Different Strokes and Indifferent Folks

I spent three nights working at the Folk Alliance conference last week.  (My summaries are here, here and here.)  While I admired a lot of what I heard- showcases by Bill Miller, Gaelynn Lea, Barbara Dane, Elle Márjá Eira and Wink Burcham were magnificent- I felt a bit detached.  

A good portion of the attendees had dedicated their lives to folk music.  Not me.  I might have been forcibly ejected from the conference had the true believers around me known that I had listened to the latest release by the rapper Future on the way to the event each night.

During one showcase, I was seated next to a man with no awareness of personal space.  I suspected that his life was transformed by Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and Pete Seeger in the early ‘60s.  He went into ecstatic paroxysms when a performer broke into the protest song “(Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody) Turn Me Around.” 

I was both annoyed and envious.  That was his moment.  What’s mine?  If I love everything, am I deeply attached to nothing?   I often feel like a profligate philanderer who sleeps with a different partner every night and inevitably winds up alone and friendless.


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I reviewed Run the Jewels’s return to the Midland theater.

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I elected to hit the Green Lady Lounge instead of attending the Kansas City Folk Festival on Sunday afternoon.  My notes on Dominique Sanders’ momentous weekend are posted at Plastic Sax.

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Benjamin Netanyahu bumped me off the airwaves last week.  I was slated to yak about the Ozark Mountain Daredevils.

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

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Clyde Stubblefield has died.

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Al Jarreau has died.

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Junie Morrison has died.

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I confess to reading the recent spate of rock-is-dead essays with almost as much relish as the inescapable jazz-is-dead dissertations.  And man, when I hear certain songs on “rock” radio stations, I’m overwhelmed with an urge to break stuff.  Uniform’s Wake in Fright makes me feel better.  Excoriating noise in the vein of Big Black and Jesus Lizard, Uniform’s Wake in Fright is a vicious ghost of rock past.  Here’s ”Tabloid”.

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The New Year's Concert 2017 with Gustavo Dudamel is less than three hours long, but it took me more than a month to work my way through the opus.  Maybe Vienna isn’t for me.

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David Bowie probably made scouting expeditions at New York jazz clubs before selecting Donny McClaslin’s band to create Blackstar.  A group led by David Binney might have been his second choice.  Binney’s fine new album The Time Verses is similarly exploratory. 

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I can’t defend my affection for John Garcia’s The Coyote Who Spoke In Tongues.  It’s a bombastic metal-goes-acoustic jam.  And I love it.  RIYL: Alice In Chains, smoke, Kyuss.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

Album Review: Roots Magic- Hoodoo Blues

I’ve spent the majority of my life under the impression that I’m the only person on the planet who considers Henry Threadgill’s ”I Can’t Wait Till I Get Home” to be one of the greatest artistic achievements of the 20th century.  I resigned myself to the lonely life of an isolated avant-garde jazz weirdo enthusiast years ago.  A trip to Italy might be in order.  Roots Magic is an Italian quartet that specializes in loving recreations of classic left-of-center American jazz compositions, including Threadgill’s “I Can’t Wait ‘Til I Get Home.”  How does that even happen?  Hoodoo Blues restores my zeal for life on Earth.


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I wrote an extended preview for Run the Jewels’ concert.  Alas, the show disappointed me.  Here’s my review.

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

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A feature about Ron Carlson is among the recent Local Listen segments I’ve contributed to KCUR.

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Last week’s John Gross concert was not exactly what I had in mind.

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Duncan Burnett & the Ministry created a video for ”Junkies”.

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Strange Music released a video for Ces Cru’s ”Letterman”.

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The Xtraordinair$ made a video for ”Best Me”.

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Brian Berg has died.  I was a big fan of his roots-rock band 44 Long in the late 1990s.

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Mark Murphy has died.  I vaguely recall seeing the vocalist perform at a short-lived venue on Southwest Boulevard in the 1990s.

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Cory Wells of Three Dog Knight has died.

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The lineup of the 2016 edition of the Big EarsFestival is extremely impressive.

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Vivian Green’s Vivid is disappointingly dull.  RIYL: Marsha Ambrosius, adult R&B, Anthony Hamilton.  Here’s ”Gets Right Back to My Baby”.

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I saw Noah Preminger perform at the 55 Bar in New York seven months ago.  (My review.)  Not surprisingly, the saxophonist’s new album Pivot: Live at the 55 Bar sounds a lot like what I heard.  RIYL: late Coltrane, fury, Archie Shepp.

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I’m charmed by the Suffers’ Make Some Room.  RIYL: Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings, Houston, the Diplomats of Solid Sound.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

It's the Talk of the Town

My traveling companions nixed my plan to catch Bob Dylan's concert in Denver on Saturday night.  One associate had seen him three times.  That was plenty for her.  Another had attended a Dylan performance as a child but was aware of his dubious reputation as an entertainer.  A glutton for punishment, I can't get enough of Bobby. 

As Dylan played elsewhere, I found myself at a David Sedaris reading at Macky Auditorium on the campus of the University of Colorado.  I was astounded that over 2,000 people paid $40 and $50 to hear an author read.  I laughed a lot during the show, but never as heartily as when fans triumphantly raised their arms in the air when the presentation began. 

The reading was a revelation for this music-centric scribe.  I finally located the missing audience for the likes of the Kronos Quartet, Ambrose Akinmusire and Mary Gauthier.


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I contributed a Local Listen segment about White Girls to KCUR's Up to Date.

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Mr. Acker Bilk has died.

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Wayne Static of Static X has died.

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Here's T-Pain's viral Tiny Desk Concert.

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Run the Jewels 2 is about as imaginative as its title.  I expect more from two of the smartest men in hip-hop.  RIYL: 2 Live Crew, songs about genitals, UGK.

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I can deal with the passing sirens on "Improvisation No. 3," but I wish Branford Marsalis' otherwise sublime solo recording In My Solitude: Live at Grace Cathedral didn't include vibe-killing bursts of applause.  RIYL: echo, John Coltrane, reverb.

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The Stanley Clarke Band's new album leans towards the cheesiest versions of Return to Forever and Weather Report.

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Here's a video trailer for a new set of Trip Shakespeare reissues.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)