount the first time I heard his music: it was December 2004 and I went with my best friend to see Closer in the theater. About 1.5 seconds into the opening credits’ song “The Blower’s Daughter,” my friend – he’s always listening to not-quite-breaking indie and acoustic artists, and of course already knew Rice’s debut album forwards and backwards – enthusiastically leaned over and shout-whispered, “This is Damien Rice!” Halfway through the first verse I was also sold, and I had that debut album O within a couple days. I obsessively listened to it for months, and still can’t quite listen to it just once – it always requires repeated listening.

Not only is Rice a first-rate songwriter, but the man has some pipes. He’s also effective in his use of instrumentation. The first thing most people notice about his music is the cello’s prominence (in lieu of a lead guitar), which is very nice, but I also enjoy that he only really includes the bass and drums when necessary (both live and in the studio). And, arguably my favorite part, Lisa Hannigan‘s enchanting voice. (She was the secondary/co-lead singer from 2001 to 2007. She now leads her own band and I can’t praise her latest release, 2011′s Passenger, enough.) Lisa’s voice – equal parts smoky jazz singer and Greek siren – is occasionally, and effectively, simply used as another instrument. This is wonderfully demonstrated in “Delicate” (below) – no words, just sound. His voice and hers, both quite versatile, allow his songs to include some wonderful melodies and counter-melodies.

Dynamic control and contrast is another area in which Rice excels. He and the band are only loud when necessary. And even at his quietest, his intensity can match most other amplified acts. I’ve seen Rice (without Hannigan, unfortunately) twice, and both concerts were wonderful. The first show, at which he opened for Fiona Apple in Chicago in July ’06, included a musical moment that perfectly encapsulated this dynamic juxtaposition. During “Delicate,” it was simply Damien and Vyvienne Long (cello) – accompanied by the very occasional cymbal - for the first two verses and choruses. Then, out of nowhere, the drums and bass kicked in for the third chorus and I thought my chest would explode because of the vibrations. It remains one of my favorite concert-going moments.

As mentioned, I absolutely adore O. I really like 2006′s 9, but it started to creep away from the more skeletal O and towards a more full band sound. (2003′s Live From The Union Chapel is a nice companion to O.) It’s now out of print, but there was a limited edition of O that included a DVD of a few videos from Damien’s AOL Sessions performance. I really enjoyed those selections and have posted a couple below.

“Delicate”

“Volcano”

“Delicate” - Live for BBC Four Sessions
(The drum entrance in this one isn’t nearly as drastic as the one I mentioned above, but this clip gives you an idea of his full-band style.)

I intended to rail against live-tweeting in last week’s article, but by the time I remembered to do so I was ready to be done with that particular entry. Although Daniel Carlson’s article centers around television, his complaints apply universally. A common, though perhaps less ubiquitous, phenomenon in music is the live-tweeting of setlists. While this occurs mostly with pop music, other styles aren’t exempt. NPR Music’s classical and jazz branches occasionally live-tweet setlists (or, rather, “programs”) from The Village Vanguard or Carnegie Hall. I just don’t get it. Are there folks sitting at home with the entire Chopin catalogue on standby, listening to whatever nocturnes and polonaise is tweeted next? (And to the many sources that live-tweeted Bruce Springsteen’s SXSW keynote address as he gave it: don’t do that again. Just publish a transcript afterwards.)

The closest I get to this as a consumer is my checking DMB’s setlist each night of a tour. Full disclosure: I’ve been doing this since 2000, and both the band and unofficial site provide real-time setlists online. But I don’t need the songs as they happen.

Once, unfortunately, I was on an end similar to the dreaded live-tweeter. At the 06.13.09 DMB show at Saratoga, NY’s SPAC - one of the absolute best DMB shows I’ve attended - I experienced my first “Halloween.” With the exception of 1992-4 and an unexpected run in 2008, this song is one of the band’s white whales (along with “Spoon” – still waiting to see that one live…). I’ve only seen it twice live, and the first didn’t happen until my 39th show. I absolutely LOST IT when they busted it out as a surprise encore. After my screaming and convulsing – dancing is too classy of word for what I was doing – I had to text all my friends who I thought would care. In my excitement and need to spread my joy via phone, I ended up missing a portion of this song I had waited so many years to see. And while I can relive DMB’s performance via audience tape, there’s a chunk of my excitement I cannot relive because I was staring at my phone. While I was never one to really text or anything during a rock concert before that night – I’ve never done the call-and-hoist-the-phone routine, and I never leave my phone on during classical or jazz performances – I’ve all but cut it out of my concert-going experiences since then. I’d rather be in the moment than on the network.

And when I saw “Halloween” again last year at The Gorge I didn’t grab for the phone – I sang and danced with my friends. That memory is much more intact.

“Halloween” @ SPAC 06.13.09

“Halloween” @ The Gorge 09.04.11
You can look for the back of my head in the pit. I was right under the chain of glow sticks, stage right…

Yes, it’s easy to just write Wynton off as a bebop crusader with a Keith Jarrett-esque disdain for electric instruments. But, horn aside, he’s done a tremendous amount of good when it comes to jazz education and simply an awareness of jazz in the public consciousness. What type of jazz he’s brought to the forefront is a separate debate; I’m simply thankful for his efforts on the whole. Between he and Dave Liebman – both 2011 NEA Jazz Masters, representing two ends of the aesthetic spectrum – jazz education has reached new heights from beginner through collegiate and professional levels.

[You can think of this Wynton debate as similar to the Partch and ICTUS conundrum, discussed here and here.]

Anyway, as I said, it’s easy – and cool in many circles – to just poo poo on Wynton. But I’m longtime fan – since high school. I have over twenty of his albums and have seen him in concert at least eight times. (And this early feature with Herbie Hancock is an interesting album – the great Hancock/Carter/Williams rhythm section with a young Wynton who sounds little like the current one…) Some of his compositions are top notch (“Sunflowers,” Big Train, Congo Square), others not (All Rise is ambitious…), and his arranging for quintet and septet is often pretty interesting (check out the full box set for Live At The Village Vanguard - “In The Sweet Embrace of Life” is the crown jewel). And for all his talk of tradition and Louis Armstrong, he’s not scared of charting new territory. For example, “Down Home With Homey” is a blues based on a twelve-tone row, and “Magic Hour” employs elements of chance.

But all that ambition and complexity often gets in the way of Wynton the improviser and whatever band he’s playing with at the time. (He always surrounds himself with solid players.) Which is why I decided to post the following two videos. Of all my Wynton albums, one of my absolute favorites is the largely unnoticed Live At The House of Tribes. While the quintet only plays standards (not too surprising), they aren’t reading the complicated Marsalis arrangements. For anyone who’s seen the quintet or septet live, they often have multiple large binders full of his arrangements. Not here – just plowing through the head and blowing changes. At the time of this album’s release (2005), this is something Wynton had seemingly gotten far away from. Add to that saxophonist Wessell “Warmdaddy” Anderson and the unparalleled Eric Lewis (“The Top Professor”) on keys and you’ve got a recipe for success. (Lewis handily stole the show the few times I saw him with Wynton. And as Wynton liked to say, Lewis is bringing the left hand back…)

I mention House of Tribes because I recently stumbled upon video footage of the album’s first track: Thelonious Monk’s “Green Chimneys.” I recommend this album to anyone who remains understandably suspicious of Wynton for the reasons listed above. It’s laid back, and even though there’s more audience noise than normal (I think the decision to record and/or release was spur of the moment), it’s a great peek into a side of Wynton & Co. we don’t often get to see.

“Green Chimneys” – Part 1

“Green Chimneys” – Part 2

*I wish I could take credit for such an apt phrase, but I once read it years ago and it has since stuck with me. I can’t remember where. If anyone happens to know the source, please get in touch.

I briefly discussed my frustration with social media here about eighteen months ago. I can’t remember what specifically moved me to write that, but I clearly recall being annoyed while I typed. (The heat didn’t help; I was living in Houston at the time.) Regardless of what was happening then, one things remains true: the social media (over)saturation has only increased, and I don’t think it’s all been for the better.

Sure, I tweet. And have a Facebook page (now a “lovely” Timeline). And have satisfied the LinkedIn and Google+ requirements. And tumbleweed occasionally brushes past my space. (Yawn.) But for those of you who may be connected to me through those various avenues, you know that I’m not the most voracious user. The networks mentioned above are listed in order of activity. I’ll tweet a few times each week, but 99% of those are related to either blog updates or gigs and recordings. Occasionally I’ll tweet something separate, as I did on Sunday about the Charles Lloyd concert. Same goes for Facebook. The rest are pretty much parked to secure the name and satisfy my minimum requirements of existing and have a “friend”/connection. I’ll accept incoming requests, but rarely am I logged in or doing anything. I think I can safely say that my online presence is an abject failure, considering I never created a Tumblr and only recently joined SoundCloud (again, mainly to park).

In full disclosure, I am pretty active with Twitter and Facebook (aside from personal/private accounts), and do see their value. They’re interactive – allowing me to be more interactive via my site and blog – and are helpful tools for getting short bursts of information out to people. With social media in general, I try to stick to the core: information and interaction.

Since first securing michaelteager.com a number of years ago I intended for my website to serve as the hub. I still do. The main site and MT-Headed are where you can find all you need to know about Michael Teager the musician, teacher, and blogger/writer. All else is just a satellite, nothing more than a TIE Fighter to this Death Star. You won’t find much of anything different on the other sites, and that’s not unintentional.

A few months ago I was listening to Paul F. Tompkins discuss his social media presence on The Long Shot, and my jaw hit the ground when he said he’d like to trade in his main website for separate, equally active presences on Twitter, Facebook, and Tumblr. It just doesn’t compute for me. Similarly, Spin magazine recently went über-hipster by focusing on album review tweets. Lame. Have our attention spans really become that short? Is general readership just that lazy? Or are so many figures and organizations so desperate to be on the “cutting edge” of social media that they’re willing to sacrifice part of their core platform in the process? (I fear it’s a combination of all three, with the latter taking the largest bulk of blame.) If someone’s interested, my hunch is that he or she will click the mouse or tap the screen. Perhaps more than once! If twice is too much, then perhaps a “fan” wasn’t really lost…

Perhaps my biggest complaint about social media in general is that with everyone gunning to get everyone’s attention at all times, there’s too much irrelevant information churned out each and every hour. After all, I’m subscribed to a whole host of outlets for updates on items of interest. However, to retrieve that information, I have to suffer through so much garbage that it’s often more trouble than it’s worth. It’s too Who cares?!? as opposed to Hey, that’s neat! I’m sure I spend at least 90% of my time deciding what not to read rather than what to click through to. (There’s a similar correlation to my nightly comb through my RSS subscriptions, but that’s more heavily curated.)

As mentioned, I do enjoy the interaction. However, not every tweet or update warrants a response from everyone else. Not everything requires a snarky comment (and this is coming from a snarky cynic). And not everyone needs to provide a Hallmark-esque comment for every holiday, award, or death of anyone above a D-list celebrity. Too much piffle leads me to likely ignore the more substantial updates and tweets. (Yes, I publicly grieved – digitally – for LeRoi Moore, George Carlin, and Peter Steele, but they are figures who’ve meant a lot to me over many years, especially the first two.)

If only Archie had lived long enough to tweet…

While I’ve since gone far down the rabbit hole that is Lloyd’s output, Hyperion remains one of my most-listened to jazz albums. But most of his other albums are in the running for a close second, and that’s because Charles is 1) always engaging and 2) surrounds himself with great players. Perhaps the single most appealing aspect of his playing, to me, is its gravitas. There’s no frivolity is Lloyd’s music, and even the more light-hearted moments have weight. That’s where I hear the influence of Trane most in his music, although the harmonic vocabulary is evident, its the ethos more than anything that grabs my attention. And even with the most chromatic of runs that may include multiphonics or other extended techniques, Lloyd’s unparalleled melodic and rhythmic phrasing make his playing appear deceptively simple or “in,” especially in the last couple decades. It’s more about subtle nuance than aggressive showboating or gymnastics with Lloyd.

At 74 he’s a solid as ever, and rhythm section of his New Quartet – solidified in ’07: Jason Moran, Reuben Rogers, Eric Harland – provides a nice youthful balance to his more meditative approach. Without writing a full-blown concert review here, suffice it to say that Saturday night’s show scratched me right where I itched. The highlight for me was their powerful rendition of “Go Down Moses.” Stopping only to introduce the band twice, Lloyd & Co. captivated the auditorium for 100+ minutes.

I’ve assembled a variety of videos to serve as a primer for those unfamiliar with him. And if you’re already a fan, you should really dig these if you haven’t yet seem them. FYI – they’re in reverse-chronological order:

“Passin’ Through”
This features the New Quartet (and they performed this on Saturday, if you happened to be in attendance)

“Prometheus” (the first half)
Geri Allen – Piano; Eric Harland – Drums; Robert Hurst – Bass
Geri’s solo is top notch here…

“You Are So Beautiful”
Geri Allen – Piano; Billy Hart – Drums; Robert Hurst – Bass
(Yes, that ”You Are So Beautiful,” although Lloyd’s interpretation practically transcends any other associations or notions you may have previously held about it.)

“Manhattan Carousel”
His famous quartet from the late 1960s – talk about being able to spot talent!
Keith Jarrett – Piano, Jack DeJohnette – Drums; Cecil McBee – Bass
Keith’s pianistic outburst at 3:15 gets me every time…

Not only is Joni a top-notch songwriter, but she knows how to surround herself with first-rate musicians. While I often like to reference Shadows & Light, for which Joni uses a backing band of jazz giants, that’s far from the only example. She seems to know that by composing and singing she’s done her job, and therefore she doesn’t need to worry about being “shown up” by the other instrumentalists – that’s what they’re there for. Perhaps her decades-long fondness for Miles goes beyond the music, extending to his unparalleled skills as a bandleader. It definitely makes me wonder…

This video is of a live performance of the Hejira‘s title track in Japan. Her band includes the one and only Wayne Shorter as well as Pino Palladino. As with any context, when Wayne’s on stage, great things are sure to happen…

As a little bonus, here’s a rocket-fueled performance of Court and Spark‘s “Raised on Robbery” from 1974 by Joni with Tom Scott & The L.A. Express. Despite the annoying chirping (no doubt a holdover from transferring this damaged old recording to digital…), it’s the highest quality version of this particular performance I could find. Love it.

A couple of things worth mentioning here happened last Tuesday (the usual day for MTH-V posts), which made me laugh. The first actually had to do with my recent MTH-V post on the Grateful Dead. We were hanging out in the Haight-Ashbury district and found the famed Grateful Dead House. Of course, my picture looks far different from the classic photo…

Shortly before taking this picture, I wandered and drooled through Amoeba Music. There are few things I love more than browsing through and shopping at a great independent record store. I walked out with Skala, The Seven Words, Nyman: Concertos, and Harmonious Breath. Lovely. (Of course two of the four are ECM titles…) The Nyman disc has been on my “must buy” list for years, and this was the first instance in which I’ve seen a new hard copy for sale in a store. I could’ve purchased it via Amazon years ago, but I much prefer “the hunt.”

It was refreshing to get away from the horns, computers, and all work/responsibilities for a week. But now, game on…

Zwan was the first big post-Smashing Pumpkins musical foray for Billy Corgan, and arguably his most successful. 2005′s “solo album” (what large BC project isn’t Corgan-centric?) was interesting, and quite compelling in concert, but nowhere near the mild commercial success Zwan attained. Overall, Zwan highlighted Corgan’s sunny side, which in a way reflects some of the early Pumpkins ethos. However, Zwan was overall more pop-oriented than SP, as evident in most of the songs on their only album, 2003′s Mary Star of the Sea. Zwan was a supergroup of sorts formed by Billy Corgan and Jimmy Chamberlin (both of Smashing Pumpkins), including Matt Sweeney (Chavez), David Pajo (Slint), and Paz Lenchantin (A Perfect Circle). Corgan’s vocals and guitar work alongside Chamberlin’s signature manhandling of the drumset give it a particular SP flair, but the overall music is different (for the active SP fan). I of course championed the band, acting as a walking commercial via joining its street team. I still have a few of those stickers left…

[Note: It should be clarified for those other hardcore Billy fans that when I write Zwan I of course mean The True Poets of Zwan, the better-known electric incarnation of Billy's overall Zwan concept. Djali Zwan, the acoustic "yang" featuring the same personnel plus cello, also performed but never completed a studio recording.]

I was fortunate enough to see Zwan twice, 12.17.02 at Cobo Arena in Detroit and 05.06.03 at Aragon Ballroom in Chicago. The latter performance not only turned out to be the band’s final US show, but also proved to be, if I sat down and really thought out the list, one of the ten best live shows I’ve attended (of any genre). It was truly special. Despite the band’s inner turmoil (another BC trademark), they were a solid ensemble and absolutely destroyed the hall that night. Also, with Billy being from Chicago, he was pretty laid back and even jovial.

This video is of the band’s performance of “Mary Star of the Sea” (the album’s title track), closing their 2003 Pinkpop Festival set. (This song closed the first show I saw and opened the second…one of the best opening numbers I’ve seen. I’ll never forget the feeling of their hitting that first big downbeat at that second show.) Now, with all of my defending the distinct stylings above, this particular song is somewhat reminiscent of the more exploratory jams found on SP’s Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. That being said, this live band features an even greater wall of sound. The three guitars comping and soloing in and around one another is one of my favorite features of Zwan. (Corgan is nothing if not epic.) Now, I’ll be the first to say that Billy’s singing isn’t too hot here – that’s unfortunately often the case, though he’s been better on recent Smashing Pumpkins tours – but the vocals are but one part of this piece.

Watching this just takes me back to seeing that final Chicago show, and I can’t get enough…

“Mary Star of the Sea” – Lyrics
Rooms full of salt
Fault my pluck
And a poet’s charm so far, ever far
Little stars that burn the holes in my soul

And everything just feels like rain
The road we’re on, the things we crave
And everything just feels like rain
The nights I sleep, what’s left to dream
When everything feels like rain

Drift as i dive
Find the deep
Out of reach of all light
Stars, ever far
Listless tides along the changing shore

And everything just feels like rain
The road we’re on, the things we crave
And everything just feels like rain
If I should sleep, what’s left to dream
When everything feels like rain

Although I don’t quite consider myself a Deadhead, I am a fan. (Since I’m the equivalent of a Deadhead for DMB, I know what’s involved in such a moniker, and wouldn’t claim to be such for The Grateful Dead when I’m obviously not.) A number of my friends and musical partners past and present are Deadheads, however, so I’ve been around their music for about a decade. I have a number of albums and live recordings, and actually consider my attending concerts of both The Dead and Phil Lesh & Friends to be some of my more profound live music experiences. I’ve also played their music in a number of groups: Teag & PK, Zentropy, The French Henchmen, and all of my musical endeavors with Pat Harris (including The Dirty River Jazz Band & The TCQ – two iterations of what I consider to be my first real band).

“Shakedown Street” is a great song. It’s definitely a dance number, which is a big reason I enjoy it so much. That also makes it fun to play – if done right, the crowd gets moving, further fueling the band. (I played this quite a bit with Zentropy; it was always a fun time.) It’s the title track of their tenth album (1978), and is also the namesake of the fan-run vendor area, selling items legal and “otherwise,” found in the parking found at their shows. (The name has since been extrapolated to other bands and fan communities – the vendor area for any band/festival is generally referred to as Shakedown Street nowadays.)

As mentioned, I don’t consider myself a Deadhead. I can’t get too deep into the minutiae of X month of Y tour being my favorite, etc., but I do have a relatively active knowledge of the band’s history. (What recordings I have span their output.) Hopefully I won’t cause too much controversy by saying that I really dig the late-80s live material, the lineup for which included the late Brent Mydland. This video’s performance comes from July 9, 1989 at Giants Stadium. (Recorded just days after Truckin’ Up To Buffalo - I mention that because I own that recording, and I love Buffalo – it’s my wife’s hometown and where we got married. ) As is evident in this video, the band can not only jam, but groove. Hard. Jerry, Bob, Brent, and Phil snake in and around each other’s lines and ideas, all while maintaining the ensemble’s forward momentum. Jazz snobs take note, because the Dead display improvisation and group interaction as well as most any other jazz ensemble…

I hope you dig it. I have for a while, and will for a long time to come.

Dolphy was one of jazz’s great all-around woodwind masters. Most remembered as an alto saxophonist, he was also a landmark bass clarinetist (the first to really establish it as a jazz instrument) and flautist. It’s not only that he was tremendously skilled, but that he conveyed an original, idiosyncratic voice through each instrument. And while he was a respected bandleader in his own right, his associations with Charles Mingus and John Coltrane – two of contemporary music’s forefathers – were historic. (And speaking of being a sideman, he steals the show on Oliver Nelson‘s The Blues and the Abstract Truth.)

Like many, I was introduced to Dolphy through Trane. Even with holding Trane’s entire legacy on a pedestal, his later work – the sixties in general, but especially ’64-’67 – is my primary wheelhouse. When I first bought The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings box set, I remember being taken aback by Eric Dolphy’s ubiquitous presence and coming to really enjoy the contrast between the two frontmen. (It really sets the stage for Coltrane’s late quintet with Pharoah Sanders.)

This video of Trane’s almost-Classic Quartet (Steve Davis is on bass), augmented by Dolphy, features a 1961 German television performance of “My Favorite Things.” While it’s still steeped in the flavor of the famous studio recording – unlike late renditions – it’s definitely further out. When it comes to this level of artistry, all I can say is to sit back and enjoy…

[In case you're interested, a performance of "Impressions" from this same TV appearance, with Dolphy on alto sax, is available on iTunes. It's quite nice.]

I’m not here to be snarky. While that generally creates more traffic, this isn’t that kind of blog. But I do find it curious that instead of critically avenging the abysmally-reviewed musical work, Holter goes on to nit-pick the meaning of a style via unloading jargon and canonical references. At the end of the article I was left with the following thoughts:
• What about Travis Morrison’s “extraordinary solo debut”? Why is o.o stars offensive?
• I’m on the same page as Colin concerning a “definition” of indie (and the mention of the protohipster!)
• Why is everyone so caught up on the stylistic label? Whether a composition is labeled “indie-classical” or “progressive grindcore” (a description of TOOL I once read in the late nineties, its absurdity is why it’s stuck with me ever since) should be secondary to whether or not it’s musically good. Once again, unfortunately, the style has trumped the content.

–

On another front, there were a couple links I intended to mention last week but decided against it. (Again, I’d rather this blog not be reduced a Tumblr-like series of links.) However, since I’m on the subject of timing, I thought it was funny that my MTH-V post on Tricky in early January was followed a few weeks later by this NPR article on trip-hop. (Why they don’t link to Tricky’s main site in the first paragraph, since there’s no NPR page for him, is beyond me.) Then, a few weeks later (or, rather, last week) there was this Rolling Stone announcement about an upcoming Tricky performance. While I’d like to think that cosmically I was somehow involved in those other two posts, I know it’s simply a coincidence.

Just some interesting nuggets from my RSS aggregator.

I remember the first time I heard Mr. Carter: I was listening to Lazaro Vega’s Jazz From Blue Lake one night in early 2000 (a nightly ritual at that time), and that night’s featured artist was James Carter. Every night featured a different musician, composer, or other theme, but Vega was especially enthusiastic about Carter for a few reasons:
1. He was getting ready to release both Chasin’ The Gypsy and Layin’ In The Cut. You’d be hard pressed to find two more disparate simultaneous releases by the same artist. (Gypsy, a tribute to Django Reinhardt featuring his cousin Regina Carter, is one of my absolute favorite jazz albums. I’ve pretty much had it on repeat for twelve years.)
2. James Carter is a proud Detroit native, and lets everyone know it.
3. Carter attended Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp while a student (although he was featured in faculty groups).  (Read that last link if you have time. Neat stuff.)

I was immediately hooked while listening to Lazaro Vega’s program that night. I’d never heard anyone do anything on the saxophone (just pick one) until that point. And in a number of ways, I’m still waiting to see/hear another saxophonist – jazz, classical, or otherwise – make some of those noises. I really do think that, as a sheer technician of the instrument, James Carter is the top in the world. It’s easy for any musician to recognize his chops, but, saxophonically speaking, he’s on another level – his own level. The horn (saxophone, clarinet, flute, etc.) is simply an extension of him, sounding whatever he hears in his head. Of course, such skill can be a dangerous. In his early work, especially the first two albums, he seemed more interested in showboating than making music. But as his music has matured right along with him – he recorded those first albums at 23 and 24, respectively – and his artistry now complements his talent.

I have most of his albums, and while I’m not as much of a blind fanboy as I was in my late teens and early twenties, JC remains one of my favorites. I’ve seen him (I think) seven times, and each one was a real treat and quite different from the others. He’s one of jazz’s most exciting performers, always giving 110% and bringing the audience TO ITS FEET. (I seriously thought the crowd would lose it at 2004′s Detroit Jazz Festival.)

The following videos should serve as a good sampler for JC newbies. And if you’re a fan, enjoy anyway. The rhythm section – all Detroiters – is the same for both videos featuring a full band: Gerard Gibbs, Ralphe Armstrong, Leonard King. (They KILL IT live.) [NOTE: Correction: the pianist for the first video is not Gerard Gibbs, but I believe it is another Detroiter, the late Kenn Cox. Got mixed up with all the different videos I contemplated for this post.)

"(I Wonder) Where Our Love Has Gone"
A trademark opening cadenza.
[NOTE: A studio recording of this same tune can be found on Gardenia's for Lady Day.  He's playing Cannonball horns for this performance, not Yamaha, his then-signature brand. And yet he still tears it up...didn't I just write about this? ]
*Embedding for this video disabled; please view here – it’s well worth the click*

“Nuages”
Burnin’ – Cater’s solo in the latter half (7:27) is indicative of his pedal-to-the-metal live style. Go hard or go home…
[NOTE: A very different but wonderful studio recording can be found on Chasin' The Gypsy. This recording also features Chicago's Corey Wilkes.]

Some fun on bass…

No better way to close it out than with some Yuletide cheer…

(Photography by Jillian Hakala)

The week before last, my partner Matt Borghi and I – together known as Teag & PK – had a couple local radio spots. The first was a part of 89.7′s Coffee Break and featured a brief interview, during which we were asked the dreaded question: what type of music do you play? We offered a lengthier-than-necessary non-answer (telling the host what styles we don’t play as opposed to those we do), hopefully hiding our annoyance – not with the host, but with the question. We abhor discussing it. As I touched upon in this post, our collaboration features many different musical avenues: one night we’ll feature electronic ambience and improvisation, the next it’ll be completely acoustic and Matt will improvise vocal blues a la Son House (and well, might I add). Simply saying “folk” does more to exclude a large chunk of what we do than cast a wide net. We’re not bluesy enough for the blues-ers, not folky enough for the folkies, and not jazz enough for the jazzers. Instead we are what we are and quite happy with that. (Although it does present an ongoing PR problem.)

I mention this because “style” in general has been a personal nuisance for many years. A label, on paper, may just be a single word – folk – or handful of words (post-hardcore [huh?]), but in context it presents a multitude of problems. If something is “folk,” then what kind? Appalachian? Woody Guthrie? Hungarian? Ani DiFranco? If none of those, does the label then somehow do a disservice to those disparate forbears? If it’s completely different, why use the label at all? Simply because it’s acoustic and not on commercial radio?

A few weeks ago I finally watched Jazz In The Present Tense: Icons Among Us, the 2009 documentary that “answered” (to put it lightly) Ken Burns‘s Jazz. Now, I know that people love to complain about the Ken Burns behemoth, and I’ll be the first to jump all over it. After all, it spent ~19 hours exhaustively discussing everything jazz from 19th-century roots music through hard bop, but then gave ~45 minutes of lip service to the 1960s avant-garde and highlighting Young Lions of whom Wynton Marsalis approves. Cute. But for all its sins, Burns admittedly did a lot of good – the archival material alone is worth the time and money. And it does a wonderful job of presenting jazz and its beginnings as a product of African American culture, and (rightly) how the music fits into the context of US race relations. However, perhaps the biggest fault (or virtue, depending on your viewpoint) is that the whole documentary is based upon a particular canonical view of jazz and its stylistic definition. It really is pretty solid for the first 5 or 6 episodes, but becomes exponentially narrower as the series progresses. It goes from being all-inclusive  to a museum exhibit, allowing access only to those musicians (curators) who once associated with those now-or-soon-to-be-dead icons. (Wynton played with Art Blakey and therefore is the designated torch-bearer, right?) As one of my favorite professors in graduate school said, “Classical music is now mainly an amusement park for old people.” (This coming from a harpsichordist.)

Enter Jazz In The Present Tense. While the documentary of course features many contemporary musicians from the broader jazz spectrum, it’s thesis has to do with the word “jazz” itself. Whereas Burns (and Wynton, or rather Wynton via Burns) stated This is jazz, JITP asks What is jazz today?. The answers come from all sides – Terence Blanchard, John Medeski, Bill Frisell, Wynton Marsalis, Nicholas Payton, Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Robert Glasper (his newly-released Black Radio is getting much press), Donald Harrison Jr., Marco Benevento, and more – and it’s quickly evident that these disagreements aren’t  slight. For example, Harrison’s obsession with both hard bop and his association with Art Blakey would even make Wynton blush. The divide between the more traditional jazz-is-anything-up-through-hard-bop and jazz-needs-to-keep-changing-to-stay-alive camps is quite evident. The filmmakers also take some time to focus on the word jazz‘s parallel in rock: jam band. I was very refreshed to see that, as “jam band” is more of a bad word than anything according to many musicians. After the Grateful Dead, most bands who featured improvisation wanted to be called anything but a jam band, a problem that continues to this day. Of course, Herbie was the one to perhaps best state the problem, saying, “The term jazz, in a sense perhaps, is its own worst enemy.” Herbie, one of the last remaining living legends – literally – is still light years beyond not only many of his peers but also the younger generations, both artistically and intellectually. (One of the many reasons I hold him on such a pedestal.)

[Side note: I couldn't help but literally laugh out loud when Nicholas Payton appeared on my television as the first interviewee, spouting his nonsense. For those at least peripherally aware of online jazz "debates," he's heated up the blogosphere the last few months with self-righteous, incoherent rants, stating that jazz is now dead and that we should call what we think of as jazz "Black American Music" instead. Payton's new term isn't the problem - it's his schizophrenic non-explanations of it. He does make compelling points now and again in his various blog entries, but the ongoing argument as a whole is...something. NPR's perennially-disappointing A Blog Supreme has given Payton's tripe far more attention than it's due. If you've seen #BAM on Twitter, that's probably why...]

Of course, this isn’t a film review. My viewing the documentary, coupled with the recent radio spot, are simply two instances out of countless similar experiences I’ve had. But the whole dilemma of style isn’t just an matter of definition, but one of context, as it’s reliant on many factors. One such factor is canon. Every style has its major works that serve as hallmarks. However, once you scratch the surface, you become aware of just how deep the rabbit hole can go, as not everyone will agree on everything. As with the two jazz documentaries, Burns was comfy with most styles through Hard Bop (except for Cool/West Coast), and Icons found almost no consensus on anything.

The classical canon, and expectations of students’ familiarity with it, has stuck in my craw for many years. Going to college and graduate school for (mostly) classical performance is interesting for a saxophonist, considering the instrument is only ~165 years old. Consequently the instrument’s repertoire is only a fraction of the size of the flute’s, violin’s, or piano’s. This causes two issues: 1) saxophonists, unlike most other classically-oriented instruments, are immersed in contemporary music, but 2) this also causes a deficit in performing and knowing older (Renaissance, Baroque, Classical, early Romantic) literature. While most classical saxophonists probably couldn’t pick out the second movement of one of Beethoven’s string quartets, we also can pick out and understand the sequenzas of Luciano Berio better than most other classical musicians. Does that mean that classical saxophonists are somehow “less than”? No, it’s just a different animal. Speaking for myself, I have an interest in many of the older/other styles and genres, specifically Renaissance and Baroque music and Wagner. (The latter goes deep.) And my personal (not just academic) interest in orchestral music has really deepened these last couple years. But of course home base, classically speaking, is still contemporary music. (To reference another recent internet meme, I’ve been correcting a musical blind spot. With much enthusiasm.)

I definitely agree that in order to learn a particular style of music (be it a broad category such as classical or jazz, or perhaps narrower like heavy metal), one should be intimately familiar with both the style’s history and the details of its evolution and various iterations. But I don’t believe that it ends there. Not at all. Those who’ve forged ahead to create something new – large or small – have almost always included some sort of outside source or influence. Besides, regarding the above jazz discussion, the biggest argument against the jazz-must-continually-evolve-and-include-outside-styles crowd is that it overlooks or even disregards earlier styles. Following that logic, however, why is it that pre-Hard Bop purists are allowed to do the same for later styles without similar condemnation?

As regular readers know, I’m equal parts classical, jazz, and pop. (Only in that order for alphabetical reasons.) I cringe each time I write, say, or type “classical and jazz saxophonist,” or anything else to that effect. Honestly, I just consider myself, plainly, a “saxophonist” or “musician.” And frankly, at the end of the day, the only canon I’m really concerned with is my own – the canon that has shaped me. As a musician, I’ve worked for years on developing my own personal style and aesthetic. Much work indeed remains to be done, and I’ll arguably never be complete. If someone were to assemble the canon of Michael Teager’s musical education, there would of course be saxophonic references – Coltrane, Liebman, John Harle, James Carter, etc. – throughout, but it would also include the music of the Top 5, Elton John, Richard Wagner, nineties rock, and ECM, just to name a few. Yes, I know A Love Supreme forwards and backwards. (And rightly place it above most other works of art, where it belongs.) But I’m just as familiar with Crash, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, and Aenima (to focus on ’95-’96). And they’re just as important to the musician I am and continue to become as any other “major work.” I discussed this latter point slightly over a year ago here.

It’s not that I think standard repertoire need be diminished or negated, but room must also be made on the pedestal for other, more individualized preferences. In fact, such personalization should be encouraged. While younger generations are becoming more open-minded, it seems that the old guard, especially in classical music, jazz, and other academically-associated musics, remain set in their ways. Slowly but surely, the boundaries are eroding.

This topic has many tributaries, and if I go any further you’ll need breadcrumbs to find your way back. But it does tie together. Style – jazz, classical, folk, blues, rock, etc. – is more than just a word, like it or not. It implicitly suggests and entire tradition and repertoire. Even slight deviations from a stated style can jar the listener, promoter, booker, and/or critic, taking me back to the introductory anecdote about Teag & PK‘s “style.” What do Matt and I call our project? Does it matter? It seems to be in our interest to avoid  such categorizations, or simply make one up just to end the discussion. Common problems we’ve encountered are:
• We’re not “folk” because of the sax (and occasional electronics)
• We’re not “jazz” because of all the verse-chorus songs
• We’re not “blues” because it’s too folky
• We’re not “rock” because it’s guitar and sax
• We’re not “indie” because…we’re not hipsters? (We still haven’t figured that one out.)
• Those ambient improvisations? What the hell are those?!?

And to top it off, we really don’t care what it’s called. We’ve considered calling it “acid folk” – not to be confused with “psych folk” – just to have something consistent. And it doesn’t offend any purists we may encounter along the way. When Matt’s canon – ambient, rock, Flight of the Conchords, and blues that Alan Lomax would approve of – meets mine the result is something beyond either of us. It’s also beyond simply picking one style and sticking to it.

The result is what matters. Not what we call it.

Luckily for Belushi and Aykroyd, they had the Saturday Night Live Band at their disposal when originally wanting to do their blues bees skits. Deciding to transform their skit into an actual band, they recruited a dream-team of studio and touring musicians, including (most of the names should be familiar):

Steve “The Colonel” Cropper - Guitar
Donald “Duck” Dunn – Bass
Steve “Getdwa” Jordan – Drums
Tom “Bones” Malone - Trombone & Saxophones
“Blue” Lou Marini – Saxophones
Matt “Guitar” Murphy – Guitar
Alan “Mr. Fabulous” Rubin – Trumpet
Tom “Triple Scale” Scott - Saxophones
Paul “The Shiv” Shaffer – Keyboards

Anyone familiar with the backing musicians of popular music from the 1960s to present should see MANY familiar names. Cropper and Dunn were part of the house band for Stax Records (!!!), Marini has been with James Taylor for decades, Scott did some work with Joni Mitchell (he’s all over her historic Court and Spark), Steve Jordan is a top studio and touring drummer (recently collaborating with John Mayer), you see Malone every night with Letterman, and Paul Shaffer has played everywhere with everyone. Behind Jake and Elwood on the stage and in the recording booth is a Who’s Who of American popular music.

Aside from the movie soundtracks, there aren’t many recordings of the Blues Brothers Band. I picked up The Definitive Collection in probably 1997 and still listen to it quite a bit. (It’s great for late night driving.) Sure, John and Dan aren’t the world’s greatest singers, but the band more than makes up for it. The below video is of one of my favorite songs of theirs (a performance of which is included on The Definitive Collection). Assuming the poster included the correct date, this performance comes from New Year’s Eve 1978, meaning this gig was an opening set for the Grateful Dead at Winterland. ”(I’ve Got Everything I Need) Almost” was originally written and performed by Canada’s Downchild Blues Band.

This week’s video is perhaps the most niche of the MTH-V series – serious DMB fans will get the biggest kick out of this. I try to take a generalist approach to most of these, but this is too good to pass by. Although some previous posts – e.g., ICTUS and Trio Mediæval – featured more specialized styles, they were at least clean and relatively produced recordings. This may be DMB, but it’s a 102-minute scratchy VHS transfer of a then-local band. This show took place at Virginia’s Bridgewater College. There’s a neat story about the video and performance, as well as a scan of the show’s poster, by a member of the other band that performed that night here.

As I mentioned, this was brought to my attention by Antsmarching.org, the biggest fan-site for DMB. While I have many strong philosophical disagreements with the various orthodoxies espoused by the site’s moderators, the site itself is an undeniably wonderful source of information. Want to know how many times “Best of What’s Around” has been performed, in what cities, at which point in each concert, and how rare a live performance is in comparison with others in the catalogue? Just look it up. (I love all of the hard data; I just wish they’d give the op-eds a rest. But that’s another post for another day. I’m still happy to have been a member for well over a decade now.)

Some notes on this video since it’s such a lengthy one – I’ll point out some highlights for those without the time/interest to watch the whole thing or freely browse. While some of these might be old hat to other die-hard Ants, it’s still worth mentioning here, as 1) it’s nice to have video evidence of the things heard on many tapes, and 2) this is likely new for many regular readers:
• Love this.
• It is GREAT to have such a nice video documentation of a lot of early LeRoi Moore. While the more hardline jazz influence is evident in a couple places, you already start to hear the direction he eventually went (that of a rock/pop musician as opposed to a “jazz saxophonist”). His solos on “Best of What’s Around,” “Recently,” and “Jimi Thing” are especially choice.
• Speaking of which, that “Jimi” outro is hip…maybe they should bring it back…
• The video lasts for almost 80 minutes, with the final 22 being audio-only.
• The band at this time included original keyboardist Peter Greisar. The duo performance of “So Much to Say” by Dave and Peter is a nice early glimpse into the song.
•  For those who enjoyed the mid-2000s “Louie Louie” interpolations at the end of “Warehouse,” here’s an early incarnation.
•  Hearing the juxtaposition of a much-slower “Best of What’s Around” and brisk “Satellite” is an odd switch. Although I think the latter is more due to nerves. (If only they would have played “After Her” instead…)
• Even though the band is still quite young (not two years old), it’s evident they’re already a unit. Keep in mind that their first performance was in March or April of 1991, less than one year prior. Armed with a catalogue of mostly original material (with a few tasteful covers thrown in for good measure), they musically give each other space and keep the audience on energized and engaged throughout. No wonder they’ve been the highest-grossing live act in recent pop history. Even though the tempo gets weird in a number of songs, Carter does his best to keep the band’s nerves in check back there.
• Again, great video evidence to illustrate the anecdotes of fans occasionally thinking Boyd Tinsley was Dave Matthews, as Boyd was initially more comfortable with between-song banter and crowd work than Dave.
• Speaking of which, Boyd gets two vocal numbers: “Angel From Montgomery” and “True Reflections.” They’re both quite rare in live performance nowadays, but luckily I’ve seen them both. “Angel From Montgomery” is especially elusive.
• Interesting introductory banter about the band and their material by Dave, then one of my favorites: “The Song That Jane Likes.” Enough said.

NOTE: Embedding functionality for this particular video has understandably been disabled, but you may view the whole thing here.

For me, the Grammys largely come and go most years without much notice. I occasionally have some small emotional stake in one or two awards. This year I was pleased to see Bon Iver (praised here) not only nominated but win, and I was pleased that they refused to perform. I don’t often watch the show. It’s not out of protest or an attempt to be some sort of hipster; I’m more curious in the outcome than the fanfare, presentations, and most performances. And yes, I’m well aware that the Grammys are more of a corporate than artistic affair. (That’s part of what made Herbie‘s well-deserved 2008 Album of the Year win so exciting.)

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

This year I actually had Sunday evening free and decided I’d watch the awards show. You know, give it a chance. (After all, I was hoping for some Bon Iver success, and I was quite looking forward to the Beach Boys‘ reunion performance.) That lasted about 30-40 minutes, or however long it took for Chris Brown‘s sad display to end, before I shut it off. Bruce was Bruce (and wasn’t helped by the awkward camera work), and the derivative Bruno Mars set lost my interest after a minute or two. (I love James Brown’s music, especially when it’s James Brown doing James Brown. [Un]fortunately [for Bruno Mars], it’s more than wardrobe and staging.)

Then good ol’ Chris. Not only was I offended when I first saw it (having looked up from my laptop, as I was also following the Greek debacle), but my irritation has grown as the week’s progressed. His performance, as I’m sure you know by now, sparked controversy across all media, but not for artistic reasons. Everyone’s been in a furor over 1) the Grammys allowing him to perform after his pre-Grammy domestic violence a few years ago, and 2) various reactions to those reactions, etc., especially via the all-powerful Twitter (granting gravitas to dumb 14 year olds everywhere). Yes, domestic violence is awful, and should not be either taken lightly or even forgiven. But here I’m coming from a strictly artistic point of view – music only, personal history aside. People who have done far worse have received infinitely much more praise throughout the years, and it’s often necessary to separate the music from the (wo)man. As someone with a deep, deep love of the music of both Miles Davis and Richard Wagner, I know this all too well. As high as a mantle as I may place the appropriately-named Prince of Darkness, I know and discuss his many shortcomings. It would’ve been amazing to have been his employee and band member, but not so much his friend or acquaintance. Forget Brown, Miles could have given a masterclass in misogyny and domestic violence. (Let’s not forget that he also enjoyed boxing). And of course there was his legendary drug addiction. Yet he recently received his own US stamp…

Often, an artist is quite complicated, and while a person’s life can and does inform their art, the art can – though understandably not always – also be judged separately from the (cult of) personality. Sure, different strokes for different folks – what some can compartmentalize others cannot. It can be as severe as Miles, or as subjective (for me) as Ted Nugent.

Anyway, back to Mr. Brown. Aside from his absurd staging, which resembled more of a realized Q*bert fantasy than anything else, his lip-syncing was atrocious. Not that he was lip-syncing, but that he was doing so poorly. Unless, of course, he wanted onlookers to believe he could circular breathe while doing so. Add to that the fact that he was lip-syncing something that was severely auto-tuned and you’ve got a recipe for something really special. I watched it as one would watch a train-wreck, and then to my astonishment the crowd (largely of music industry types) went wild. Hm. A man lip-syncs vocal effects in front of thousands of musicians and is adored. Corporate or not, that’s something to behold.

This whole last week, Adam Carolla has been saying about Brown on his podcast that, “We’ve constructed a society in which you can be forgiven for anything as long as you can dance.” While he was saying that in context of Brown’s domestic violence and Jacko’s many controversies, his point could just as well be applied to Brown’s performance itself (and many other pop acts). As with most things, Ace was on-point.

I simply waited until Monday to catch the Beach Boys performance on the internet, and I must say I watched it probably twenty times. What a joy. Unfortunately, most reviews referenced or centered around their age and appearance, but let’s not forget that they’re celebrating their 50th anniversary. (That generally means old.) Sure, some of the harmonies could have been a little cleaner, but overall they sounded quite good for all being near 70. And in context, they outdid the preceding lackluster cover performances by Maroon 5 and Foster the People. (Case in point, when Adam Levine and that other guy joined them for the end of “Good Vibrations,” Levine made no effort to actually sing into the microphone. Was he afraid the judge wouldn’t turn his/her throne around?) Yes, the Beach Boys are old, and Brian Wilson often looked near death. However, given everything they’ve been through – professionally, emotionally, physically, mentally, and psychopharmacologically – it’s amazing those survivors did anything at all. (Just skim their lineup history for a taste of the drama.) And Brian Wilson actually looked to be having a ball at times.

As surprised as I was to hear so much discussion of Chris Brown after the Grammys, I was equally surprised – and disappointed – at the lack of Beach Boys discussion. While I didn’t expect them to receive undying praise from all media outlets, it seems as if their performance was largely unnoticed. Perhaps I’m cynical, but maybe there are just too many left alive to care. I mean, The Beach Boys are one of the biggest rock/pop acts in American music, and Brian Wilson is consequently considered one of the great American pop songwriters. The Beach Boys also allowed the US to give England & the Beatles a run for their money in the 1960s. I’m sure part of it is their heavy association with a particular geographical area (i.e., the tropical coast), and the fact that their enduring career provided a decent amount of cheese, possibly diluting the more substantial material. (I can’t be the only one my age who remembers endlessly hearing “Kokomo” at the roller-rink in elementary school.)

[This of course touches on a whole other area worthy of much discussion - longevity and surpassing one's prime - distilled in this clip from High Fidelity (a GREAT movie for pop music snobbery --- one of my favorites, and one I often reference in this blog) - simply substitute The Beach Boys for Stevie Wonder.]

Although Brian Wilson (and the rest of his bandmates) have enjoyed wildly different post-1960s careers than those of McCartney, Lennon, et. al., and even the Grateful Dead, the fact remains that they belonged to bands that laid the groundwork for much of what took place the subsequent 4+ decades. I saw a (skeletal) Beach Boys performance around 2003 – Mike Love had licensed the name for touring with bandmate Bruce Johnston and a backing band that I think comprised most of the Grammy backing band – and it quite fun. Similarly, and more profoundly, when I saw the original Black Sabbath in 2004 & 2005 and The Dead in 2010, I knew that I was seeing a genuine piece of rock history. Also in those cases, the old original members blew away their younger competition.

Going back to the aforementioned Grammy performances, The Beach Boys actually sang (!!!) those trademark tight vocal harmonies and ended up a footnote, whereas Chris Brown pretended to sing auto-tune and walked away with much of the press’s attention (thanks also to his tremendous hubris).

And jazz and classical musicians are sad to be largely excluded from this circus…? Blech.