Album Review: Tyshawn Sorey- Pillars

Leaf blowers and Pillars are incompatible.  My plan for the daylight hours last weekend was to absorb Tyshawn Sorey’s four-hour epic while doing yard work.  The rudimentary process of gathering and bagging the deep bed of leaves that covers my yard would have allowed me to focus on the intricacies of Sorey’s new triptych.

No dice.

Equipped with blaring leaf blowers, my diligent neighbors glared at me as I made my first attempt of the season to clear my yard with a rake.  The infernal racket of their machines drowned out the hushed segments of Pillars.  I retreated indoors.  Hearing Sorey’s crucial work is far more important to me than keeping up appearances.  Although Sorey is best known in jazz circles, Pillars is in the tradition of classical-based compositions by the likes of Anthony Davis and John Cage. 

The irony of my travails: a few of the most abrasive passages of Pillars resemble the grating drone of leaf blowers.


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Recently at Plastic Sax: I reviewed OJT’s New Originals for the Green Lady and experienced an astonishing epiphany at the Kansas City debut of Kamasi Washington.

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I write weekly concert previews for The Kansas City Star.

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Unlike many jazz devotees, I don't revere Roy Hargrove.  I was nonplussed the first time I saw him at a St. Louis club in the early 1990s.  And he was a mess the last time I caught him at the 2014 edition of the 18th & Vine Jazz & Blues Festival.  When he was on, however, Hargrove was among the best artists I’ve witnessed.  I reviewed Hargrove’s band at the Folly Theater for The Kansas City Star, a show that I ranked second on a list of my favorite concerts of 2007.  Hargrove died November 2.

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The Residents’ Hardy Fox has died.

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Elle King often sings about the people who do her wrong.  She should direct her righteous fury at the knob-twiddlers responsible for the wrongheaded production of Shake the Spirit.  Much as the recordings of Fitz and the Tantrums sterilize the band’s retro-soul attack, Shake the Spirit is rendered lifeless by a sound field that makes her Wanda Jackson-esque attack sound like Pat Boone.  Here’s “Shame”.

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Even though I have little patience for astrology, Nao’s pseudo-science themed Saturn captivates me.  RIYL: Janet Jackson at her weirdest, horoscopes, Frank Ocean at his most conventional.  Here’s “Make It Out Alive”.

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After Caroline, 43 minutes of delicious skronk by Jason Stein’s Locksmith Isadore, is RIYL Eric Dolphy, bass clarinet, Evan Parker.

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Vince Staples’ FM! mixtape is disappointing.  Here’s “Fun!”.

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A commendable album is hiding underneath multiple layers of sticky varnish on Carrie Underwood’s Cry Pretty.  Here’s “Love Wins”.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

Album Review: Justin Brown's Nyeusi

Justin Brown was shrouded in darkness the last time I caught up with the peripatetic drummer.  As a member of Thundercat’s band at the Granada in Lawrence, Kansas, Brown was heard but not seen.  (I reviewed the 2017 concert at Plastic Sax.)  Brown’s new album Nyeusi is imbued with a similarly enigmatic atmosphere.  The straight-up jazz fusion project has a few pleasing contemporary updates.  A cover of Tony Williams’ intergalactic “Circa 45” is telling.  Not even a dopey promotional video can prevent me from loving Nyeusi.


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I was awed by Kesha’s headlining appearance at the Sprint Center.  I reviewed her concert with Macklemore for The Kansas City Star.

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I examined Built To Spill in advance of the band’s appearance at the Middle of the Map festival.

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I write weekly music previews for The Kansas City Star.

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The storied rock drummer Vinnie Paul has died.

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XXXTentacion was killed.  I’ll always love “Roll in Peace”.

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Eugene Pitt of The Jive Five has reportedly died.  (Tip via BGO.)

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My pal McLain Johnson is the subject of a four-minute video profile.

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Kamasi Washington perfected his over-the-top approach to celestial jazz on Heaven and Earth.  Superior in every way to his 2016 breakout album The Epic, the bigger-is-better attack on Heaven and Earth is ecstatic rather than excessive.  Because it’s so long, I tried to take a nap while I absorbed the gospel-laced release last weekend.  I didn’t sleep, but I’m pretty sure I communed with God.

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Arp’s freaky Zebra is beyond description.  Jazz, classic rock, New Age, electronica and classical elements weave in and out of the transportive mix.  RIYL: Bonobo, headphones, Weather Report.  Here’s “Nzubu”.

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A piano trio led by Harold López-Nussa finds new life in the format on Un Día Cualquiera.  The Cuban’s album is so good that I’m almost tempted to head out of town to a date on his tour of the United States.  Almost.

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What a disappointment!  Let the Trap Say Amen, a collaboration between star producer Zeytoven and Christian rapper Lecrae, had the potential to elevate the tone of the hip-hop zeitgeist.  Neither man brought his a-game.

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The Record Company is as generic as its name.  The band sounds as if it’s auditioning for an advertising agency that specializes in beer commercials on All of This Life.  Even so, I find the journeyman rock oddly comforting.  RIYL: The Wallflowers, Bob Seger fan fiction, Dan Auerbach.  Here’s the Black Crowes knockoff “The Movie Song”.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

Review: The Lyric Opera of Kansas City's "Eugene Onegin" at Muriel Kauffman Theatre

I glibly dismissed opera as a teenager.  When people asked me what types of music I liked, I’d respond by saying “everything but opera.”  The ignorant retort was based on my perception of opera as a bastion of privilege.  I didn’t actually attend an opera until about 15 years ago.

I rolled the dice when I bought four tickets to a production of Arrigo Boito’s “Mefistofele” at Teatro dell'Opera di Roma for the equivalent of $75 U.S. dollars.  I expected my young children to revolt after 30 minutes.  Instead, they were spellbound by the operatic portrayal of Satan.  I was similarly transfixed.  (There’s definitely something to the “when in Rome” trope.)

I’ve since begun listening to arias for pleasure, a development partly inspired by my interest in the dramatic rise to stardom of Joyce DiDonato, a fellow Kansan.  I spent $39 (plus the Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts’ regressive $6.50 add-on fee) for an upper balcony seat to the Lyric Opera of Kansas City’s production of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s “Eugene Onegin” on Saturday.

Spending big money to take in a glacially-paced three-hour Russian opera isn’t everyone’s idea of a solid Saturday night, a truth reflected by the spotty attendance.  A third of the seats in Muriel Kauffman Theatre were empty, a bad look for an opening night.

I would have adored almost every minute of the opera even if I didn’t have an entire row to myself.  The stellar performance of the Kansas City Symphony under the direction of Ari Pelto kept me riveted even when the flimsy plot dragged.  It didn’t hurt that I was smitten by Raquel González.  She was radiant in the role of Tatyana.  I also admired Steven Cole’s cameo as Monsieur Triquet and Jane Bunnell’s portrayal of Filipyevna.

The subtle lighting, sublime special effects and handsome sets transported me to Russia, a bewitchment that was broken by the heedless chatter just outside the theater doors that disrupted quiet segments of all three acts.  Nyet, nyet, nyet!


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I reviewed the Sextet’s new album Blob Castle at Plastic Sax.

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I’m a sucker for the Floozies’ unrepentantly dim-witted party jams.  Funk Jesus is RIYL sunshine, EOTO, beer bongs.

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Mastodon’s output just sounds better than most hard rock/heavy metal recordings.  The new four-song EP Cold Dark Place is RIYL Blizzard of Ozz, pomp, Diary of a Madman.  Here’s the title track.

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Not every reissue of vintage Afropop is worthwhile.  Vincent Ahehehinnou’s Best Woman seems like a desultory rehearsal.

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Kamasi Washington’s 31-minute Harmony of Difference is a digestible cosmic jazz document.  ”Truth” is the longest track.

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“There’s a Flaw in My Flue”!  I finally got around to listening to Bob Dylan’s Triplicate.  He’s clearly trolling, and I love it anyway.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

Rock Bottom

I heard a woman loudly complain that “these people are the dregs of society” at Rockfest on Saturday.  I stopped in my tracks as I waited for someone to deck her.  Had staying upright in the muck not been my top priority, I might have confronted her myself.

I’ve had it with incessant attacks on the annual music festival.  An alarming percentage of my acquaintances feel entirely comfortable mocking the music and patrons of Rockfest.

At best, their criticism is harmless bullying.  Most of the time, however, it’s unadulterated cultural elitism.

There’s a lot about Rockfest that I don’t like either.  It’s no secret that I loathe drug culture.  And I’m not amused by the festival’s unofficial mantra of “show me your titties." 

But I like hearing tens of thousands of proud people chant “USA” during the event’s displays of patriotism.  As for the music, I listen to several of the bands featured at this year’s festival for pleasure. 

Even though four people in the embedded photo are clearly displeased with me, I feel no less at home at Rockfest than at any other public gathering.

Here’s my Rockfest review.


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I consider the concept of jazz standards in an album review at Plastic Sax.

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Madisen Ward and the Mama Bear were featured in a Tiny Desk Concert.

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I’m embarrassed to admit that the visuals of a Kamasi Washington performance helped me finally appreciate The Epic.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

I'm One

The PA system at the United Center in Chicago blared “Baba O’Riley” at a crucial juncture of the fourth quarter of the Bulls-Cavaliers game yesterday.

The moment was reason #3,129 I can no longer listen to the Who for pleasure.  That’s why I was relieved when The Who's appearance at the Sprint Center was canceled last week a day before the concert.

I knew I wouldn’t be working the show, but I felt obligated to show up and buy a ticket.  As a self-centered 17-year-old twit, I completed internalized Quadrophenia.

A lot’s happened since then.


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I reviewed Primus’ return to the Uptown Theater.

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I reviewed Mary Chapin Carpenter’s collaboration with the Kansas City Symphony.

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I contributed a Local Listen segment about Julian Vaughn to KCUR.

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Johnny Gimble has died.  I saw the fiddler accompany country stars a few times and I took in a few sets he led in Winfield, Kansas.

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Guy Carawan has died.

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Jerome Cooper, the drummer of the Revolutionary Ensemble, has died.

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Errol Brown of Hot Chocolate has died.

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Madisen Ward and the Mama Bear were featured on CBS Sunday Morning.

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Only when forced at proverbial gunpoint did I reluctantly listen to the Alabama Shakes’ Sound & Color.  Holy smokes!  RIYL: Some Girls, career artists, My Morning Jacket.  Here’s the title track. 

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Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.  Much of Kamasi Washington’s The Epic struck me as merely “good” during my first pass at the three-hour album.  From the choirs to the running time, it’s just too much.  RIYL: Pharoah Sanders, hype, Joshua Redman.

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Never Were the Way She Was is the first Colin Stetson album that completely resonates with me.  RIYL: chamber music, Hauschka, not a trace of jazz.

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Reason #3,130 I can’t listen to the Who for pleasure- Quadrophenia has become an actual opera.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)