Album Review: Snarky Puppy- Immigrance

Clinical studio perfection?  Check.  Ostentatious instrumental prowess?  Check.  Clever jazz references?  Check.  Insufferably smug fan base?  Check.  Snarky Puppy is the new Steely Dan.  The absence of Donald Fagen’s disdainful voice is the only substantive difference between Snarky Puppy’s Immigrance and Steely Dan albums like Aja.  Oh sure, Immigrance possesses additional components: the most dreadful moments reference the bloated pop of Toto while the best bits recall Return to Forever’s prog-rock fusion.  But it’s just a matter of time until a prankster releases a mashup of Immigrance and Aja.  I’m going to be all about it.  Here’s “Bad Kids to the Back”.


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I write weekly concert previews for The Kansas City Star and Ink magazine.

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I took a field trip to 424 Lounge in Leavenworth, Kansas.

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The R&B OG Andre Williams has died.  Here’s one of the Williams concert reviews I wrote for The Kansas City Star.

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The rock guitar pioneer Dick Dale has died.

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I’ve elected not to share the sordid details of the lucid dream I experienced after drifting off to the Sokratis Sinopoulos Quartet’s evocative Metamodal.  RIYL: Regina Carter, Venus de Milo, John Blake.

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I didn’t see the maturation of 2 Chainz coming.  Not only does Rap or Go to the League go down easy, the star-studded project offers nourishing food for thought.  Here’s “Money in the Way”.

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The video of Tortoise’s set at the Midwinter festival is excellent.

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It’s not funny anymore.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

He Believes He Can Fly

It may take me the rest of the year to process everything I heard and saw at R. Kelly’s bizarre outing at the Sprint Center on Saturday.  I hadn’t attended a Kelly concert in nine years, a period in which the Pied Piper of R&B made several essential additions to his vast discography.

The first 30 minutes of his maddeningly inconsistent appearance were so disheartening that I cursed myself for wasting $67 on the cheapest available ticket. My interest grew as the concert became increasingly odd. 

An abbreviated list of Kelly’s foibles: He spent a few minutes watching television from an easy chair (pictured).  A woman in the front row ostensibly massaged his crotch for about a minute (thankfully, my view was obstructed).  After his microphone was wrested away during a foray into the audience, Kelly was propositioned by a self-described “thick midget.”  Kelly had an extended discussion with a drone/blimp.  A video demonstrating his prowess as a trick shot hoop star was screened.  A man with an anemic t-shirt cannon shot objects into the audience.

Kelly’s rhapsodic voice belied these oddities throughout the disjointed show.  He sounded phenomenal even though it was unclear whether he was singing over prerecorded tracks or with a live band.  He paid tribute to Prince by playing a recording of “Purple Rain” as he hung his head.   Prince’s tragic death moves Kelly, a man already known as The King of R&B,  to the top rung of a category I’ll call “Most Vital and Brilliant Veteran R&B Artist.” 

It’s a shame that Kelly doesn’t have someone on his team with the authority to help him properly showcase his immense talent.  Here’s Tim Finn’s review of Saturday’s concert.



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I previewed the Middle of the Map Fest’s lineup of Zhu, Vince Staples, Gallant, Ebony Tusks and Blk Flanl.

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I talk about music with Steve Kraske on KCUR every Wednesday at 11:55 a.m.

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My $40 ticket to the Who was- please forgive me- a bargain, the best I ever had.  It took less than ten minutes for the band to eradicate my ill-placed skepticism.  Here’s Tim Finn’s review.

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Terrace Martin’s Velvet Portraits seems to go on forever.  Even so, the best tracks are first-rate.  RIYL: K-Dot, noodling, Curtis Mayfield.

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I recently praised Snarky Puppy at There Stands the Glass.  A few tracks on the live session Family Dinner, Vol. 2 tricked me into believing that the collective was more than the 21st century version of the Stan Kenton Orchestra.  I was wrong.  The new album Culcha Vulcha is RIYL: high school band camp, Doc Severinsen, transcribing solos.

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My friend S. raved to me about Parker Millsap several months ago.  I joined S. on the young Oklahoman’s bandwagon when I heard  the new album The Very Last Day last weekend.  RIYL: Steve Forbert, next-big-(folk)-things, Greg Brown.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

Concert Review: UFO at the VooDoo

While countless people marked news of the death of George Martin by playing albums by the Beatles last Wednesday, I joined about 400 aging rockers at a concert by the British hard-rock band UFO at the VooDoo at Harrah’s Casino.  Martin produced UFO’s 1980 album No Place to Run.

Much of the nearly two-hour outing possessed a punchy, melodic attack that wasn’t too far removed from the Beatles songs like “Hey Bulldog,” “The Night Before” and “Taxman.”

Aside the showy guitar solos of Vinnie Moore (every one of his statements would have benefited from extensive pruning), UFO resembled a commendably humble pub rock band.  Renditions of “Only You Can Rock Me,” “Rock Bottom” and “Shoot Shoot” were transformed into beery singalongs.

The unpretentious tone was accentuated by the goofy antics of vocalist Phil Mogg.  He joked that his beer was “best glass of urine I’ve ever had,” mocked his wardrobe and feigned indifference about the band’s discography.

Andy Parker, the drummer who co-founded UFO with Mogg in 1969, ambled to Mogg’s microphone at the conclusion of the concert to acknowledge the passing of a legend with four words: “God bless George Martin.”



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I discussed Maria the Mexican on Local Listen last week.

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I wrote an extended preview of Basia Bulat’s appearance at the Riot Room.

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I write weekly music previews for The Kansas City Star and Ink magazine.

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I reviewed Alicia Olatuja’s concert at the Folly Theater at Plastic Sax.

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Louis Meyers has died.  The co-founder of SXSX looked fit as a fiddle when I spoke to him at the Folk Alliance conference last month.

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Nana Vasconcelos has died.

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Ernestine Anderson has died.

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Keith Emerson has died.  Emerson, Lake & Palmer’s 1977 appearance at Municipal Auditorium was one of the first rock concerts I attended.

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Nolatet, a group that features Mike Dillon, Brian Haas, James Singleton and Johnny Vidacovich, has released Dogs.  RIYL: Charles Mingus, no holds barred, Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey.

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Call it revenge of the (band) nerds.  About half of the selections on Snarky Puppy’s Family Dinner, Vol. 2 are excellent.  I'll no longer mock the enthusiasm of the collective’s rabid fans.

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Jim Rotondi’s mainstream album Dark Blue tickles my fancy.  RIYL: Clifford Brown, contemporary bop that isn't boring, Claudio Roditi.

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La Santa Cecilia’s Buenaventura is RIYL: Lila Downs, the sun, Making Movies.  Here’s ”Nunca Mas”.

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Vilde Frang’s Britten/Korngold is wonderful.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

Album Review: Nas- Illmatic XX

A common theme in alien abduction movies is the victim's inability to account for an inexplicable loss of time.  It happened to me this week.  Instead of getting probed by lusty Martians, I simply hit play on the new reissue of Nas' Illmatic.  The wormhole effect elicited by twenty-year-old tracks like "One Time 4 Your Mind" made me oblivious to the outside world.  Hey Nas- what do you want from me?  Leave me alone!


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I saw John Cale for the first time last night.  Here's my review.

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The Museum of Dead People in my basement contains several albums and CDs by Jesse Winchester.  But I never saw the man perform and I never really connected with his music.  Only covers of Winchester's material- Ted Hawkins' rendition of "Biloxi" is a prime example- resonated with me.  Winchester died last week.

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The film portion of this weekend's Middle of the Map Fest features several music movies.

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Stik Figa released The Pookey Tape this week.

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Here's a most welcome blast from the past: live footage of BCR performing at Harlings in 1995.  The expression of the young woman dancing in front of the single camera reflects my affection for Black Crack Revue.

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When worlds collide.

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Brook Tuley of Bloodbirds released First Midnight.

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An instrumental version of Romeo Santos' Formula, Vol. 2 could conceivably make by year-end top albums list.  The blend of pop and bachata is intoxicating.  But man, I just can't take Santos's smarmy ad-libs.  The feature by Rhymes-with-Snake on the seventh track adds insult to injury.

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Vampire's self-titled album is great.  RIYL: death metal, Slayer, vampires.

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Snarky Puppy, hailed by many observers as a band capable of resurrecting interest in jazz, strikes me as an unholy mashup of Steely Dan and the Brecker Brothers.  Here's a sample (note the impressive view count).

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Chuck E. Weiss makes only three selections for "What's In My Bag?".  And it's possibly the best episode yet.

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I like what I've heard of Phronesis' new live album Life To Everything.  RIYL: Medeski Martin & Wood, the sound of people cheering for a piano trio, the Bad Plus.

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John McLaughlin's new The Boston Record is seventies-tastic.  RIYL: Mahavishnu Orchestra, solos, Jaco Pastorius.

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Woods' With Light and with Love is a righteous jam.  RIYL: If I Could Only Remember My Name, patchouli, All Things Must Pass.

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Emmure's "Like LaMotta" is this week's palate cleanser. 

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Kansas City Click: My official picks are published here.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)