Stan Ridgway-The Big Heat; IRS Records, 1986

A few days back, Disaster Amnesiac finally got around to watching Thom Andersen's Los Angeles Plays Itself, and was completely blown away. Seriously, it's the only three hour film aside from Drawing Restraint 9 that I've felt sad to have finished and could have watched for another hour, at least. Andersen's eloquent pastiche of films from all eras of the 20th Century, and his cuttingly insightful narrative voice over makes for a tremendously satisfying film.
Upon completion of this surely initial viewing, Disaster Amnesiac promptly got in my car and drove to Goodwill, absolutely convinced that I'd find some kind of musical analogue for the film magic that had just been witnessed, and, sure enough, Stan Ridgway's 1986 LP The Big Heat leaped out from behind the usual Hugo Winterthaler and Olivia Newton John fare.
Right off the bat, I realized that the industrial scene that Ridgway poses in front of on the cover could very well have been shown at some point in Plays Itself. That, and its murky greenish light, so evocative of the Los Angeles night-time combo of haze, sea air, and halogen lamps, not to mention Ridgway's long time status as a City of Angels raconteur, and I knew that the desired crate digging magic had been achieved.
Naturally, this synchronicity would have been moot, should The Big Heat turn out to be an unlikable LP for this listener; thankfully, that's pretty far from the case.  Disaster Amnesiac has long been a fan of Wall of Voodoo, not only for their Country/Western/Punk Rock/Industrial/Dada musical production, but just as equally for Ridgway's lyrical moves. This being a Ridgway solo spotlight, it stands to reason that those moves would take center stage. As with Wall of Voodoo, his lyrics tell tales reflective of the often surreal, sometimes seedy, and endlessly fascinating undersides of cultural production and the American life that seems both supportive and reflective of it. Stan makes common cause with all sorts of typically American and specifically Los Angeles/Hollywood characters: private dicks in The Big Heat, speculation engineers in Pile Driver, traveling salesmen in Salesman, and an almost Paul Bunyan-sized mythological hero in Camouflage. His wry, off hand delivery of these culturally erudite texts will be familiar to any Wall of Voodoo fan, and Disaster Amnesiac suspects that they'll be equally compelling. Stan smartly retains his signature delivery that made Mexican Radio and Lost Weekend so successful.
The real difference with his former band comes within the musical/instrumental approaches on the LP. Ridgway seems to have not necessarily moved away from the Wall of Voodoo sound, but supplemented it, expanded it with more purely Pop touches. The Big Heat definitely has a brighter sheen than Wall of Voodoo's work; at times the thing screams out "1980's!!!!", but for the most part it holds up as a tight, timeless, musical Pop statement. One just has to admire the song craft aspects shown, along with the fine playing from the author and his cast of players; Disaster Amnesiac heroes KK Barrett and Mike Watt even make appearances on the 1960's stomp of Drive, She Said and the showbiz rant Can't Stop the Show, respectively. I wonder if the former is KK's last recorded drumming performance? These and other players give the The Big Heat an assured, professional vibe, along with the eclecticism that comes from a rotating cast of characters. Stan seems to have made some very astute choices as to which cast members played what and where they did that playing on the tunes.
At the end of the LP, he out-Voodoos Wall of Voodoo, with Camouflage sounding as if it was a Call of the West outtake (although Disaster Amnesiac is pretty sure that there were no Marines in Vietnam in 1965, at least any with boots on the ground). This small bit of historical inaccuracy brings me back to Los Angeles Plays Itself and its premise: the entertainment industry will never reflect reality in a completely "real" way. Reality is simply fodder for product/production, a fact that we're all well-appraised of by now. Andersen gave praise to those from Hollywood that at least tried to show some semblance of truth within their film offerings. Disaster Amnesiac figures Stan Ridgway deserves similar praise for The Big Heat, as within its Pop tableaux are contained many fine sounds and stories that have held up well over time; their lyrical and musical craftsmanship could serve as models to those that would throw their hat into the entertainment industry rings.

John M. Bennett, Ben Bennett, Bob Marsh, Jack Wright-Ohio Grimes and Misted Meanies; Edgetone Records, 2011

Recent party conversation with improvising dancer, musician, visual artist and all around shamanic community leader Bob Marsh regarding his show with Ben Bennett had him handing Ohio Grimes and Misted Meanies off to me with the suggestion that I try to review it. Often times, Disaster Amnesiac tends to balk at these kinds of suggestions (apologies to Bryan Day for the delays!), but I figured that a juicy, challenging gauntlet had been thrown. Of course, it helps that my admiration for Marsh's work continues to grow, and Bennett's solo work at Berkeley Arts Festival Building was mind blowing to me; that both appear on this disc pretty much sealed the deal as regards reviewing it.
Ohio Grimes features a quartet of Marsh, Bennett, Jack Wright, and John M. Bennett (the formerly mentioned Bennett's dad).
Bob briefly filled me in on the setting in which this 2010 was recorded, telling me of constant drone from Ohio State University Urban Arts Space's HVAC during the dog days of that year's summer. If one listens closely, it can indeed be heard. More worth hearing above the drone are the poetics of the elder Bennett, whose vocalizations veer back and forth between Spanish and English. Disaster Amnesiac finds the juxtaposition of the more Romantic lilt of the former with the utilitarian grit "...huh....huh?..." of the latter to be particularly fascinating. I wish that my grasp of Spanish was deeper. The language sounds beautiful rolling from his voice, pretty much every uttered phrase en Espanol has that feel. John often uses English to simply list things on his mind, but when he spins out phrases such as "...your name a floating crust...." or the surreal description of Throbbing Pencil, the poetic impact is solidly felt. There also seems to be a certain amount of dada effect, with some passages being uttered in a very Tzara-like way, their sounds taking precedent over their "meanings". Disaster Amnesiac also gets a perverse laugh every time the "...cheap jerk!" phrase is heard. I wonder who was being derided there? You just have to hear it, very funny. Great cover art by John, too!
Along with the  story of the unwanted a/c drone, Bob told me of pre-show drama in the form of misplaced instruments. It turns out that the electric guitar that he plays so adeptly was not the intended instrument for his piece in the quartet sound. No matter, though, as he coaxes all sort of chiming sounds from it. This, in tandem with Ben Bennett's intensively creative sound world of invented devices and Jack Wright's pointillist soprano and alto saxophone, has the group not so much grooving as throbbing. They move collectively from discrete zone to zone; often quieter, spaced passages, with stippled touch playing, give way to a kind of rising group dynamic, in which they achieve beautifully harsh, scrapyard dynamics or 20th Century Serious Music tones, before floating back to "listening" mode. The music always does a fine job of framing and commented upon the vocalized incantations. Not so much a group freak out as a kind of chamber chatter, the assembled group always sounds as if they're plugged in mentally to what each other are playing, hearing and responding in kind.
Disaster Amnesiac won't say that the Ohio Grimes and Misted Meanies challenge issued by Bob was a chore, but, as it is with all challenges met, I'm glad to have risen up to it. As usual, Edgetone Records offers up some fine Out Music with this one. Alright, whom can I pass the gauntlet to?

A Concise ECM Sampling

ECM Records figures pretty prominently within Disaster Amnesiac's musical multi-verse. Due to my mother's taste in instrumental music, the first Jazz music that I can recall hearing was that of ECM artists such as Keith Jarrett and Pat Metheny. It may be that the label's aesthetics, the quality of the sounds pressed up onto vinyl, cassette, and compact disc rub some Jazz fans in a "wrong" way, but for this listener, that's just not the case.  The airy, mysterious engineering sounds of the music, and the open ended, simplified graphic sense of the label have always really moved my imagination. As such, I figured I'd spend some time digging a bit deeper into a few ECM joints and give the Disaster Amnesiac reportage to them.

Keith Jarrett-Eyes of the Heart; ECM, 1979
Disaster Amnesiac figures that one key for listening to this 1976 live recording from Keith Jarrett and his American Quartet could be to divide it into two parts, despite its three disc vinyl waxing. Part One features three of said quartet, Jarrett, drummer Paul Motian, and bassist Charlie Haden; this trio of Jazz Masters starts things off with a ritualistic primitivo percussion/reeds jam, then moves into some stately Impressionistic piano Jazz and on into an almost march-like space, all of which are given same name as that of the LP. As mentioned, this is a top-flight Jazz group. That said, it's always been Motian's drumming that has excited this listener. His big, booming toms on the tribal action, his shimmering, stand-alone ride cymbal/snare drum syncopation and crisp press rolls during the marching motif; all of it compelling, airy in that classic ECM way, and creative. These dynamics seem like some the reasons music fans are attracted to Jazz, right? Naturally, Haden and Jarrett are no slouches themselves. The former matches up with Motian's drumming, using his equally robust bass sound to chatter with and comment upon all of that Zen drumming. Keith's piano playing is its usual lyric self, especially beautiful in the middle of the set, in which he explores with a plaintive, patient hand, wandering around the keys virtually unaccompanied for a while.
After over twenty minutes, Dewey Redman finally joins the rest of the group, initiating Part Two, and pretty much takes over, his solo action leading the piano into some feisty accompaniment as the bass and drums open up into their own free zones. The set then proceeds to the twinned euphoria and introspection of Encore, in which the group gets oddly funky and wigged out together before Jarrett makes a lonely closing statement to end the show. Dig on Motian's free flowing brush work during the former part; it's the sound of unchained revelry. Also great is the soprano/tenor duet between Redman and Jarrett, framed by Haden's countrified bass and more of Motian's blasting, all of which lead to the final piano solo. While Eyes of the Heart may not feature the overt fieriness of other Free Jazz releases to which it is contemporary, it is equally liberated and "out", just tempered with a bit more lyricism and restraint. That vibe fits it in well with the overall ECM aesthetic, of course: the label always seems to want to these two approaches into a unique new one.

Terje Rypdal/Miroslav Vitous/Jack DeJohnette-Terje Rypdal/Miroslav Vitous/Jack DeJohnette; ECM 1979
Disaster Amnesiac always has a tough time figuring out where to shelve this one. I mean, who is the leader? Is it Miroslav, as his name's placed dead center? Or, is it Terje, as his name scans first, assuming that you're reading from a Western European vantage? Come to think of it, I'll always hear this one as Jack DeJohnette's lead, really. Starting with opener Sunrise, his absolutely dry cymbal work is all over this LP's moody songs. Naturally for Jack, his drums sound great, too, but, man, it's as if engineer Jan Erik Kongshaug decided "I want to get the perfect cymbal tones on this one." You really must hear it to fully appreciate what I'm saying. When he hits his snare drum, tom toms, an bass drum, it's more of a caress than a blow, but even within these subtleties on the drums, his cymbals reign supreme. Every hit of his cymbals is just so clear and clean. Vitous on bass does an exemplary job keeping up with Jack, with lyrical playing throughout, especially on Will, and the bowed atmospherics on Seasons. Guitarist Terje Rypdal wisely takes a subtle supporting role throughout the album. Disaster Amnesiac has recordings of him on which he wails, but herein he keeps somewhat to the background, using more of a textural approach with his guitar; it's almost as if he decided to frame all of the sublime interplay between the drums and bass with guitar coloration rather than outright displays of technique. Perhaps he wanted to avoid sounding too much like a certain Mahavishnu Orchestra dude, on who played with DeJohnette in Miles's bands? The strategy works, too. Rypdal's restraint works really nicely with all of the dry chatter within the rhythm section.
If one were to ask Disaster Amnesiac, "what album on ECM would you recommend as an entry point into the label?", I'd probably choose this one, but I'm not sure where in my stack I would find it at first.

John Surman-Such Winters of Memory; ECM 1983
Last stop on the Disaster Amnesiac ECM sampler has us a few years down the line, 1983 to be exact, and label mainstay John Surman is holding court. On Such Winters of Memory, he is joined by Swiss precision percussionist Pierre Favre and Norwegian singer Karin Krog. Here we find yet another example of the abstract, widely spaced music that characterizes the label; Surman's rich, melodious baritone, piquant soprano, and reedy bass clarinet sounds leading the melodic way through their giant steppes. On tracks such as Sunday Morning and Seaside Postcard 1951, and On the Wing Again, there is also really great analog synthesizer programming that serves as a kind of futuristic drone. No matter how Favre plays, sparing or busy, there's always a sense of complete control within his syncopated action, and it's always responsive, in dialogue with the leader's voicing. Krog's vocals always give Disaster Amnesiac a kind of "high lonesome" feel, especially on the whimsical My Friend. Obviously not so much West Texas as Northern Scandinavian, but hopefully you get my drift. She scats abstract on Postcard, flows lyrical in On the Wing Again, putting a very unique, European spin on the consummate American art form of Jazz singing. Surman's (among so many millions of others'!) hero Coltrane gets a brief nod by way of a crystalline keyboard version of Expressions, after which the trio gets even more mystical on the raga form Mother of Light/Persepolis. Krog almost evokes Robert Plant at his most mystical here! Such Winters of Memory is a fine blending of influences from Surman, Krog, and Favre, within which several forms are fused into an imaginative whole. This is entirely in keeping with the ECM aesthetic, of course.

So there you have it, a few brief Disaster Amnesiac impressions from a scant few of ECM's massive catalog. I swear, their numbers must be approaching, or have even surpassed, the 1000 mark. Not bad for a genuinely independent label that puts out releases that aren't exactly easing listening, even for many Jazz listeners! As I was working on this post, I reflected on the sheer length of time that the label has existed. We're talking decades longer than like-minded ones such as Impulse! or ESP Disk. Dive in to it from one of the above, or any other portals, and discover myriad creative sound worlds for exploration!

Deletist-Disappearing (Impromptus for Piano Cello Oboe Noise & Blood)-Bleakhaus, 2014

Disaster Amnesiac first experienced Deletist at this year's Nor Cal Noisefest. It was her mantra, "...I'm being STALKED by a CORPORATION..." repeated over a self-generated Ambient Noise Drone that initially blew this listener away. It seems like you'd be hard-pressed to find a better rumination on Late Capitalist life, at least the life lived as a "consumer". What person in the "developed world" could not at minimum understand, if not completely relate to that particular sentiment?
After said set, I made a bee line for her merch table and grabbed a copy of Disappearing (Impromptus for Piano Cello Oboe Noise & Blood). Mind you, this occurred in early October of this year, but it's taken some time to even get to listening to this disc, given the packaging. As you can see from the above picture, in order to even get to the music, one must tear through a tight and tricky layer of cellophane, meticulously hand-inked. This action, hell, even the consideration of this action, had Disaster Amnesiac feeling restless and upset, even. It seemed sort of a travesty to ruin such fine calligraphy! Needless to say, it took several weeks of consideration before this action was taken. I quite enjoyed what seemed to me to be a kind of Conceptual Art element to it. "Is it a comment upon human interaction? Does the ink represent the blood in the title? Is the ink actually blood?" These were just a few of my questions as I pondered getting to the music, and as I finally made the necessary tearing motion, there did feel to me to be a kind of "art moment". Is that pretentious? Frankly, I don't care, as it was an enjoyable and sublime (in the Kant-ian art-speak sense) moment, and, well, Disaster Amnesiac sort of lives for those. Thanks, Deletist.
Thanks, too, of course, for the great music that is encased by the black velvet and white feather underneath the (shr)ink wrap!

Disappearing features several pieces of moody Electro-Acoustic music, in which Deletist conjures up several deliciously darkened tracks. The pieces take their time, establishing drones as they unfold. Particularly striking is the live-on-air Rot aus Rauche, with its incessant cello grinding and the melancholy piano/electronics pairing of Loch, with its cold-crypt feel. Verrot continues in this vein, with cello and piano pairings, again, somber as hellish moods can be, yet somehow....uplifting, as is set closer Klein Liebe, made up of similar instrumentation. Exil Bose, with its Minimal drone and chanting, reminds this listener somewhat of Riley or LaMonte, but it's clear that Deletist most definitely has her own musical conception fully working. There are obviously many elements that make up the overall Deletist oeuvre. Disappearing is a great, moody piece of work, perfect for long, contemplative listening or background "work music". Either way, it's very effective.

During his introduction to Deletist's set at the Noisefest, MC Lob stated "...she's been making Noise for a long time", and that's obviously true. I'd say that Noise is one element of an entire, unique sound/conceptual/art world.

Appreciating Lilyhammer!

Disaster Amnesiac realizes that it's been quite some time since my last post. Tons of personal, professional and artistic obligations have made it tough for me to muster the needed attention to detail, so essential to even the most half-assed blogging attempts.
That said, a recent spell of "sick in bed with a cold" afforded a chance to binge watch the most current season of Lilyhammer, Steven Van Zandt's excellent Netflix-based gangster show.
After wrapping up Season 3, Disaster Amnesiac just wants to say how much I enjoy Lilyhammer, along with a few notes as the some of the reasons why.
To start, the writing for the show, having been initially good to great, has gotten more brilliant as the show has progressed. This veritable Sopranos spin off has spun its own unique thread; the way that United States culture is reflected off of the Norwegian setting of the show is smart and witty, and the insights from this wittiness often leaves this viewer with all kinds of fascinating food for thought as regards that culture.
Secondly, the acting, with its contrast of East Coast U.S. heat against Norse understated cool, is always compelling. Van Zandt has proven himself to be a top flight satirist with this vehicle. There was always a certain black comedy emanating from his appearances on the Sopranos, and on Lilyhammer he perfects that particular mode.
Last, it's quite fun for this music fan to see the various "guests acts" that Van Zandt, an enthusiastic and dedicated fan himself, programs into each episode. Scandinavian Rock 'n Roll culture is quite fascinating to view from his curatorial perspective.
Take it from Disaster Amnesiac, if you've not done so already, and have time to do so, check out a few episodes of Lillyhammer. It's one of the best shows going!

Barbara Borden-All Hearts Beating;Cloud 9 Music,1990

So on a recent trip into SF's Bayview District on music related business, Disaster Amnesiac had a few minutes in which to visit a favorite old haunt from my Golden Age of San Francisco crate digging, the Goodwill Store on 3rd St. at Evans.
Those few minutes' digging gave me a choice: either Nirvana's Live From the Muddy Banks of Wishka, or All Hearts Beating, Barbara Borden's 1990 release on the San Rafael based Cloud 9 label. Both CD's had a certain allure: the former, which I've heard, has the gritty insanity of Kurt and his future Foo Flipper dudes, rockin' hot and cynical to the great unwashed as their dream of Punk Rock Integrity in the teeth of hardcore Music Biz machinations is shown to be just that, definitely a dynamic with a certain appeal at this late date. The latter, with its somewhat surreal and delightfully spaced Feminist cover art won out on intrigue alone. Disaster Amnesiac figured that, if it turned out to be a bit too aurally saccharine, it wouldn't be the first time that a thrift store New Age purchase had turned out disappointing. Sometimes you just have to go with the unknown.
Glad that I did, too, as All Hearts Beating is a lot more than just a New Age toss off, and probably a lot more emotionally whole and filling than a clutch of Kobain tunes.
The whole disc is made up of essentially one long piece, split up into seven distinct parts. Ancient Rumblings starts things off with a short, sharp rhythmic tattoo and electronic washes before dipping into a darkened ambient track, And the Flowers Showered, that has the kind of eerie synthesizer washes that so many Black Metal artists are want to utilize. That this move was made well before Varg and Euronymous had their falling out just makes it that much cooler in this listener's ears. Disaster Amnesiac does not know if Borden's intentions with the Showered were as gloomy and cold as all that, but, still, it sounds mysterious and otherworldly. Things take a distinctly more drum heavy tone next, on Earth Beat; this one has all of the rhythmic bombast of the best that her Marin County neighbors in the Rhythm Devils had to offer at that time, especially with its 12/8 triplet ostinato patterns and deep bass drum blasts. Earth Beat's beating stands right up there beside Crash Worship or !Tchkung as far as 1990's drum-centric heaviness goes.
After Beat's nine minute continuous pound, Borden wisely reigns things in, energy wise, for Caverns of the Heart. Here, she brings the energy back down, building aural caverns with more synth/drum duo mystery, utilizing singing bowls and other resonant metals to great effect. Emerging from these Caverns, we find Borden joined by violinist Liz Spencer on Sanctuary of Tears. Spencer does indeed bow up some seriously melancholy tones from her violin. Her sound often has Disaster Amnesiac thinking of John Cale's low moaning on the Stooges debut. I realize that Cale played viola, but I'm talking tone and mode here.  Bordon does a great job in accompaniment, of course, utilizing lots of woodblock-ey tones, along with her great,  low toned, expressive drumming.
Things get really shamanistic on the next track, In-Chant-Meant, thanks in no small measure to the vocals of Rhiannon. She gets all kinds of crazed, by turns chattering and gruff, always out there. Hers is no fluff performance, and it sounds as it her vibes really lifted Barbara's drumming, which is accordingly inspired sounding. Cynical types might cringe at some of her glossolalia, but Disaster Amnesiac finds it to be really great. All Hearts Beating's ending track, of the same name of the CD, has Borden back to solo drumming, this time with some expertly tuned trap set drumming and a lot more cymbal thrashing than on previous tracks. Again, hints of Hart and Kreutzmann, but Borden has her own clear, eloquent, deep style, and she shows it off nicely to close out this recording.
Going back to my initial choice, Disaster Amnesiac is happy to have gone with the unknown (to me) quantity of Barbara Borden. While writing this piece, I've discovered that she's still active, still getting press, and still pressing out rolls on her drums. This makes me very happy. Hopefully I'll find a way to see her play live in the near future. One can always use the kind of shamanistic vibes that she puts out. The cynicism of Cobain et al, not so much, even if it is ostensibly easier to espouse. Thanks for the Heart Beats, Barbara Borden!

The Improbable San Francisco Giants, 2014 World Series Champs!

Improbable. That's the best word that Disaster Amnesiac can find in regard to the San Francisco Giants World Series Victory.
After watching the team get off to an incredibly powerful start in April and May, their fans subsequently had to endure a June Swoon of epic proportions. Said Swoon had the team essentially stumbling through the rest of the summer and then lurching into the playoffs.
Improbable victories against the Pirates and the Nationals, both heavily favored by the national media, pushed the suddenly scrappy Giants into the NLCS against manager Mike Metheny's Cardinals. Surely, their luck would run out there, no?
No, in fact, if luck was indeed the main dynamic at play, it did not. The Red Birds were also dispatched by the Improbable G-Men, who now stood atop the heap of the 2014 National League, poised to take on America's New Team of Destiny, the American League Kansas City Royals.
Which was where Madison Bumgarner took over. The acknowledged ace of the Giant's pitching staff put in an historical effort, essentially carrying the team into baseball lore, with some fine help from so many members of the team and the Hall of Fame astuteness of manager Bruce Bochy. At the start of 2014 post season, it was only a few die hard Giants fans that were aware of and believed in the Improbable Champs. Disaster Amnesiac must admit to being highly skeptical, especially after Game 6's ignominious drubbing, but, now, here they are, World Series 2014 Champions.
Disaster Amnesiac would like to congratulate the 2014 San Francisco Giants and all Giants fans! What a fine ending to this manically wild season! It just goes to show that anything truly is possible.