Posted in Uncategorized on April 10, 2013 by pulmyears
“I am the rhythm thief / Say goodbye to the beat / I am the rhythm thief /Auf wiedersehen to the beat.” Russell Mael is 64 years old, but don’t tell his voice and dance moves this bit of unnecessary buzzkill news. An elf possessed, Russell is singing and prancing around the stage at The Chapel, here in San Francisco, even more than he did when he and his motionless brother Ron Mael first formed Sparks at film school in Los Angeles in 1971.
I’m smiling, and a bit relieved. On my way to the show, I’d been feeling down. My wife didn’t want to go to the show, and typically I’m fine flying solo, but as I drove over the Bay Bridge to the city, I started to feel weird. I’d picked up the ticket online at the last minute because I hadn’t been sure the songs work in this stripped down duo setting. It was a warm night on Valencia street, but I still felt uneasy as I parked and went to the will call booth. Once inside, there seemed to be an interminably long wait and the pre-show tape of John Phillip Sousa organ marches kept playing and playing. How much Sousa is too much Sousa? I found out last night. {*note: I have no idea if it really was Sousa, but you get my meaning.]
I was already tired of standing on my feet, the band were a half an hour late. Was this going to be worth my time? “Oh no, where did the groove go, where did the groove go, where did the groove go?”
So there we were, show finally underway, and Russell is accompanied only by Ron on piano/synth for this duo concert, rather more of a retrospective recital, which also happens to be opening night of the American leg of Sparks’ Two Hands, One Mouth tour that will hit Coachella on Friday and wind down in New York (for now) on April 25th.
Ron Mael, who has only matured as a player and composer, will be 68 in August but there are advantages to having always looked like a movie star from a George Hurrell silent screen portrait. He has always had the air of a serious composer, balanced by Russell’s earlier persona as a poodle-haired, if more erudite, Marc Bolan. Today, Russell’s short (dyed?) mop and manically theatrical gestures suggest Dana Carvey in a Beatles wig doing John Cameron Mitchell’s Hedwig moves. Calm down, I love all those things. And Russell is magnificent.
Their full repertoire is remarkably well-represented on this tour, and fans of their earlier, Island Records albums will be happy to hear cracking duo versions of “Hospitality On Parade”, “Propaganda”, “At Home, At Work, At Play” and, of course, “This Town Ain’t Big Enough For Both Of Us”, which went over incredibly well with the Chapel audience, who seemed to represent fans from every Sparks era. “This is the number one song in heaven Why are you hearing it now, you ask Maybe you’re closer to here than you imagine…”
The Giorgio Moroder years were perhaps translated most easily to a solo synthesizer accompaniment, however, and versions of “The No. 1 Song In Heaven” “Singing In The Shower” and “Beat The Clock” seemed to answer the earlier inquiries about where the groove had gone. Ron even surprised everyone by dancing out front, although his vintage steps made him seem more like a bowling trophy come to life.
“A metaphor is a glorious thing A diamond ring, The first day of summer A metaphor is a fresh air A turn-on, An aphrodisiac… Chicks dig metaphors. Use them wisely, Use them well, And you’ll never know the hell of loneliness…”
At their cleverest lyrically, the duo versions of songs like the above referenced “Metaphor”, along with “Sherlock Holmes”,“Angst In My Pants” made me realize just how much they are the legitimate fathers of They Might Be Giants, albeit a decidedly more Eurocentric one. In fact, it is only when Ron or Russell speak (and RON ACTUALLY SPOKE, guys, breaking my imagined sort of Penn & Teller fourth wall) that you realize that, deep down, these guys are pure L.A. film school, regardless of how many UK air miles they must have.
Nowhere is this mild thread of (playful) disdain for their own Hollywood backyard more evident than when they performed excerpts from their opera, The Seduction Of Ingmar Bergman. The songs seem to play on the clash and preconceived notions of high art vs. low art, themes which could also describe a cleverer-than-most L.A. band working with a full thesaurus and more than three chords. Donning a mischievous beret, Ron represented the great Swedish film director as he played the opening chords of “I Am Ingmar Bergman”, and began speaking. “I am Ingmar Bergman. You may or may not know my films. You may or may not know anything about me as a person…”
And then the pull to reveal: “Have you ever felt compelled to do something against your will? I have. I have. You see, I have a total disdain for escapist art, and yet why, on that cold May afternoon in Stockholm in 1956, did I feel the need to enter that movie theater to see escapist art of the worst sort, a typical American action film…well, the title is not what is important. What is important is that I felt compelled to watch that film, against my will, for 90 long minutes. Why? Was it the urge to partake of something mindless?”
After they played a few songs from the work, Russell told the audience at the Chapel that the two intend to take the script for The Seduction of Ingmar Bergmanto Cannes in search of backers for a feature film. I sure hope they get it. “So when do I get to sing ‘My Way’ When do I get to feel like Sinatra felt?”
Soon, the end was near and after an extended encore, the house lights came on and more Sousa marches guided us back out into Valencia street. But the street now seemed a little more alive. Ron and Russell had changed my San Francisco night.
This town was big enough, as it turns out, for both of them.
Posted in Uncategorized on October 9, 2012 by pulmyears
Last Sunday, Liza and I went on a little road trip up to Sonoma County. I took photos. We were heading up to the Oliver Ranch in Geyserville where philanthropist Steve Oliver displays his privately curated sculpture collection and does various charitable work. Our destination was a benefit concert for the Petaluma Educational Foundation school music programs, the once only performance of a site-specific, commissioned work entitled Tower Thunder.
The 100-acre Oliver Ranch is an “invitation only” exclusive art destination, home to 18 remarkable site-specific commissioned art installations, the most recent of which is Ann Hamilton’s Tower.
According to the Oliver Ranch website, the tower “was the realization of Hamilton’s desire to go beyond the ephemeral nature of much of her oeuvre and create a work of performance of her own design, a solid but living conduit for an ever-changing range of sensory projects and performances. The tower is Hamilton’s first permanent installation anywhere in the world. It took 3-1/2 years to complete, after 14 years of discussion and design.
The Tower is a unique, acoustic environment and a new type of entertainment space defined by two staircases built in a double helix form. One entrance and staircase is for the audience and the other is for the performers. Each staircase is composed of 128 steps that provides seating for the audience. Several openings in the wall allow the body to inhabit the thickness of the wall while in repose. As such, the audience staircase could seat as many as 150 individuals, however 100-125 is the most comfortable. Each performance in the tower are made available by the Oliver Ranch Foundation to benefit non-profit organizations.
The piece du jour, Tower Thunder, was composed by the Central Ohio Symphony’s principal tubist, Anthony Zilincik (seen with hands on railing in my pic below) who is an artist-in-residence at Oliver Ranch.
Tower Thunder a droning, often atonal atmospheric work was written for tubas, percussion, and electronic keyboard, which seems to combine Mr. Zilincik’s (admitted) fondness for the work of Pauline Oliveros, and a probably not intended touch of the Stravinsky-esque side of Jerry Goldsmith’s score from Planet Of The Apes. (Maybe it’s the drums). The work was performed by the Tower Ensemble featuring improvisation by some really gifted Petaluma music students. The musician lined one ring of the two-ringed spiral staircase, and the audience was on the other ring, all the way up and down the tower.
Tower Thunder was written especially for the space and was truly an experience for the senses. Tuba drones that sounded like approaching bombers, and those thundering drums.
Percussionist Christopher Froh on the spiral stairs.
I was really happy that Liza had thought of coming up and it was nice for us to share this musical experience.
And we availed ourselves of the grounds at Oliver Ranch, seeing a few sculpures such as Robert Stackhouse’s “Russian River Bones” (1989).
After a wonderfully inspiring day mingling art and nature, we barreled home across the Richmond Bridge at sunset, Liza driving as I reflected on the day’s memory in our rearview mirror.
Posted in Uncategorized on September 24, 2012 by pulmyears
Sam Sniderman, Adrian Wyld / Canadian Press photo
Sam Sniderman, a/k/a Sam The Record Man has died at age 92 in his hometown, and my hometown, Toronto.
If you’re from Toronto, of a certain age, you’ll recall how important his flagship store, at Yonge and GouldStreet (north of Dundas), was to so many of us, when I was growing up back in Toronto. Those who know me in other towns I’ve lived have surely heard me speak (ad nauseam) about Sam’s and the impact it had on me. So many of my first vinyl purchases, back when there only was vinyl and no other format, were made at Sam The Record Man.
Photo by Adam Shax, used without permission, but thanks Adam!
Sam was a tireless promoter of “Canadian Content” back when we Canadians often needed reminding about the inherent value of our local talent, and Sam decorated his store (and later his chain outlets) with banners and markers to indicate that a record was homegrown, everything from Joni Mitchell and Neil Young, to Stompin’ Tom Connors and Anne Murray
And of course Rush, whose “Spirit Of Radio” was used as the soundtrack to this photo show tribute to Sam’s that I found on YouTube:
Oh, then there was The Guess Who, one of my favourite Sam’s stories involves an ad Sam’s had placed in the Toronto Star announcing that you’d get a free Guess Who T-shirt, a white cotton number featuring artwork which depicted a Canadian “beaver” nickel emblazoned with “The Guess Who”, when you purchased “any Guess Who record”.
Dad took me down to get my free shirt. I was spending my own allowance money, so I could only get a 45 single of “Hand Me Down World”. We grabbed it from the singles racks and went to the check out. The cashier said she wouldn’t give me the shirt, because you had buy a whole album, but dad wasn’t having it. He got mad and started making a scene, insisted that “any record” could in fact include a single. This only made the cashier more determined to go full “High Fidelity” on this hothead, and she dug in her heels and refused to budge.
Then, as luck and fate would have it, Sam himself walked over. Having heard the commotion, he was hoping to tamp it down like a Vegas pit boss. When Sam looked at me, nearly crying, and my dad, who was at least making a coherent case that the ad in the Star had been misleading at best, Sam smiled widely reached over the counter and handed me the white cotton T-Shirt. The only size they had was Men’s Medium, which sat on me like an XXL in those days (sigh), but he’d done the right thing. Yes, Virginia, there really was a Santa Claus, and yes, Paul, there really was a Sam The Record Man. Good on his word, and eager to keep the customer happy, even a scrawny kid like me.
Lately, I’ve been doing a bit of storytelling, and workshopping some stories that will end up in a memoir style anthology of stories about how music has been like a thumbtack on the cork-board of my life. I’m hoping to turn it out in the coming year. Anyway, one of these stories actually started here on this blog, then became a live oral thing, and is now a written up thing. That story is called “Ringo, Django and My Dad” and it concerns the time my late father and I drove downtown to Sam The Record Man, ostensibly so that I could buy The Beatles’ Abbey Road as a birthday present. But when we got down to the store, dad also took me upstairs to the Jazz section, where I had never been before. Here’s an excerpt from that story:
We parked and walked over to Sam The Record Man. I hope that in your lifetime you got to see one of these big, high ceilinged halls of record worship, because they are a dying (or dead) breed. Sam’s was the Taj Mahal, a multi-storey funhouse of unbelievably deep selection. We found Abbey Road in the front racks, but instead of proceeding to the cash register, Dad had another idea. He wanted to go upstairs to the Jazz section, whatever that was.
I had never been upstairs, before. I didn’t even know Sam’s had a whole floor just for Jazz records. Come to think of it, I don’t think I really knew what Jazz was at that point.
The stairs creaked as we left the rock and roll floor and approached the great, jazzy beyond. Up there, the sounds became quieter; the tasteful honk of reedy saxophones punctuated the swishy sizzle of brushes on drums. Solemn single men, older men, flipped through the record bins with focused intensity, deep in the familiar search mode of the vinyl connoisseur. There was a man behind the counter, and Dad asked the man for something called Django Reinhardt. The man nodded approvingly then lead us to the appropriate section.
What was this magic name dad had uttered? Jango Rine Heart? Was that even a person? Dad told me that he’d recently been listening to the CBC and that they had played a song by Django’s Quintette Du Hot Club De France, and it had reminded him of the first time he’d heard this music, back when he’d been stationed in continental Europe during WWII.
He was excited now, he didn’t buy albums every day and up until now the only records I’d ever heard them play in the house were by Charles Aznavour or the Broadway cast of Camelot, starring Robert Goulet.
We headed to the cash register, both of us thrilled about our purchases, returned to the car, and sped home on the Parkway.”
I can also remember going to Sam’s with my good friends Michael Wojewoda and Dan Derbridge when I was a teenager and we’d buy a bunch of albums, which were heat-sealed into white plastic Sam’s bags, emblazoned with the phrase “Happy Shopping At Sam the Record Man”. After this, we’d go up to Dan’s house to listen to it all. This was a big part of my development into the kind of music fan, and music writer, I am today.
Original Sam’s artwork by Kurt Swinghammer.
Another great moment at Sam’s happened in the early 90s. By now, the Indie record had become a viable option for Canadian bands, spurred locally by DIY bands like The Pursuit of Happiness and Barenaked Ladies, who had enjoyed retail success with non-label products. Sam’s, always a tireless champion for Canadian talent, had by now started an Indie rack and a chart to track and market these handmade homegrown releases. My old band, The Gravelberrys had been getting a lot of airplay on CFNY, CBC and college radio with our CD, Bowl Of Globes. The week or two (or maybe three) that Bowl Of Globes was in the Top Ten Indies rack, I would go to the store sometimes twice a day and just stare at it. I’d made a real record, and it was on sale in a real record store. The store of my youth, the store of my dreams. I felt like I’d arrived.
So thank you Sam, for being a Record Man, and thanks for the hours and hours of happy shopping.
Posted in Uncategorized on June 21, 2012 by pulmyears
Happy Birthday Ray Davies.
A year ago to the day, I posted a similar blog greeting to Mr. Davies and I added a very basic sampling of Kinks recordings that I like (too brief, because there are really too many great songs). And I’ll repeat what I said then, for it holds today; Ray is considered, by musicians and songwriters like myself, to be a master storyteller (lyric-wise) and an expert melodicist. Unlike many of his contemporaries, save for Pete Townshend of The Who, what set Davies apart from his British Invasion compatriots was that, while all of the bands looked to American (and Black) R&B for their predominant influence, Ray (and to some extent Pete) put not just a London accent on it, he put a London essence into it.
Today, I am posting a brief selection of notable Ray Davies / Kinks cover versions. Call it “Ray-covery”(or not). So Happy Birthday Ray, and thank you for the days, and the songs.
Note: These are no particular order nor do they constitute the ten best ever Kinks covers, they’re just ten versions that I like. Your own list may differ (Comments section please!) because I’m not like everybody else.
1) “Days” Performed by Elvis Costello.
2) “Waterloo Sunset” Performed by David Bowie
3) “David Watts” Performed by The Jam
4) “All Day And Of The Night” Performed by The Stranglers
Yes, I know and dig the Van Halen and OingoBoingo versions of this next one, but how about we take the road less traveled?
5) “You Really Got Me” Performed by 801 (feat. Brian Eno & Phil Manzanera)
Posted in Uncategorized on May 14, 2012 by pulmyears
Donald “Duck” Dunn (November 24, 1941 – May 13, 2012)
In light of the passing of a the great bass player Donald “Duck” Dunn, at age 70, I thought I’d share with you what I was thinking about the Sunday morning after the Saturday night when I heard the news.
First, how fitting that I heard about it on a Saturday night, the night of great parties, great groovy music and great friends. That’s because the story of Duck Dunn incorporates all of those elements. Wherever Booker T and The MG’s (Dunn, drummer Al Jackson Jr., guitarist Steve Cropper and fearless leader, keyboard wizard Booker T. Jones) played, it was a party filled with groovy music. And foremost, their story is one of friendship; literal and symbolic.
Dunn and Cropper, were joined at the hip, and they were the white half of the hippest bi-racial band in Memphis. Their vanilla chocolate swirl taught both ends of a divided south about harmony and brotherhood, especially during the night of rioting after the assassination, in Memphis, of Dr. Martin Luther King. I once saw a documentary, I think it was called Soulsville, where Cropper recalled how he and Dunn felt more comfortable with their black friends on that turbulent night and how they mourned along with them for their slain civil rights hero.
I’m a sucker for a story of brotherhood, especially in the light of racial chaos. And to have their brotherhood be based on a mutual love and understanding of soul music, well that’s sweeter still. Maybe the sweetest thing.
As has been previously noted here on The Pulmyears Music Blog, I’m a huge Beatles fan. So were Booker T and The MG’s. In fact, only a few months after the Abbey Road album came out, in September of 1969, the Memphis crew set about learning, or rather absorbing the essences of, Abbey Road for a tribute album, McLemore Avenue, which was eventually released the following April, 1970.
Just as the Beatles had named their album after the London street outside EMI’s celebrated Abbey Road studios, the MG’s christened their album after the address of Stax Records, a/k/a Soulsville, U.S.A., at 926 East McLemore Avenue in Memphis. And they even posed for an album cover in direct homage to the Fabs zebra crossing.
Duck Dunn’s passing this weekend ended the long partnership he had with Steve Cropper, but it probably will never end their friendship or their legacy. Today, I spent a couple hours exploring that legacy, thinking of all the great sides they cut with Otis Redding, Eddie Floyd, Sam & Dave, and later, their victory lap in The Blues Brothers and recording & touring with Neil Young.
But I found myself coming back to, and kind of meditating on, McLemore Avenue; the one where they put their hands across the Atlantic in a statement of both solidarity and individuality.
It’s pretty special.
The original album featured three extended Abbey Road medleys and a sweet soulful take on George’s “Something”. As I was listening to it, I recalled that in 2011, they re-issued the album with six bonus tracks: “You Can’t Do That”, “Day Tripper”, “Michelle”, “Eleanor Rigby”, “Lady Madonna”, and an alternate take of “You Can’t Do That”.
I realized that I didn’t have a copy of the extended album in the house so I ordered it from Amazon, such was my panic. It’s in the mail, as they say, but for today I was content to groove on the original, recalling one of the finest crews of their era, and one of the best, most rock steady bass guys ever.
Respect the Duck, and know ye the master of the bass.
Posted in Uncategorized on April 19, 2012 by pulmyears
In my last blog entry, I spoke about a lovely day I spent in my old hometown, Toronto, making musical discoveries with old friends and some new ones within my old and not-so broken social scene there. It was nice to make new memories up there because, since 1997, I have been away from that world, mostly here in the San Francisco Bay Area. When I first moved here, there wasn’t much of a “scene” to speak of, and I’ll never forget the first time I enquired about it with Wes (John Wesley Harding) and CVS (Chris Von Sneidern) over at some cafe near the Castro that first year there.
“If you’re looking for a scene [like the one you had back in Toronto], you’re out of luck,” said Wes, um, helpfully. “And If you want to make it in the music business, go south to L.A., that’s what everyone here does.”
Now I’m not sure if Wes would remember that conversation, but it was kind wet blanket epiphany for me. I had really grown to enjoy the sense of community that the Queen Street West scene (in Toronto) had given me. And now I was being told that, while art can flourish here in the Bay Area, it’s pretty much every band for him (or her) self. So I had my friends, and we all kind of quietly kept tabs on each other, while probably never being conscious of what it was we were doing. What we were doing, was finding each other. Not a cult. Not an exclusive and hard-to-get-into clique. But a community.
One of the first bands I really liked here in this “scene” was The Orange Peels (above), lead by Allen Clapp (lower center). Slowly, over several years, Allen has been refining his skills and perfecting his home studio, the Mystery Lawn in Sunnyvale, California, down the peninsula from San Francisco. Out past where the big planes land, and the Neil Young roams. Full disclosure, of course, I am working with Allen on The Paul & John, and I did the cover artwork for John Moremen’s Flotation Device debut.
Allen is the mastermind and center of what I have dubbed the Mystery Lawn Scene, having produced, done graphics for, played on, and released a slew of the acts who hang around with us, most of whom will be appearing at the Bottom of the Hill, on Wednesday April 25, 8pm ($8) in a marathon show that includes Allen Clapp & his Orchestra, Alison Faith Levy, The Corner Laughers, John Moremen’s Flotation Device, William Cleere & His Marvellous Fellas, The Hollyhocks and Agony Aunts. And because we’re family, The Paul & John will do a song too!
Perhaps self-servingly, therefore, but mainly because I love, I decided to interview Allen for this blog, and get him to demystify some of the Mystery Lawn’s, um, mystery. I began by asking Allen to tell me the story of the name “Mystery Lawn”.
ALLEN CLAPP: “‘Mystery Lawn’ is the first thing I released on The Bus Stop Label back in the early ’90s, the title track to which I wrote and recorded in an afternoon while home from work with a high fever. Somehow, the whole song got written and committed to cassette tape via Tascam Porta-One four-track before I really knew what happened. The phrase “Mystery Lawn” was total gibberish that just happened to fit the four-syllable gap in the chorus. The tune became a fairly popular number in our live set, and The Orange Peels re-recorded it for our second CD, So Far in 2001. An entertainment lawyer in New York at the time was convinced the song should be re-done with strings and a big production (which was probably a good idea), and he suggested calling my publishing company “Mystery Lawn Music.” From then on, Mystery Lawn just sort of became the umbrella for all things creative, and an example of how something unexpected and totally spontaneous can kind of change your life.”
Paul Myers: Talk about how Mystery Lawn went from being just for the Orange Peels to having other “label artists”. Is it basically a label for work that you produce? Would you like to expand the label someday?
Allen: “After completing So Far, in the early 2000s, Orange Peels multi-instrumentalist Bob Vickers asked if I would produce his solo album. I wasn’t honestly sure if I was up to the task, but I heard his demos, and was just kind of knocked out. So I told him I’d do it. That album, The Incredible Vickers Brothers, was the first thing I produced that wasn’t under the Orange Peels or Allen Clapp banner. And the thing was, I really, really enjoyed doing it. The next band to approach me was The Corner Laughers. Again, I was reluctant but their lead singer, Karla Kane, is very persistent. Finally, after seeing them live I knew it was going to be a great project, and their album Ultraviolet Garden was the result. As more production opportunities started coming in, it just kind of made sense to try and help artists get the word out. I’ve been on several record labels and have had experiences with everything that goes on in that world; from song licensing, touring, album design, publicists, whatever . . . and I figured I could probably help out. So Mystery Lawn Music was born. I get requests from artists who would like to be on the label, and I’m still not sure how to go about making those choices. For now, it’s a boutique label that’s very specific in its output and its client list, but I could see it growing into something bigger.”
Paul: Talk to me about this idea of a “Mystery Lawn Scene” in the city and discuss the concept of like-minded artists banding together.
Allen: “There are a few reasons it happened like this . . . for one, I’m incredibly picky about the artists I produce. I don’t make a living as a producer, so the last thing I want to be doing in my spare time is working on music I don’t absolutely love. The other reason flows from that one: Because I love the bands I work with, I naturally have an interest in helping them get their music heard by fans. And the third thing is that a lot of these bands end up knowing each other because there’s something cool happening with their music in the first place. They play shows together, they play on each other’s records—they are mutual fans! After a couple years of making albums with this group of bands, it just kind of became clear that we were already part of something special, and the decision to call it Mystery Lawn and make it official was the easy part, because it had already created itself.”
Paul: Is there something “Californian” about the diverse acts on the “label”?
Allen: “Geographically, yeah. . . I mean the bands on Mystery Lawn literally circle the San Francisco Bay in their membership, so there’s sort of a vibe that just naturally springs forth because we’re all living here, making music here and being inspired by some of the same things. I think there are other unifying factors, too . . . everyone on the label has a certain obsession with songcraft in addition to a focus on a kind of sound. I think a lot of modern groups focus too much on their sound, and not enough on their songs; the net effect of which leaves you feeling kind of in love with new bands for a very short period of time, but forgetting them quickly. For me, it’s always the bands that can really write a song that win out in the end. Sounds come and go, and sound is obviously important, but when you’ve got a band that can deliver a unique sound and a timeless song, then you have something special. I think that is the secret underlying recipe for the music on Mystery Lawn.”
Paul: Thank you for inviting me and John to do a song at the big Mystery Lawn night (April 25, Bottom of The Hill), and thank you for helping us finish The Paul & John debut album, Inner Sunset, which will grace the Mystery Lawn label as soon as we can get it delivered. Tell me a bit about the main featured bands that night, including your own.
The Hollyhocks
Allen: “Architectural pop music from Oakland, featuring airy female harmonies, walls of atmospheric guitars and roomy beats. The intricate interplay between the four of these musicians is the key to their sound. They spent 5 years placing notes along the timelines of their songs to achieve something organic and exciting. Their new album, Understories features the best Def Leppard cover ever (although it’s almost unrecognizable as “Photograph”) and features SF-based Magik*Magik Orchestra.”
Alison Faith Levy
Allen: “Just because she’s a famous Kindie-Rock artist (former member of SF fan faves The Sippy Cups) doesn’t mean she can’t pen an album that adults won’t love. This is like mind-expansion music for kids built on solid songwriting and Alison’s larger-than-life voice. Alison and I played just about every note on that record ourselves, and finished the album in record time. Love it.”
The Corner Laughers
Allen: “We just finished our second album together—Poppy Seeds. These guys love to experiment in the studio! The new album is like a sonic sightseeing trip up and down the California coast featuring handbell choirs, string sections, thunderous doubled-drum tracks and copious amounts of harmonies, chimey guitars and chickeny ukuleles. I think it’s tremendously ambitious and original.”
John Moremen’s Flotation Device
Allen: “John—who is also the lead guitarist in The Orange Peels—is too ridiculously talented. Everyone knows this. So when he started suddenly making these instrumental recordings last year at the rate of one each week, it was a very good thing. Flotation Device is like what it must be like inside John’s head—Thelonious Monk, Robert Fripp, Jimmy Page all hanging out on the San Francisco coast, drinking Blue Bottle Coffee as the fog rolls in. I understand that Moremen and a friend who shall remain nameless will be performing a track from their nearly-completed Mystery Lawn album called Inner Sunset, so that should be interesting.”
William Cleere & The Marvellous Fellas
Allen: “Piano rock done right. My earliest musical memories were those of early ’70s Elton John, and one of my favorite albums from the day was his live trio album, 11/17/70. When I saw Bill and his band playing these songs live, it just made sense to try and record his album in a single, marathon session at Mystery Lawn. The band liked the idea, and it happened! With minimal overdubs, it’s the energy of a band bashing through a set of impeccably crafted songs and Bill’s amazing voice anchoring the whole thing. We’re already talking about making the follow-up album.”
Agony Aunts
Allen: “The psychedelic alter-ego of The Corner Laughers, Agony Aunts was the first non-me, non-Orange Peels release on Mystery Lawn, and it wasn’t even recorded here! These fanciful tunes percolated at KC Bowman’sTimber Trout studio in Oakland, and feature alternately stilted and lilting melodies to the accompaniment of what sounds like a Northern California sunshine rock revival during a total eclipse. Irresistibly catchy, brainy and ridiculous. They have some sort of a conflicted good vs. evil thing I can’t totally figure out, which is probably good.”
Allen Clapp & his Orchestra
Allen: “I usually write and record my tunes with The Orange Peels, but every once in a while I end up with a batch of songs that just begs to be recorded and performed solo. So I putter around in the studio for a while and emerge with something like Mixed Greens, which just arrived on vinyl here last week! It’s nice to be able to just arrange and produce stuff without anybody else’s input sometimes—there’s nobody to argue with you and nobody to rein you in, but also, nobody else to play any of the parts. For the live band, I’m using a combination of Orange Peels and Corner Laughers for a 7-piece “Orchestra” that really brings the new and old tunes to life.”
Mystery Lawn Music Night at Bottom of the Hill, San Francisco, Wednesday April 25, 8pm ($8) The Paul & John will also make a cameo appearance. So there’s that.
Posted in Uncategorized on April 17, 2012 by pulmyears
I’m in deep like with the album Disaster Fantasies, by the Toronto based singer-songwriter Selina Martin. The CD has been out for awhile now, but since I live in the San Francisco area, I never really got a chance to hear it until Selina gave me a copy last weekend. I’ve sort of known Selina for a few years now, mostly online and mainly through our mutual association with Toronto music producer (and my lifelong BFF) Michael Philip Wojewoda. But on Friday, April 6, I happened to be in Toronto for my sister-in-law’s wedding that weekend (congrats Susan & Bhupindra) so Michael suggested that I come to a recording session at his studio, mainly to hang but also to “make art noise” (his words) with his sonic collective FFOB, formally known as the Faceless Forces of Bigness. Turns out that FFOB were to be creating a sonic backdrop for Selina, who would be singing a song she’d written for a collaborative project with them.
The few times I’ve met Selina in person, she made a strong impression. She’s one of those people with a dynamic presence, just in conversation, but when she sings she’s reveals powerful voice blessed with faultless pitch. I was stoked that I was going to be hanging out with her and Chris Stringer (her producer and a founder member of FFOB) along with Michael, for the entire day. On top of that, I was told that our mutual friend, the equally talented Kurt Swinghammer, would be dropping by later to add some “art noise” of his own. Win win.
After meeting up at the delightfully low-key and bohemian cafe known as Saving Gigi, we decamped to Michael’s studio two blocks away and began setting up the patches on synths to build the improvised backing.
I asked Michael if I could play a bass or a guitar, instruments I’m very familiar with, and he wisely warned me off, saying that it would be better if I played a synthesizer. I agreed, only I had not brought one.
No worry, says Michael, “Buy the Animoog app for your iPhone.” I think it was $1.99 or something like that, so I did and MPW (as we sometime call Michael) hooked me up to the board as I naively screwed around on my phone to find the right tone.
Selina produced a lyric sheet and tuned up one of Michael’s guitars to play the “song” part of the collaboration, a lovely tune about birds. We did a few takes, then Chris had to leave just as Kurt was arriving. We went and got something to eat at a nearby place, then it was back to work on a couple more takes this time with Kurt playing the Mooger Fooger unit and some tone generators.
During the course of the day, I noticed a copy of Disaster Fantasies on the shelf in Michael’s studio. I asked about it. It had come out last year, but it was Selina’s most recent album. I wanted to hear it. There was going to be an impromptu hang over at Kurt’s and Selina was going to go home first and she told me she’d get me a copy. I offered to pay for it. I think I was supposed to actually but when she presented me with the CD, late into the evening at Kurt’s, I forgot. (I suppose I should settle this off-blog!) Anyway, I put the disc in my suitcase and waited until I got home, on the following Tuesday, to pop it in the car stereo.
Wow. Disaster Fantasies, produced by Chris Stringer, is a great record. Selina Martin is an incredible artist and more people outside of Canada should know about her. So I blog.
“Brace yourself for a subtle Shift from private to public. They come with altered landscapes, dead eyes & wooden handshakes.”
From the first seconds of “Public Safety Management” (above) I was hooked, but then came “Always On My Mind” (an original and not the Willie Nelson hit) was followed by “No Form”
“Take this much, it ain’t much, all I’ve got is nothing, no form, no form.”
From there, things just build and build through eclectic and provocative songs like “Rape During Wartime” and the softer “Breathe In” which feels almost conventional (but don’t be fooled).
Those layered harmonies stand out, as do pretty much all the clever arrangements.
“If you need a spine, I don’t use mine, it’s made of homemade wine, it’s see-through, and it bends with time and pressure.”
She can write a lyric, and an original melody to carry it. All of this was evident before the album’s seventh track, “The Spirit of Radio” a Rush cover which she makes her own in a singer songwriter way that could have been ironic (in most people’s hands) but ends up showcasing the beauty of Neil Peart’s lyrics.
“Invisible airwaves crackle with life”
I think I always knew that Peart’s lyrics were a manifesto, as well as a nostalgic love letter to the altruistic notion of radio, as well as a lament for how music’s heart is often crushed under the wheels of industry. And yet there it is, a nugget of truth just long enough to be an epitaph, if too long to be a bumper sticker: “One likes to believe in the freedom of music, but glittering prizes and endless compromises, shatter the illusion of integrity.”
And isn’t that what this is all about? The music that Selina Martin is making, with her fellow musicians, is all about honesty and the freedom of music.
On her own webpage,where you can find buying information for the album (from iTunes to vinyl!) Ms. Martin says, “I think collaborating with Chris Stringer was perfect for this collection of songs. He seemed to know exactly how to realize my ideas, and the ideas he brought to the table were somehow intuitively perfect. This album is my most hard rocking & most accessible to date.”
I couldn’t agree more. Pleased to meet you, Selina.
“I am the rhythm thief / Say goodbye to the beat / I am the rhythm thief /Auf wiedersehen to the beat.” 
