9/3/09

SPANISH CELTS


LA MUSGAÑA
20
Mad River 1011

The phrase “Celtic music” is problematic on many levels, not the least of which is that it’s largely a marketing invention rather than an actual genre. (The late, great Tommy Makem once remarked that he had never heard the term before 1964, at which point he had been singing “Irish” songs for over two decades!) But we’re stuck with the term, so let’s at least get more mileage out of it. One of the overlooked Celtic lands—defined as regions settled by tribes speaking one of the many variants of Gaelic—is the region of northwestern Spain known as Galicia. And few bands have played its music as well as La Musgańa, an ensemble now in its twenty-first year of performing.
La Musgańa is Spanish for “water rat” and, strictly speaking, the group swims in a stream that's more pan-Iberian than Galician, but its instrumental mix of fiddles (including a bellows-enhanced model!), accordion, hurdy-gurdy, hand-held drums, recorders, acoustic guitar, bass, and gaita (Galician bagpipes) makes the Celtic designation appropriate. 20 is a fine introduction to La Musgańa, as it culls from the band’s six-album backlist and offers a sampling of Spanish folk music past and present. You’ll hear majestic suites, pastoral folk melodies, jazzy instrumental breakouts, and neo-Renaissance music, all from a region whose influences include peasant herders, North African travelers, the Jewish Diaspora, nomadic Celtic tribes, and the contemporary imagination. Plus you get to hear the gaita—also popular in Portugal. It looks like a set of Highland pipes, but its sound is less shrill, its drone is capable of playing a second octave, and it meshes well with hurdy-gurdy. This—and a preference for 6/8 rhythms—gives Galician dance music a distinctive sound.

Click here for a very nice YouTube video of the band performing live.

9/1/09

Up From Punk


SARAH BETTENS
Never Say Goodbye

Cocoon Records 06869

Sarah Bettens is a veteran of the European punk and alt.rock scene who has appeared on MTV and has fronted bands such as K’ Choice. If you know her from those days, Never Say Goodbye will surprise you; if you don’t, she may well be the acoustic discovery of the year. Her husky alto and new repertoire are what you might get if you crossed Diana Krall and Diana Jones.

The album title is an apt one, as many of the selections are torch songs about pursuing love to the bitter end. “I Can Do Better Than You” is a grudge song supreme, its defiant lyrics kicked up by blaring horns and an arrangement evocative of 1930s small combo jazz. Most of the selections are simpler, but they retain the hybrid jazz/folk/pop feel of the opener. Bettens mixes her moods well. In a mid-album stretch she lays down the melancholic jazz blues “Cry Me a River,” and follows it with “Win Me Over,” the sort of love song that encourages bump-and-grind slow dancing. Then it’s something quite different—the funky drum-and-bass “Come Over Here,” which is far sexier than anything Barry White ever did! And then it’s a cover of Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me,” followed by the up-tempo and bright tones of “Go.” The chirpy little catches in Betten’s voice are like something from an old Cyndi Lauper record.

There is wonderful synergy between Bettens—who plays acoustic and electric guitars—and pianist/guitarist Tom Kestens. The duo serve notice that none of this is a studio trick—about half the tracks are live and they do a stunning acoustic version of “Not an Addict,” which was a radio rock hit in Europe. Sarah Bettens is the real deal and Never Say Goodbye reveals a side of her that we hope she continues to reveal.


Here's a version of "I Can Do Better Than You" without the horns.

8/30/09

James Taylor: Safe, But (Enormously) Satisfying


Photo by Dominique Thiebaut


The grounds were muddy, the skies were threatening, and rumors abounded that Hurricane Danny was going to pelt the Berkshires with torrential rain. And not a single person was deterred; James Taylor took the stage at Tanglewood before a sold-out throng of 18,000. Over the next three hours Taylor delivered the equivalent of a summer movie: a formulaic concert that was long on nostalgia and short on risks, but so enormously satisfying that it practically demanded that we turn off critical faculties and feel the love.

I suppose that one might say that Taylor missed a golden opportunity. The gathering of hardcore Taylor fans was such that it would have been a great venue to try out new material. Hell, this audience was so pumped that Taylor could have asked it to chant from the Tibetan Book of the Dead and the idea would have been greeted with a thunderous ovation! Instead, Taylor reserved the night for oldies. He sang the entire of his 1970 breakthrough album Sweet Baby James and the only song from a recording done after 1991 was his rendition of Buddy Holly’s “Fade Away” (from his 2008 Covers release). Taylor’s repertoire, arrangements, and vocal timbre were quite similar to his two-disc Live album that came out in 1993.

The last statement is part of what made Saturday night’s Tanglewood show so unforgettable. It’s been sixteen years since Taylor’s live release, he is sixty-one years old, and he still sings with the suppleness, sweetness, warmth, and (most of the) range he had in 1970. Taylor is the consummate professional who hasn’t lost much because he knows how to sing. When the cameras zoomed in for big screen close ups you could see him doing everything a singer should do: chin down, chest expanded, diaphragm filling, and air passing effortlessly from lungs to vocal cords. Taylor also sings with his band as an equal rather than trying to force his way into the limelight through gratutitous vocal pyrotechnics. This is well and proper as it’s hard to imagine a more professional backup ensemble than the one backing Taylor (seven musicians and four singers, including the revelatory gale-force voice of Arnold McCuller). There’s little that can rival a group of skilled musicians on a night in which everyone is on the same page playing off each other’s enthusiasm, and Saturday was such an evening. Tight doesn’t begin to describe the synergy between Taylor and the band; if a Lou Marini saxophone blared or an Andrea Zonn fiddle lick flew, it was because the song demanded it. Everybody was having a great time, right down to Taylor’s playful electrical guitar exchanges with Michael Landau on “Steamroller.”

Taylor shared the stage with Sheryl Crow, who likewise worked through her greatest hits catalog and served up delights such as “My Favorite Mistake” and “If It Makes You Happy.” Crow could have usefully ratcheted down her amps a tad and tamped down the upper-range vocals to make them more affecting and less histrionic, but her high-energy performance was in keeping with the mood and she was superb when working with Taylor. The two turned in an unexpected duet version of “Fire and Rain” that was enhanced by the sonorous cello of the evening’s other special guest: Yo-Yo Ma.

Superlatives are feeble when discussing Ma; he is simply one of the most astonishing talents of our time, a musical polymath who can seamlessly go between Brahms, Brazil, Beijing, and The Beatles (or James Taylor in the Berkshires). Music is in Ma’s soul and the joy of playing it is etched on his face. I’ve been a James Taylor fan since I first saw him forty years ago, but his cover of Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend” was never among my favorites until I heard Yo-Yo Ma texture it with cello. He turned a song that tracks toward sentimentality into one that is pure and fragile. Like Taylor, Ma works so effortlessly that you have to be alert to appreciate his full magic. At one point I found myself wondering how Crow managed to sustain a particularly high note. She hadn’t; Ma echoed her voice as she ascended the scale and continued climbing when she ran out of breath.

Moments such as these more than compensated for the lack of repertoire surprises. As the evening came to a close, Taylor and Crow rocked out on the first two encore songs. Not only was there no rain, the skies began to clear. Danny wouldn’t dare break up a love fest such as this. How to end such a night? “Sweet Baby James,” of course—with Yo-Yo Ma making his cello cry, Sheryl Crow adding plaintive harmonies, and Taylor singing a lullaby. Rock a bye sweet baby James, indeed.

8/27/09

Estranged Stranger


CATIE CURTIS
Hello, Stranger
Compass 7-4517-2

Catie Curtis is one of those performers we want to adore. She’s effervescent, personable, and talented. On stage she exudes energy and charm, and few walk away unfulfilled. Alas, a reviewer’s job is to call it like it is, not how we’d like it to be; Hello, Stranger is a sub par effort. There are too many musical genres into which merely Curtis dips her toes rather than immersing herself—more of a producer’s album than one that flatters her.

Curtis has been making records in Nashville for a few years now. There is certainly no faulting the production values of her new album, not when talent such as Alison Brown, Darrell Scott, Kenny Malone, and Mary Gauthier come along for the ride. Problems occur, however, as Curtis drifts further from her folk roots. The title track is an A. P. Carter song and much of the record has a country bluegrass tinge. We are asked to believe that Curtis is a country gal, not a Boston-based artist who cut her teeth on urban folk.alt music. And we’re also supposed to accept the premise that all covers are appropriate and cool. But Curtis simply doesn’t have to chops or the ‘tude to cover an angst-laden Richard Thompson song like “Walking on a Wire.” And, if you’re going to dust off something as familiar as “Passing Through” you need to be robust about it, not merely competent.

The tepidness of Curtis’s bluegrass/country/rock personae become glaringly obvious when contrasted to her own compositions. Instead of the quavering tones that we hear on covers, she is smooth, confident, and emotive. And, yes, she skirts the borders of sentimentality on songs such as “Dad’s Yard,” her homage to her father’s Yankee parsimony and warm heart. But that’s the point. Her best repertoire is a mix of the sweet and slightly bitter, not those that are shopworn or bitter. Curtis is at her best as a folk and folk rock artist, not as an Appalachian avatar. I never thought I’d write these lines about Catie Curtis, but the new album feels contrived.--LV

8/25/09

FOR SHAME, SCOTLAND!


The new crimson Scottish flag commemorating shamelessness.

Other than the national tourist board, there’s no bigger booster of Scotland on the planet than yours truly, but let’s call it like it is: the decision to release Lockerbie mastermind Abdel Basset Al-Megrahi is a crime against humanity. Scottish first minister Alex Salmond called Al-Megrahi’s release a humanitarian gesture, given that the convict has terminal prostate cancer and less than three months to live. So where’s the humanitarian gesture for the families of the 270 people who died when Al-Megrahi and his gang of terrorists brought down Pan Am flight 103 in 1988? Are we to cry crocodile tears over Al-Megrahi’s impending death? Not me; the planet is better off without him (and every single one of the Libyans who cheered him).

Al-Megrahi served twenty-one year for mass murder. Let’s contrast his treatment with that of Hitler aid Rudolf Hess. Hess—who thought the war against Britain was a mistake—landed in Scotland in 1941, where he hoped to negotiate a peace settlement between Britain and Germany. Instead, Scots handed him over to British government authorities, and he was imprisoned in Wales for the war’s duration. In the post-World War II Nuremberg trials Hess was given a life sentence for “crimes against peace” and “conspiracy” for helping to develop Germany’s war machine. He died in Spandau Prison in 1987 at the age of 93, and was the only inmate at the time of his demise.

Is a former Nazi’s fate analogous to that of Al-Megrahi? Not really; Al-Megrahi is a convicted mass murder and Hess was not! In fact, Hess was found innocent of crimes against humanity and war crimes. He was also repudiated by the Nazis and was stripped of all ranks and honors for his very attempt to end the conflict with Britain. Hess was in many ways a monster, but he was a humanitarian compared to Al-Megrahi. The full futility and stupidity of Scotland’s decision was revealed when Al-Megrahi received a hero’s welcome in Tripoli. It was an appalling display and ought to give pause to any Western nation considering rapprochement with Libya.

Humanitarian gesture? How about this one? Put Al-Megrahi on an unmanned drone, set off a bomb at 30,000 feet, and give him the same chance for compassion as he gave Pan Am 103 passengers. And make sure that Alex Salmond is on the ground when the pieces begin to fall, holding aloft Scotland’s redesign of the St. Andrew’s Cross flag—its blue background replaced by a field of crimson. For shame, Scotland.--LV

8/24/09

Bigfoot. There's more evidence for him than for a bipartisan.
Democrat: n. a spineless mammal that grovels on its stomach and subsists on hope and crumbs distributed by liberals.

Bipartisan: n. a mythical two-faced beast said to face backward and forward simultaneously. In folklore it is depicted as rational and gentle, but scientists have found no evidence that such a species ever existed.

Liberal: n. a harmless mammal known for its ferocious growl, rhetorical flourishes, and bombast. Although its bellow can be fearsome, the liberal poses no threat as it is toothless.


At the time of Barack Obama’s election, optimistic comparisons were made to Abraham Lincoln. Alas, the politician that’s emerging is the next coming of Jimmy Carter. President Obama seems affable enough but, like Carter, he’s too interested in pleasing others and too prone to compromising principles in pursuit of a bipartisanship that only he believes in. Akin also to Carter, Obama shows distressing signs of being a man out of his depth. In fact, he’s acting more like a freshman senator than a president.

Let’s look at the recent record. Facing a hailstorm of criticism from the GOP Right (but I repeat myself), President Obama has retained the seal on interrogation records of terrorist suspects, has backpedaled on gay rights, has compromised on health care reform, and has signaled he may be willing to drop a government option on the latter. Last I looked we were still in Iraq and there are few signs of disengagement, even though the Iraqi government has requested it. There has been no progress on enacting needed business regulation and the bailout plan enriched some of the worst pirates in the financial sector. Unemployment remains high and very little federal money has gone to job creation. Aside from personal style—and the appointment of Sonia Sotomayor to the Supreme Court-- there has been little to distinguish Obama’s presidency from that of his predecessor. Just this week Obama threw his support behind education legislation that emphasizes standardized testing and other aspects of Bush’s deplorable No Child Left Behind bill.

Like Carter (and Bill Clinton), Obama is steadily drifting to the right. (Lest we forget, it was Jimmy Carter who paved the way for Reagan by boosting defense spending, ratcheting Cold War tensions, and taking a moralist stance on social issues.) And, like Carter, Obama’s getting a free ride from liberals. The latter are “upset” with the president, but they bellow from the sidelines in the foolish belief that Obama is their only hope. What they don’t do is mobilize and hold his feet to the flames. The specter of raving loonies such as Sarah Palin has liberals so scared that they’d rather wring their hands in despair and blame Republicans for failures that ought to be laid at Obama’s door.

Nonsense! The Democrats have a filibuster-proof majority in both houses and the power to enact whatever legislation they wish. The Democrats are not leading, they are merely using the GOP as a bogeyman the way Republicans used to speak of communists during the Cold War. But they’ve little incentive to ruffle feathers that might cost a few of them their comfy seats as long as liberals are quiescent.

Two things need to happen. First, liberals need to get boisterous and disrespectful. They are the last political animals in the country who still think that reason and goodwill can prevail. They can’t worry about whether opposing a black president is racist. (It’s the ultimate paternalism to support someone merely because he is black!) If Obama and other Democrats can’t get with the program, throw their sorry keisters out of office. Form progressive coalitions and run to their left, like the good folks of Burlington, Vermont do. Stop writing checks to the party and start logging complaints on Congressional and White House Websites. Above all, stop being paralyzed by false fear. If it all comes out the same in the wash, does it really matter if a blue-dog Democrat loses to a Republican? Let a few poseurs fall; it might leave the party in the hands of real Democrats.

As for the latter, we’ve not had a real Democrat in the White House since Lyndon Johnson. President Obama should use the real LBJ as his role model rather than chasing bipartisan myths. Don’t tell me we can’t pass health care reform; LBJ faced the much tougher task of getting the Civil Rights Act passed. How’d he do it? He refused to play nice. He cajoled, threatened, and wielded presidential power like a club. LBJ told Congress he’d sign no bills until he had a civil rights bill to sign. He told them he’d cancel the summer recess, that he would use discretionary spending to punish recalcitrant Congressmen, and that the White House would withhold support for Democrats who defied the president. He even let it be known that he couldn’t “guarantee” that a few skeletons wouldn’t slip out of the Congressional closet.

Like the Right, liberals and the president need to get nasty. Like LBJ, they need to kick ass instead of kissing it. Only then will they find themselves with strong teeth and a spine.

INTELLIGENT SPACE SHOT


GLEN PHILLIPS
Secrets of the New Explorers

Umami Music

If you only know Glen Phillips from his days with Toad the Wet Sprocket, you’ve missed some big changes. Secrets of the New Explorers has been called a “folk-pop meets psychedelia” release, but comparisons to electronica and a rave dance hall would be more in order. The music reminded me of Snow Patrol in that the melodies don’t jump at you so much as they ooze out of an aural soup. The cover art evokes 1950s outer space film posters, but the music—though ethereal—is more post-NASA than the age of Sputnik. “Solar Flare” is catchy, yet dreamy—as if was recorded in a zero-gravity chamber. It’s also the perfect arrangement for its subject matter: an intergalactic explorer adrift in the unknown. On “The Spirit of Shackleton” Phillips compares space voyage to Antarctic exploration. In a clever bit of arranging he intertwines electronic blips and beeps with drum loops and beats evocative of earth-bound discos. The CD is just six tracks, but it’s enough to carry its beyond-the-atmosphere musical and lyrical themes.

Warning: If you buy this online get it from the artist Website . There are online pirates trying to pass this off as a rare release. It ought to cost you around eight bucks, not thirty-five or more!