When she burst onto the international jazz scene a decade ago, I hailed Esperanza Spalding as The One, a bold, charismatic and visionary artist capable of reversing the flagging fortunes of the form. Bad call. Not only is much of Spalding’s work removed from jazz these days, her new album 12 Little Spells is one of the most noxious releases by a critically acclaimed artist in years. 12 Little Spells is so aggressively awful that tracks like “Readying to Rise” resemble parodies of frequently self-indulgent acts like Weather Report, Frank Zappa and King Crimson. The only song on 12 Little Spells worth revisiting is “Touch in Mine”.
In a much more pleasant reassessment, I’ve come around to Cécile McLorin Salvant. I long thought the hype surrounding the vocalist was unwarranted. The critical darling struck me as fey, mannered and slight. Just as my commendation of Spalding proved to be wishful thinking, I reckoned Salvant’s backers desperately needed her to be something she wasn’t. The Window changed my mind. Accompanied only by the spectacular keyboardist Sullivan Fortner on all but one song on the lovely album, Salvant shows that she likely merits a place in the pantheon of the most notable jazz and cabaret talents.
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Tony Joe White has died. “Polk Salad Annie” and “Rainy Night in Georgia” were essential components of the soundtrack of my childhood.
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Wah Wah Watson, a guitarist for the likes of Marvin Gaye and Maxwell, has died.
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Saxophonist Sonny Fortune has died.
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The Indian musician Annapurna Devi has died.
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I think I’m going to meet my maker every time I travel between Kansas City and St. Louis. The Bottle Rockets document the white-knuckle experience on “Highway 70 Blues,” the second track on their new album Bit Logic. The plaint includes this truism: “if you’re in a hurry to cross Missouri, things might not go as planned.”
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Although he wasn’t on the bill, the Louisville bard Will Oldham was the most famous person I encountered at the Cropped Out festival earlier this month. Oldham’s new solo acoustic set Songs of Love and Horror is RIYL Tom Rush, exposed nerves, Eric Anderson.
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James Francies sounds like Robert Glasper’s little brother on his Blue Note debut Flight.
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Corporate rock sometimes hits the spot. I freely admit that I enjoy Myles Kennedy’s Year of the Tiger. RIYL: Chris Cornell, proficiency, Scott Weiland. Here’s the title track.
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Wolfgang Muthspiel’s Where the River Goes is fine, but I was expecting so much more from the all-star collaboration. The Austrian guitarist is accompanied by trumpeter Ambrose Akinmusire, pianist Brad Mehldau, bassist Larry Grenadier and drummer Eric Harland on a project that doesn't fulfill its promise.
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The Dirty Nil’s Master Volume is a masterful evocation of rock bands ranging from Thin Lizzy to Wavves. Here’s “That's What Heaven Feels Like”.
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Román Filiú’s stellar Quarteria is RIYL Miguel Zenón, Cuban jazz, Henry Threadgill.
(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)
