Some More BS from Jaybee

Less Than Zero

2026-02-26T17:06:00.001-05:00

I exaggerate, but it was pretty damned cold. What to do (music-wise) about it?

Embrace it, I say. It may seem like the cold embrace of death, but that's the chance you take.

Eno: On Land (1982)

Every time I say something about a Brian Eno album, I fear I'm not adequately conveying how alien his work can be. And as that goes, this album is a pretty good example. No pretty piano or voices like Music for Airports. No specially-treated piano sounds like The Pearl. No concessions to pop music (guitars, drums, melodies, etc.) like Another Green World. In short, no obvious heart. It's here. He just doesn't flaunt it. It is, as we say, what it is.

And what it is works perfectly for me at the moment. A recent medical setback has me yearning for the minimal input I can still handle, and this does the trick.

Slightly out of reach, but when I check, it's still there, asking nothing of me. It's a deal.

A-

"Dunwich Beach, Autumn, 1960"

One Is Not Enough:

But I can't play it all day. I need some other records that hit the mark as well. So I tried to find something new to match the mood: cool, almost sterile, coming from the vast surrounding darkness:

Dove Ellis: Blizzard (2025): I was hoping for something more stark. But this Irishman is one of those expressive ones. Weird. A bit like John Martyn but less bluesy. And having had two blizzards in the past two weeks, I thought it might be apt. But the title could refer to the repose you may experience if you're stuck inside your house for days at a time. Or more obviously, the storm itself. I assumed the former and was mistaken. So I'm in no real position to judge it at this time. All I know is that I can't listen to it right now.
Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago (2008): Based on its reputation, I thought it would be cold and barren. Not so. Annoyingly, not so. Given its reputation, I had much higher hopes for it. But I just may not be in a position to judge. So I put it aside.

So rather than another swing and miss, I decided to check what I already have:

Joanna Newsom?: Practically no "production" at all would seem perfect. Alas, she's a bit...wacky.
Tallest Man on Earth?: Spare, but a bit too much enthusiasm.
Iron and Wine?: Too folky. Too slow.
Aphex Twin?: Too Suicidal.

I did eventually find a couple of suitable records:

Low: I Could Live In Hope: Glacial pace, minimal harmonies. Anything more would be too much.

Cindy Lee: Diamond Jubilee: I thought it might be too recent, but it did get me through the earlier phase of this medical issue, so why not now? And it works.

A Break?:

My health being what it is, in the event that I'm not up to all this I may take a little break.

I'll keep you posted.

2025 Leftovers

2026-01-29T11:31:00.000-05:00

The broccoli rabe has long since been classified as hazardous waste, the red peppers and mozz are growing tentacles, but here is some music that is still fresh and tasty!

These are records I got last year that gave me feelies I couldn't quite articulate. (I'll skip the classical music and save that for the WHP.) They have virtually nothing in common, so by definition, there's no rhyme or reason here. No unifying theme. Just inappropriate metaphors.

Charlie XCX: Brat (2024)

Considered "the" record of 2024, I got this in early 2025. Now, nearly a year later, I've finally figured out that I kind of like it.

What took so long? I think it's that old British reserve that goes over my Yank head, which is why I still prefer Chappell Roan and Olivia Rodrigo for this kind of dance-oriented pop. But if they're a bit much for you, this just might be what you're looking for.

It's well-put-together with more variety but less passion than Chappell. Which I guess makes this durable, if not overwhelming.

B+

Little Richard: The Georgia Peach (1991)

One day in 1964, six year old me heard that the Beatles were going to be Shindig that weekend. Did I sleep at all leading up to that show? I'm not sure, but imagine my chagrin when they came on and didn't play an actual Beatles song! (Were there such things, I wondered? But I've sinced checked and apparently there are.) Here's what they did play. I sniffed and turned up my nose. Where is the melody? The harmonies? All I heard was yelling and, shudder, rhythm. (I was such a little f*cking bitch. No fun what so ever*.)

Anyway, since then I became aware of Little Richard's existence. First by finding this song on Beatles VI, and then by hearing "Long Tall Sally" on The Beatles Second Album. It would take me a long while to realize that "Oh, Darlin'" was clearly a tribute to LR. So I reluctantly concluded that he must have been a worthy artist, but one I'd never get into until I stopped being NFWSE (see above*). It's been about sixty years and I'm still a work in progress.

Anyway...

Delight #1: "Awombompaluma..." (Please submit your suggestions for alternative spellings. Wrong answers only.)

Delight #2: Hearing his other voices, where more than once he could be mistaken for a lady.

Delights #3-20: The rest.

It's quite remarkable that for each anarchic manifesto ("Tutti Frutti", etc.) there is also a slow or mid-tempo r&b number ("Take a Hand"). Both approaches feature a different aspect of his boundless... well, energy doesn't quite cut it (Charisma? Insanity? Genius??). Just at different levels of intensity.

It's all just balanced enough to keep your head from exploding, which would be a shame because it might keep you from dancing/singing along.

Most people think Jerry Lee Lewis was the scariest of our Rock 'n roll Founding Fathers due to those undercurrents of violence/statutory rape. But that's all good old American fun compared to Little Richard's double threat of African American-ness and sexual up-for-anything-ness.

America didn't quite know what to make of him. Lucky for him I'll say.

Boards of Canada: Music Has the Right to Children (1998)

This Scottish duo were pioneers of the hip hop mood-music scene of the late nineties. (What, you missed it??) It's a bit static but not bad at all. There aren't many peaks (or valleys) here, which is actually a strong argument for it. It really flows.

It's also great for reading. No pesky lyrics to distract you. This has become more and more important as the internet continues to shorten my attention span.

So if you're interested in some neat background music and are tired of ambient, you could do worse.

Of course, you could do better as well.

B+

Can: Tago Mago (1971)

German art rock from the early seventies. Wait! Wait! Come back! It's really not bad at all.

It is weird in unexpected ways. It starts off promisingly, with some actual melodies and flow! But then the longer cuts kick in, and it gets a bit...harsh. The drumming isn't sophisticated, but man, it carries things for well over an hour, even when the production doesn't do it justice. That's the way to do it! Like my old boss used to say, Pneumonia? Just power through it.

And the lead guitar isn't fancy, but it fits gloriously into the jammier sections. And there really aren't any lengthy solos. Just sharp riffing in all the right places.

So it's the opposite of Boards in that it's hard to ignore. This, too, is both good and bad. Good when the musicians coalesce. Bad when the singer goes into a surrealistic rant. But even that is the outcome of an extended jam, so it has its charms.

Since it's a double album, it does have its own "Revolution 9" of sorts ("Peking O"), which I advise skipping.

But I, um, "recommend" it. Just make sure the wife and kids (and maybe pets) are out of the house first.

B+

Louis Armstrong & Duke Ellington: The Great Summit/The Master Takes (2011)

With two jazz titans in a 1962-ish recording session, this one is very hard to not like. But one could argue it's not needed, since if you're a fan of Duke Ellington, you are probably familiar with most of these songs. But having Satchmo playing - and singing! - on them is another matter altogether.

Ellington's piano is, as always, smooth and cool but never slick. The rest of the band does quite a creditable job, too, especially clarinetist Barney Bigard.

The overall mood is bluesy and slow, and yet compelling. Good music can accompany or improve your mood, and the rhythm can wake you up. But it takes pretty great music to slow you down and make you like it.

So I ended the year much like I began it - with Duke Ellington. And as with Money Jungle, this would have made my top ten of 2025 if it didn't come in so late. Which leads me to wonder if I'm listening to older music to escape from our present troubles. Seems likely.

A-

Good Riddance!:

So it wasn't a terrible year, for music at least. And music gives us hope.

Sometimes that's all we have.

The Fifteenth Annual Jaybee-bies: Well, THAT Sure Sucked

2026-01-02T09:58:00.000-05:00

Executive Summary:

2025 was everything we feared it would be, and more.

Personal: I'm getting over (I hope) an illness.
Music/Personal: Due to the above, I did the world a huge favor and stopped "playing" guitar for a while. The world took no notice. So I had no choice but to start again. This time with a focus on having fun. You've been warned.
Music: Per my last post, I'm feeling more alienated than ever from the current music, probably due to thoughts on mortality. Jazz, Blues, and Oldies were great, as usual. Otherwise, I kept looking for the weirdos. Thank god I found some.
Politics: After a long year, I'm seeing a little bit of daylight. How about you?

Humans:

Best:

Some judges
A very few congresspersons
Janet Mills
Many, many others who, in my current state, I just can't bring to mind. Feel free to write in your favorites.

Worst:

Some old winners (Tucker Carlson, Megyn Kelly, Jesse Waters) are working extra hard at being awful just to keep up with the new kids:

All the tech bros with no balls
All the media outlet owners who really don't give a shit about media
Elon Musk
Laura Loomer
Nick Fuentes (do I really have to point this out?)
Neil Gorsuch, Samuel Alito, Clarence Thomas
ICE
Mike Johnson
Pam Bondi
Stephen Miller

Best Books:

I managed to read some books this year, none of which changed my life, but many that taught me things, some of which I might have been better off not knowing. I hope it's all made me a better person.

Peter the Great by Robert Massie - Great Russian history. I see Adam Driver in the title role.
The Age of Revolution 1789-1849 by EJ Hobshawm - A tad (or two or three) drier than Massie's book, but it's got such a grasp of the entire era, it's worth it.
The Killing Fields of East New York by Stacy Horn - History on a much smaller scale. Not to worry, there's still plenty of evil here to go around.
The Family by Ed Sanders - Just some light reading before tackling Infinite Jest.
Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion - Even less sixties nostalgia than The Family.
Small Town Talk by Barney Hoskyns - Even less sixties nostalgia than Bethlehem.
Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace - I read it on my tiny iPhone SE, which took nearly all summer. And as I did with Gravity's Rainbow, I ended up frustrated, annoyed, and wanting to read it again, maybe this time with a highlighter.
The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin - Chuck D patiently explains it all to us. Great first line: "Listen up, motherf*ckers."

Best Movies:

Wake Up, Dead Man
Okay, Superman

I don't even remember if I saw anything else. I simply have to get out more!

Best TV:

I was stingy with my time this year, so I was reluctant to commit to an entire series. Mike Schur is a safe bet, though:

A Man on the Inside

I simply must stay in more!

Best Concerts:

Do the 40th anniversary screenings of Stop Making Sense and Clue count? (Answers: Yes and No)

Music Awards:

Most Work (But Worth it):

Can

Most Work (And Possibly Not Worth It):

Luckily, nothing this year.

Most Surprising (and Not Necessarily in a Good Way):

Heartworms

Best Nostalgia:

Louis in London

Best Artist:

Cindy Lee

Best Albums of My Year:

Cindy Lee: Diamond Jubilee (2024) - A dark time, indelibly stamped by this odd, lonely, beautiful record.
Handsome Family: In the Air (2000) - Cindy Lee swapped for Johnny Cash, the cold tundra swapped for the country, where everything is Very Normal. Right.
Duke Ellington/Charles Mingus/Max Roach: Money Jungle (1962) - Seemingly effortless group creation on the fly.
CMAT: EURO-COUNTRY (2025) - Containing great tunes, great singing, and sheer gusto.
Lester Young with the Oscar Peterson Trio (1952) - Improvisational genius improvising away, accompanied by a crack trio, none of whom are exactly slouches either.
Hurray for the Riff Raff: The Past is Still Alive (2024) - This simple, straightforward country rock album patiently waited for me to catch up to it. I feel so dumb!
John Coltrane: Crescent (2024) My Coltrane sweetspot appears to be just before he takes off for the stratosphere. An excellent intro to his work.
Geese: Getting Killed (2025) This one gets extra credit for conceptual integrity.
Adrienne Lenker: Bright Future (2024) - Oh so fragile and yet it outlasted other, more "muscular" records.
Otis Redding: Dictionary of Soul (1966) - Of all his not-quite-great albums, this one is probably the best.

Honorable Mention: The Pretty Things, Oklou, The Housmartins, Waxahatchee, Iggy, Dijon, and Louis Armstrong

Best Compilations:

1. Slim Harpo: The Best of...

2. Big Joe Turner: The Very Best of...

3. Little Richard: The Georgia Peach

The Album I Listened To Most but Had the Least to Say About It Due to Density (Mine, not the music's.):

Boards of Canada: Music Has the Right to Children

Songs:

Some of the best songs I heard this year can be found here. It's a weirdly folk/country/hard rock hybrid. Good luck!
And since Cindy Lee is not on Spotify, here's a link to hear the entire album. I recommend you play it really early, or really late:

Conclusions:

I've been listening differently this year. Circumstances persuaded me to look to the past in hopes of finding something timeless. So I took my eye off the new and the shiny. A well rounded person would do both.

So then, how could you, dear reader, gain any useful knowledge about this year? You're busy, you want to have fun. Why am I dragging you to the old abandoned mine shafts? It's always been the conundrum of my approach.

The other issue is ranking some new records against many that have stood the test of time. It's almost as though the new music doesn't belong on the list at all. But I'd rather think of it as how I feel about these records right now as opposed to for all eternity.

And yet, on Bluesky, I'm seeing more and more folks mixing the old and the new on their lists of books and records in the name of describing the year they had. As the inventor of this approach, I approve.

The circumstances I mentioned above pulled me away from playing guitar for a while. Time was looking more and more limited, and I decided listening to actual pros was a better use of it than playing mediocrely (yes, I just made that word up). I fight the same war on the reading/writing front. Why write a word when there are so many great books to read? I don't know, but I will anyway.

I eventually drifted back to theh guitar, ignoring the voice asking me what the point was to trying to get better at this point. Then Son Michael bought me a new guitar - a nice electric one I really have no business playing. But Mike said I had a rough year and should "have some fun", whatever that is.

On the real-life front, I've gotten past my horror, or at least compartmentalized it. Elvis C was wrong, you know. One can be disgusted by events, but given how many people get hurt, there's never a justification for feeling merely amused.

Have a great new year anyway.

25, or 5 to 4

2025-12-26T10:33:00.000-05:00

The Situation:

So there I was, doing my usual musical wandering throughout the year, or so I thought.

I'd wandered so far, in fact, that I'd not gotten a single album released this year. I finally realized this in early December. (A lie.)

Was the year so bad, news-wise or personal-wise, that I - consciously or not - didn't want any actual music stamped upon it? Well, sort of. Let's face it, I'd been slacking off for a while.

Hang the DJ (and Some Listeners):

Is it that I don't listen to the radio enough? Other than traffic and weather, does anyone listen to the radio anymore? Sirius XM is just another vast wasteland, this time of music we've already heard enough of. Only people who like music listen to it. Clearly, no one who loves music does.

I don't remember when I originally made a distinction between these two types of listeners, but to keep things short, I'll just say that the Likers are, in fact, the destroyers of music. All they want to hear is what they've heard before. They are the ones ultimately responsible for the same old sh*t being replayed endlessly on the radio. Music Likers are the ones who, well, like it this way. Well, f*ck them.

Music Lovers, on the other hand, have odd tastes and are always exploring. This motivates them to seek out the new and the weird, thus ensuring that new, weird music continues to be created. And even when that new, weird music ultimately gets co-opted and commercialized, it's the Lovers that help keep the cycle of creation going, thus ultimately pleasing everyone.

ANYWAY.

Back to the Situation:

Even if I listened to the radio and actually found some channels providing new music, how, given my/our time constraints and the vast amount of new music, can I distinguish between the flavor of the month and the timeless classic? You really can't unless you commit to living with it for a while. And let's admit that most of that music leaves its underwear on the floor and snores. So after a couple of weeks, you realize you hate it. Thanks, flavor of the month, but let's just be friends. It's not me, it's you.

By this time of the year, Best of the Year lists are sprouting like weeds. The advantage of these lists is that the writers have gone through the infatuation-to-breakup cycle described above, and their choices now are based on the hard-won experience of picking up 2025's musical underwear and deciding if it's really worth it or not.

I'd rather let this process play out before jumping in. The resulting smaller pool of music is much easier to navigate. Sure, I'll miss some good music, but the risk of time wasted in a sea of "okay-ness" is just too great.

So I try to aggregate some of these lists and look for patterns, like which records keep getting mentioned. I then weed out the ones by artists I've already gotten records from. That enabled me to skip high scorers like Rosalia and Bad Bunny. Paramore fan Son Michael will do the heavy lifting for the Jaybee family, keep me apprised of Hayley Williams.

And after failing to pull the trigger any number of times, I finally settled on the five records below:

Geese: Getting Killed

The lead singer sounds like Karl Wallinger with a cold. Hey, too soon? Karl did pass away recently...

The loping off-kilter tunes renew my love for imperfection, whatever that is. The execution is deceptively sloppy. You'd think they're all jumping out of bed after an alarm starts shrieking, but then seconds later, they're charging right at you as a unit. These guys are sneaky!

Further listens reveal a twisted but urgent sensibility, which wouldn't mean a whole lot, except that the band is all in. Just when you think the singer has lost his way crawling up his own ass, the drummer bashes you (and the band) in the head, and everyone's on the same page again.

They also understand the concept of pretty, but don't lean on it. They are committed to seeing each song through to its illogical conclusion, which means each one of them has something to offer and often, delight.

I greatly admire this record, but I don't quite love it. Checking the bathroom floor as we speak...

A-

CMAT: Euro Country

Jesus H Christ, this was overwhelming on first listen. The first three songs are fantastic, each in different ways, thus relieving my anxiety that "all pop music sounds the same (to me)" or "pop music is not offering anything new".

She manages to cover a lot of bases here. The opening and title song reminds me of a mellower Sinead O'Connor, the second would sound great on a country station, and the third is just good old rock and roll. And it's not like she's just dipping her toe in. It's hard to believe these three songs are even on the same album. But it works.

The rest of the album couldn't possibly keep up that level of quality, so she very shrewdly doesn't try. She just does a few midtempo crowdpleasers and lets us all relax a bit. And then the last four songs pick things up again for a fine finish.

She writes melodies with the best of them, sings great, and is quite funny. Oh, and Irish!

A-

Heartworms: Glutton for Punishment

So, I hated this on first listen. A young lady singing superciliously. A band that is practically clinical in its precision. Oh, I know that sounds like LOADS of fun, but I assure you there is no fun here at all. That would be wrong.

But it's probably great for younger men than me, who don't value humor enough. A little of that good old British sarcasm would have gone a long way.

Second time around, I took in the dynamics, which were really not bad. The young lady has a good voice. Very agile. Very sure of itself. Not completely over the top. Is it the actual music that leaves me cold?

Third time, how utterly boring. These dramatic peaks and swoops don't do a thing for me other than induce nausea. Old age, I'm guessing. Mine, not hers.

I was so afraid that trying another genre and not liking it would make me feel old. I was wrong. It's when I'm in a familiar genre and the music sounds alien to me that makes me feel old.

It's weird, though. I have it on right now, and it's not outright bad. In fact, it's pretty well produced and engineered. It's just, well... f*cking annoying. The young lady who's singing is sure technically proficient, but I find her totally unconvincing. It's the actual proficiency itself I find annoying.

I say all this to anyone who listens to this record and is baffled by my reaction. Is it because she sounds like she's got it all figured out? Is it because she's convinced she's good and I'm not? (Convinced, I mean.)

This one is making me rethink my rule of going into new albums cold, meaning no previews?

If it was terrible, I could at least have a good laugh about it. As it is, it makes me hate my life.

C+

Dijon: Baby

Now licking my wounds and seriously considering using previews (the aural equivalent to checking the pool for water before diving in) before purchases, I retreated into the past. Early one Friday morning, I'm scrolling through my Amazon (as opposed to my iTunes, as opposed to CD or freakin' LP) library and, who do I see but poor old D'Angelo! The album in question, Black Messiah, works pretty well at 8am. But less than halfway through, it hits me that I've been toying with getting this Dijon album. Per my last post, soul is not my forte, but throw in psychedelic, and you've got me interested, so I took the plunge.

It's not quite as dense and lo-fi-determined as D'Angelo, which is probably a good thing. The main thing post-Heartworms is that it's not ANNOYING. What a relief!

And once taken on its own terms, it turns out to be the work of an energetic young man with a winning enthusiasm that never descends into a "I'm working hard so you're sort of obligated to like this" vibe. In fact, all sails by with melodic, rhythmic, lyrical, and ambient charm. Damn near adds up to capital-J level Joy! It's not quite there, but small-j level joy is fine, too.

A-

Oklou: choke enough

First listen: a little light, too pretty. FRENCH. But hear me out!

Second: Pretty and mellow (but not in that real negative way) dance music.

Third: The songs - well, the melodies anyway - are taking shape for me. There is some autotune on the vocals, but it's used for rhythmic, rather than melodic, effect. So I'll let it go this time.

Fourth: The prettiness should have worn thin by now, but hasn't. And the overall atmosphere hasn't turned into an Enya-fest either. The details are emerging, so I'll go out on a limb and say she's doing pop music. Dance/Electro/Ambient pop music, which may be my favorite kind because the "Ambient" sort of cancels out "Dance", which means I can just sit on my ass and listen, by which I mean, not do any actual dancing.

Mrs. Jaybee says she sounds like Ariande Grande. I sure wouldn't know.

There's also a modesty here that is miles better than that other record I won't name. Alas, what makes it pleasant also takes away from its impact.

B+

Pulling Rank:

So my best of 2025 is looking something like this:

1. Geese

2. CMAT

3. Dijon

4. Oklou

Let us not speak of Heartworms. To paraphrase my new mayor, I hope to never utter her name again, and I wish her the very best over on that other side of the Atlantic, where they seem to like that sort of thing.

But did this last-minute catch-up work? Kind of, but it wasn't fun. It wasn't organic. I would much rather have picked these records up throughout the year. But that just speaks to my lack of confidence in finding the records that speak to me. Assuming they still exist.

Looking Behind and Ahead:

Next time, we'll see how these records stack up against the rest of the music I've been listening to this year.

Based on the final results of all those end-of-year polls, I'm sure I'll be picking up more 2025 music next year, but what I really want to do is pick up 2026 music at that time.

Hopefully, it will suit me, or I will grow into it. If not, I'll just go back to wandering. I'll wear an ID tag so you all can steer me home again.

Missed Otis Regrets

2025-11-20T16:10:00.002-05:00

I was born in 1957, and although my parents had many albums by Irish artists, music may as well have not existed for me until 1963, when the Beatles hit the airwaves. At first, I, a first-grader, resisted because "girls liked them." But after half a dozen hits or so, I knew my obstinacy was getting ridiculous. I became a huge fan.

So, my first pleasurable exposure to music was the f*cking BEATLES. Then the British invasion and the American response to it. And so on. The way I'd describe the era to young people was "you couldn't put on the radio without hearing yet another great song."

Perfect right? Well...

One less-than-perfect aspect was my disdain for almost any other kind of music. Some of it was generational - a defensive (as in "a good offense") reaction to adults' constant criticism of the music I liked. So I'd deride any music performed in a black and white movie, or played by people with short hair or suits.

I also found oldies pathetic (not enough guitars), Motown had too much brass, and R&B had too much rhythm and not enough melody. Not to worry. I had plenty of "my music" to get me through the decade.

I read somewhere that after MLK was assassinated, some African American artists gave much less of a f*ck about appealing to white audiences, or, for that matter, playing with white musicians. The resulting music brimmed with pride, confidence, and rhythm. But it rubbed me the wrong way. White Irish Catholic that I am/was, I interpreted it as egotism. Around that time, I vaguely recall seeing a documentary featuring Aretha Franklin and James Brown, showing them rousing their audiences into a frenzy. The music was as un-Beatles-like as I could imagine, and I stared at the TV screen uncomprehendingly.

It only got worse in the seventies. Funk, glam rock, disco, etc. All worthless! All fads! All about clothing and spectacle (not to mention makeup), and not about the music like my favorite Allman Brothers and Grateful Dead. Some artists used humor, advocated for having a good time and, shudder, dancing, which I w/could not do. WIC that I am/was, I found it all very hedonistic. Music, after all, was meant to be serious!

And yet, all this time, I was reading a lot about music. Even a musical Puritan like me could see I was missing out on a lot. Circus magazine got me to try middle-period Kinks, if not the New York Dolls, Hit Parader got me into prog rock, and Rolling Stone got me into singer-songwriters.

At the end of the seventies, a lot of "best of the decade" assessments began to appear, and reading them hammered home how much music I didn't hear. And if I was honest with myself, I didn't want to hear. Something had to change.

I'm not sure what got me to lighten up a little. (It's a lifetime project.) Was it hearing the Sex Pistols and Ramones albums playing in the Brooklyn College Student Center? Was it just vanity and wanting to be different? For whatever reason, I began to cautiously explore.

And honestly, not all of those efforts resulted in epiphanies. Sometimes, it would just be puzzlement. Change takes time. But there was enough good stuff to encourage me to keep going.

In the early eighties (not mine, but they are getting closer), armed with Robert Christgau's Rock Albums of the Seventies and The Rolling Stone Album Guide, I began my quest to catch up on what I'd missed, and I haven't looked back since.

One artist was Otis Redding. I picked up the double-LP The Best of Otis Redding, which I dutifully played a few times but wouldn't fully appreciate for decades.

Years passed. Vinyl had long been relegated to my basement, along with the turntable. I'd occasionally dip into this album. which sounded better and better.

Then, this year, I noticed Amazon (f*ck you, Jeff, btw) offered a 5-pack of Redding's first five albums for a reasonable price. It had been, oh, forty years, so I felt almost ready and picked it up this past August.

It covers the same ground, more or less, as the Best-Of, although in more detail, of course. Alas, it stops just short of "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay".

Not to worry.

Otis Redding: Original Album Series

Like many other sixties-era albums, these records are flawed by a hesitation to go all-out. Record companies still insisted on including covers of other artists' hits to broaden their appeal as much as possible. And here, the segues from brilliant original to lame cover can be jarring. But it gets better as he goes long by making them his own.

Being an Album Guy, I value consistency more than I should. If I went by Total Joy Provided (TJP?), each of these records would be at least an A-minus:

Pain in My Heart (1964): The covers are fine ("Stand by Me") if inessential. Otis plays it too safe, largely keeping their arrangements intact. Typical first album hesitation. "Louie Louie" is definitely the weirdest. Otis may be performing a public service (or not) by making the lyrics somewhat comprehensible. He sings the hell out of it, though. "You Send Me" has some nice vocal turns, but it's not unique enough to matter. "Lucille" doesn't even have that. But it's the very first song - the title track - that gets it exactly right. Other classics and near classics include "Something is Worrying Me, "These Arms of Mine", "I Need Love", and "That's What My Heart Needs", which may be the one that contains the seeds of his greatness. B+

The Great Otis Redding Sings Soul Ballads (1965): Right off the bat, the band sounds a bit more muscular. Better production, maybe? Again, the opener - "That's How Strong My Love Is" rules. There are several, somewhat lesser songs like it, too. And as the title says, it's mostly ballads, so the pacing gets a bit sluggish. He does well with Chuck Willis' "It's Too Late", later covered nicely by Derek and the Dominoes(!), among many others. "Your One and Only Man" is a great discovery. Fewer classics here, but no bad covers. A-

Otis Blue: Otis Sings Soul (1965): Because Sam Cooke - Redding's idol - passed away the prior December, three of his songs are covered here. Two - "Shake and "A Change Is Gonna Come" are Redding classics. "Wonderful World" is less so. And the basically unchanged Four Tops' "My Girl", less even than that. So it's a little short on originals. A shame since they're all great, like "Ole Man Trouble" and "I've Been Loving You Too Long". I'd include"Respect" for the drums alone, but AF took that into the stratosphere. But halfway through, the covers stop the momentum. Although "Rock Me" and "Satisfaction" are fine. Excellent, but with two annoying covers. B+

The Soul Album (1966): Highlights include the wonderful "Cigarettes and Coffee", "Good To Me", and "I've Been Loving You Too Long". Again, fewer highs than Otis Blue, but more consistent. No bad covers, and he makes "Chain Gang" his own. A-

Complete and Unbelievable: Dictionary of Soul (1966): The songs are strong, and most of the covers are obscure enough to blend right in. The band is in full command. Classics include "Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa (Sad Song)", "Lover's Prayer", and "Try a Little Tenderness", which - via an imaginative arrangement - shows off his power, grittiness, and way with a melody. Perhaps his greatest performance. The live version below from Monterey Pop is even better. In terms of consistency, this one's the best of the five. A-

There would be a couple more albums after these. His appearance at Monterey Pop greatly broadened his audience. The future seemed bright and clear, but it was not to be. His plane went down on the way to a show, and this future superstar-to-be was instead dead at 26.

The following month, "Dock of the Bay" was released. And the rest is, well, our own rather f*cked up history.

So you can dig deep like me, or, assuming you're not guilt-ridden due to your original lack of appreciation, grab a Best Of. Either way, you'll have beaten me by about forty years.

Ziggy Pop / Iggy Stardust

2025-10-23T17:03:00.000-04:00

I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center. Big, undreamed‑of things—the people on the edge see them first.

Kurt Vonnegut

Nothing like a quote from a respected author to defend someone who went over the edge on Day 1, huh?

Ziggy:

You have to hand it to David Bowie. He was always willing to dive into the maelstrom. He'd barely finished Ziggy Stardust when he decided to produce Mott the Hoople's All the Young Dudes, and then Lou Reed's Transformer. Reed could send the most dedicated musician to a Buddhist monastery for life, and so during the recording, Bowie could usually be found in a fetal position under the bathroom sink.

After Reed, he decided to deal with a more stable individual and befriended Iggy Pop to produce Raw Power, to no one's satisfaction.

Bowie also somehow got around to recording his own Alladin Sane.

All this in about a year. Coffee, I suspect.

Iggy:

Iggy himself had made his mark amongst pre-punks with his first few records with the Stooges. But there's only so many times you can threaten (and only partially pull off) the apocalypse before people start to call your bluff. (See his mid-70s humiliation in Please Kill Me.) Plus, square people like me were never going to embrace him, anyway.

It took until I saw Trainspotting, and the Sex Pistols' choice to self-immolate to "No Fun", to understand his rabid following. My personal Iggy collection starts with a best-of from 1995, which covers most of the essentials. I then moved on to the Stooges' second and third albums - Fun House and Raw Power (the remixed - i.e., non-Bowie - version) - and finally got it - the almost idiotically simple music, sung by a seeming psychotic who nonetheless managed to keep a cool distance from it all, and dropping the mask occasionally to show he knew exactly what he was doing.

To my ears, I hear a movement - from the flat lo-fi growl of "I Wanna Be Your Dog" (one must have aspirations, after all) and "No Fun" (even if those aspirations aren't met), to the sharper bark of Fun House and then to the full-fledged yowl of Raw Power - towards a fuller, clearer sound of very primitive music.

So what do you do next? Do you soften the music and risk selling out, but at least benefit from royalties as you approach middle age? Or do you try something new? Something's gotta give. So by 1976, Iggy was going through some tough times and had some decisions to make.

Z/Iggy:

Bowie came to the rescue, revived Pop's career, and, possibly, his art-if-you-wanna-call-it-that-and-I-do, at least temporarily.

And wouldn't you know, Bowie wrote most of the music for these two records! He very shrewdly left the lyrics to Iggy, knowing the man would have to have the last word on his own image.

He also played uncredited piano on Iggy's supporting tour while also releasing two great solo records of his own - Low and Heroes.) Another busy Bowie year. That's some pretty strong coffee!

Iggy Pop: The Idiot (1977)

Ah, it's great to hear Iggy in these tuneful settings. I can just hear Bowie saying to him, You know, Iggy dear, every song doesn't have to be an apocalypse. Not being an Iggy fanatic, I'm fine with this approach.

The band is (relatively) restrained, which lets Iggy's voice take center stage. With the Stooges, his voice would be fighting with (and occasionally beating) the band. Here, things are more harmonious. The band leaves some space, which Iggy fills with a suave croon. Let's thank Bowie for this.

It's also a relief to hear Iggy the Showman instead of Iggy the Raving Lunatic (which was kind of an act, anyway.)

I give this one the edge because of the last cut being better.

A-

Iggy Pop: Lust for Life (1977)

Released later that same year, it's Iggy saying, Don't worry, I'm still Iggy. Yet it's different in some critical ways. The title track - one of the greatest rock n' roll songs ever - ISN'T loud and raucous enough to send normies (like me) out of the room. It does have those enormous drums kicking things off, which should draw anyone in. And if you want to really be hit by the full force of it, watch the opening scene from Trainspotting. A true statement of purpose.

There are still the screams that remind you of the old Iggy, but this time, he's actually interested in a bigger audience. And it makes all the difference for better or worse, depending on how you like your Iggy. Clearer and punchier, but also safer. (I'm beginning to really love those earlier albums. I guess sometimes I'm looking forward to the apocalypse after all.)

And yet, that triptych of "The Passenger", "Tonight", and "Success" conveys a kind of joy. Rare.

A-

Ziggy-less:

And like with Lou Reed, it turned out great, but was really just a holding pattern.

Neither Iggy nor Bowie realized that they had only a few more years of vital music left in them. And now Bowie's gone altogether.

But these two records are great places to get the essence of Iggy without the broken peanut butter jars and such.

It's been 30 years since that best-of came out, and while Iggy's been keeping busy putting out record after record, I'm not up on any of them. I suspect by now I've got all the Iggy I'll ever need.

That's okay. He continues to thrill audiences in concert, which, I hear, is where most apocalypses take place these days.

Simple

2025-10-09T12:18:00.002-04:00

Outstanding in their field.

Some things are just so simple.

For instance, the following record is the best folk/country album I've heard in years. Better this year than Hooray for the Riff Raff(!) (by a bit) and Waxahatchee (by a bit more) and Jesse Winchester (a bit more than that). And nearly as good as Robbie Fulks. Too bad it's 25 years old.

How is this even possible? I was on my last pop legs for a bit there. (This isn't pop, but you get the point.) No jazz chords either.

The Handsome Family: In the Air (2000)

The songs have the most basic of melodies, made fresh via the kind of genius John Prine possessed, and Neil Young occasionally still does. It makes me want to play guitar again.

Brett Sparks' rich baritone is nearly as commanding as Johnny Cash's. He sounds ancient, yet I'm sure I'm twenty years older. I assumed the lyrics are profound. Or did the melodies and the voice make them so? Who knows? Who cares?

But upon closer listen, I find most of them dark and kind of twisted - more than one involving family murder. It's probably the only off-putting element in the whole project. But I'm still listening anyway, especially since there are also a few with lyrics so open-hearted as to bring you to tears.

I'd have preferred to include another album here for comparison or contrast, but that would have just complicated things. This short, modest record is nearly as good as the sprawling Diamond Jubilee.

And it's as simple as that.

Summer of Jazz (for Grumpy Seniors)

2025-09-25T17:50:00.001-04:00

Lester, in the pocket.

John, searching for more.

Too Darn Hot?

I'm not a fan of summer. My comfort zone has shrunk considerably since I was a kid who loved being off from school for two months. Once school was no longer an issue, I quickly noticed that summer was HOT. And HUMID. Who knew? Air conditioning helped, except when it was too high and you'd get pneumonia. All this makes me grumpy, and that's not conducive to expanding one's horizons. Too many CDs get thrown out of windows, perhaps prematurely.

It's just safer for me to stick to simple, energetic, and melodic music. So classical, jazz, country, and blues were all out. They were relegated to winter, when all hope is lost anyway, so you may as well learn something. Plus, it takes effort, which generates heat, which saves on the gas bill.

But my approach was no longer working. Pop music was becoming foreign to me. (The age gap alone is getting embarrassing.) My old reliable - guitar-based pop - was sounding stale and repetitive, and I'm just tired of waiting for joy to show up. "Everything at/in its proper time and place" is wisdom I may not have time for anymore.

I tried something differenct last time and lucked out with the blues. The key was to keep things simple. No big box sets. Just single-CD best-ofs. Big Joe Turner and Skip James did the rest.

With that in mind, I asked myself Why not jazz? Perhaps a sax or piano could provide a respite. The guitars will just have to show up when they show up. One can't force these things.

And lo! (Always wanted to say that.) I managed to find some great jazz records I happily listen to in summer. Early summer mornings, but still summer.

Feeling Young:

Once while in college, I sat with a semi-stoner buddy. Since music was always the lingua franca of those years, we almost immediately got on the topic, and to my surprise, he told me he was into jazz.

I wasn't yet, but the explorer in me took over, and I asked him to name his favorite artist. His eyes went wide.

"Lester Young," he said.

I made a mental note that stood dormant for oh, fifty years, because there was always someone else who would edge him out. Sure, I'd get Billie Holiday records, where LY was the main side man, but never one of his own records. But there was one I had my eye on.

And wouldn't you know it? The All Knowing Jeff F*cking Bezos (his actual name) dangled that very album in my "music library". When I tried to play it, though, I got a saying it'd play if I joined Apple Music. I have yet to take that approach to my listening habits and declined. I like to own my music. And if anything, JFB has been misbehaving lately, which led me to my current "any store but Amazon" period, so I could safely say that was never going to happen.

But finally, one day the price was right (Yes, I checked iTunes, but it cost more. Any other suggestions would be welcome.) and I gave JFB my $7, which I believe went to his engagement ring fund.

Lester Young with the Oscar Peterson Trio (1952)

By 1952, the quality of recorded sound was improving, but it still had a way to go. This might explain my preference for late-50s jazz. By then, the clarity had improved to the point that you could hear everything - including the silence - quite clearly. So the sound on this record is less than stellar.

Once you get past that minor limitation, it's a delight from beginning to end. Right off the friggin' bat, LY bursts out of the gate with a bouquet of notes to kick off "Ad Lib Blues". Oscar Peterson and his trio are not far behind. OP is smooth, smooth, smooth, like Art Tatum. But unlike him, he's willing to take the occasional Bud Powell-like imaginative leaps instead of giving empty flourishes. Barney Kessel's guitar - despite the limited sound - is very on point, so it's not all on Lester.

But they don't call him "Pres" (short for President) for nothing. His solos seem effortless and yet fill every available moment with a melodic ebb and flow. Unlike Coltrane, say, Young is not a searcher. He always sounds perfectly comfortable in whatever setting he's in. So he's not always riveting, but it is always rewarding and, well, reassuring.

LY was supposedly past his prime at this point. If that's the case, I'll have to dig deeper, because this is record is simply wonderful.

Trying to Catch the 'Trane:

And since I have no imagination whatsoever, I then default to John Coltrane.

I recently checked my database* to see how many JC albums I have. It lists nine under his name and eight collaborations. So, work with me as I do the math, and say the total is .... seventeen. And that doesn't count the dozen or so I've got with him as part of the Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk units.

That would tie him for SECOND on my all-time list, behind the Beatles, who have 22, and that's only because that includes both American and British versions of several of their albums. He shares this honor with the elusive and frustrating Miles Davis and the frustrating and elusive Neil Young. JC can be pretty f*cking elusive, too, but he's just so much more likable as a human, it makes me willing to hear him out when he jumps off the occasional musical cliff.

And he does that a lot. Whenever I get a JC album, I brace myself because I rarely get it the first time I hear it. My first Coltrane CD was Giant Steps in 1990. It took years for me to get a hold of the title number. It was like a roller coaster I was afraid to get on. Once I did, though, oh boy!

My favorite JC album may be Afro Blue/Impressions, which is a posthumous compilation of live dates from 1963, providing wonderful solos but also the occasional foray into space.

JC put out - and appeared as a guest or band member on - a dizzying number of albums, so I need Allmusic's help to zero in on the best ones. I noted that The Cats, Ole', and Crescent are the most highly regarded ones I didn't already have. So they would be my next stops on the Trane.

He mostly stays moored to Earth on these albums. You never know when I'll pull the trigger on one of his free jazz albums like Ascension or Interstellar Space, which carry what amounts to warning labels. Having just gotten an Ornette Coleman box set of eight early LPs, including Free Jazz, I am no longer afraid. I'm prepared to be embarrassed, though.

Tommy Flanagan, John Coltrane, Kenny Burrell, Idrees Sulieman: The Cats (1959)

Although released at the end of 1959, this was actually recorded in April 1957, right around when Miles Davis fired Coltrane because of his heroin addiction. (Coltrane's, not Davis', who'd already been there and done that.) Luckily, Coltrane had signed with Prestige, where he did a lot of work as a sideman. And that's what he is here, even if his name is on the cover.

But right out of the gate, you know it's him. Standard Coltrane here. At first, a bit tentative, finding his way. So nothing stupendous, but nothing bad. Later, with a little more room, JC branches out and uses space and silence as much as notes. A nice trick. The rest is mostly an inventory of his bag of tricks at this point. Perhaps he was just being polite. But not bad for a heroin addict.

And, of course, I may be judging this record on JC's performances alone, which would be unfair. The other sidemen really shine. Idrees Sulieman on trumpet, in particular. I suspect this one will be a slow burner.

B+

John Coltrane: Ole' (1961)

At this point JC has kicked his heroin habit, re-joined the Miles Davis group for Milestones (1958), Kind of Blue (1959), among many other records, and put out a number of collaborations and solo albums of his own, the great ones being Blue Train (1957), Giant Steps (1960), and My Favorite Things (1961), which immediately preceded this album.

The title track shares some similarities with "My Favorite Things", mainly in how JC uses it to take his clarinet out for a spin. He uses the opportunity, on MFT, he replaced the Western major and minor chords with Middle Eastern modes to make something new. On this original, he uses some (what else?) Spanish elements to build up a rather ominous tone over its eighteen epic minutes. He may have been inspired by Miles Davis' Sketches of Spain, released the prior year, although Miles goes all in with an orchestra for a full album. Here, JC just adds a second bass, and then is one and done.

On "Dahomey Dance", he sounds a lot like Kind of Blue, but more muscular. He's given himself room to stretch out, and he's one of the few musicians who benefits from it.

McCoy Tyner's "Aisha" reminds me of "Naima" from Giant Steps. And as before, it's amazing how far he can fly on a mellow tune.

"To Her Ladyship" (on the expanded version of the album) closes things out in a very mellow mood.

Kudos to Freddie Hubbard, who more than holds down his end on trumpet. Ditto for McCoy Tyner on piano, and Eric Dolphy for adding sweetness with the flute.

An excellent record that finds JC in a more relaxed mood.

A-

John Coltrane: Crescent (1964)

By now, JC has released Africa Brass, Live at the Village Vanguard, Live at Birdland, among many other records, and collaborated with, among many others, Duke Ellington.

Now he's approaching A Love Supreme, which would come out the following year and two years before Ascension, when he does that swan dive, or rocket launch, depending on where you're sitting.

The first two compositions here are as mellow as anything J.C. has recorded, except for the fact that he finds a way to gracefully veer from smooth sailing to heavy turbulence and back in a matter of seconds.

The relatively short "Bessie's Blues" is more uptempo, and JC swings with it for all its worth.

Then it's back to the mellow "Lonnie's Lament", one of my very favorite JC tracks. Solemn, mournful, and yet hypnotizing.

This is another relatively subdued Coltrane record, and a fine introduction to his work. Which is why I give it a slight edge over Ole.

A-

If things go as expected, about a year from now, I'll get the JC itch again. I always seem to be looking for more John Coltrane.

I think I'm trying to understand him. That's a fool's errand, especially for me, the pop music fan. But it's provided me with a lot of joy as I try.

_________________________________________________________

*Not be confused with my spreadsheet. (Helpful Hint: The database is for records I own, the spreadsheet for the ones I'm considering getting.)

Summertime Blues (for Seniors)

2025-08-14T18:16:00.000-04:00

Big Joe Turner

Slim Harpo and Friend

I somehow got through last summer after tempting the blues gods to smite me with genuineness when I would not be prepared to appreciate it. I somehow dodged that bullet by loving damn near every minute of it. Is there perhaps something to the phrase "Summertime Blues" that applies to seniors such as myself?

So, oops, I did it again and got a couple of albums I had no business getting in June (thank you, Father's Day and Universal Wish List - It's Free - Things To Get Me!). And it worked out great!

Big Joe Turner: The Very Best of... (2006)

I'm cheating a bit, having Joe here. There are a handful of blues songs, after which Joe smells the money and starts to, well, rock. He doesn't drop the blues - he just slaps it together with the new sound and in the process, releases half a dozen songs that - when covered by other people - more or less founded rock 'n roll. Joe himself - the Rodney Dangerfield of rock 'n roll? - never made it big.

This is certainly one of the most unpretentious albums I've ever heard. Nary a guitar to be found, but the piano and horns lend everything a party atmosphere. Even the slow blues numbers will make you smile, because Joe is a SHOUTER, and that tends to allay the gravitas.

It's called fun.

Slim Harpo: The Best of... (1997)

You'd think after hearing the always hustling Joe Turner, I'd dismiss this guy, whose delivery is so on the criminally lazy side, it would almost be funny, except that those vocals contrast so beautifully with his very sharp band, and his own even sharper lead guitar. In theory, awful, but in practice, magical.

And just when you think he's a clown, he goes dark. And I suspect when he talks about "love", he's not talking about romance. During one of his come-ons, he mentions how neither she nor he is going to heaven, so why not? Shudder!

So he really means business and understands that taking it a little slow just guarantees you'll get there in one piece. Well, at least he will.

And that's that. Each is a single CD, and neither overstays its welcome. I wasn't going to push it with a huge box or multi-CD set. I still have scars from my Lou Reed five-album foray a couple of years ago.

I've had similar luck with jazz, lately, too. We'll get to that maybe next time.

Getting Desperate Near the End of the Road, or Just a Few Randos?

2025-07-17T18:36:00.000-04:00

The Pretty Things

The Housemartins

Jane Siberry

As I'm sure you spend most of your free time obsessing on just how Jaybee picks an album to buy, I feel I owe you an explanation:

When picking my next album to buy, do I

Research the f*ck out of every possibility
Just buy something on a hunch or suggestion

Although I typically mention how I choose a given album, in general, I choose the first option (RTFOOEP). It has its shortcomings, but I've always believed it will produce better results in the long run.

Getting older does remind one, however, that we don't have as much "long run" as we used to. And recent events have shown I may have even less than I thought.

So, lately I've been making impulse buys, based either on the odd Quora comment (very dicey) or off-hand critic reference (also not without risk). The result has been albums that may not be pantheon-level but will likely satisfy something in me, even if it's mere curiosity. When I find myself saying I always wondered about that album I've decided - at least for now - to just cut to the chase. No more wondering, Jaybee, okay?

So, here are three artists I've had my eye on for some time. I was just waiting for the right recommendation to get me to try them out.

Jane Siberry: Bound by the Beauty (1989)

This Canadian singer-songwriter has twenty albums in her Allmusic Discography, so it was tough to figure out which one to try. I might have opted for a best of, but some rando on Quora answered a question about underappreciated artists, and included this album as an example. Since the same poster had mentioned numerous other albums I'd been a big fan of, he/she (let's face it - he. "She" is likely too busy adulting.) seemed like a good source, so maybe it was time to give Jane a try. Another post that same day also recommended the same record, and that was that. Never once did I ask myself Who are these people?

This record is a bit slick and a bit cute. Cute is fine, but slickness is unforgivable. Little touches like expert piano tinkling between lines or other gestures of virtuosity drive me nuts. (The jazzy reverbed guitar on "Hockey" is bearable, though.) It's like pop music for the old at heart. So my first impression was kinda negative. Mrs. Jaybee, who has less patience than I about such things, also gagged.

At first, I thought she sounded like the Cocteau Twins without all the reverb and echo, but then I thought of someone else.

"Sounds like Kate Bush," I said to Mrs. Jaybee.

"Kate Bush League, maybe," she replied.

After a couple of listens, though, two songs suddenly stood out as beautiful and distinctly lacking in either cute or slick. Suddenly, I needed to rethink this review. The singing is less mannered than it first appeared. The accompaniment, less fussy. Even "Everything Reminds Me of My Dog" sounds okay now.

But it's not quite enough to put it over. Perhaps a best of would have been best? Of?

The Housemartins: London 0, Hull 4 (1986)

I've had my eye on this record for a while, and the same rando I mentioned above recommended it highly, so I pulled the trigger. So not purely impulse.

These Brits are very tuneful. So tuneful in fact that one could miss the lyrics that are, shall we say, pointed? It's the Thatcher era, and since the band members are ACTUALLY CHRISTIAN, they take issue with the direction their country is heading. (Imagine that!) My favorite line is from "Freedom":

So this is freedom, You must be joking!

Paul Heaton is the main songwriter and singer, He's got a pretty, and pretty focused, soprano, which could wear over sixteen tracks. Luckily for us, he keeps the melodies coming.

Much of the musical attack is piano-based, so you're not getting raucous rock 'n roll here. Just sharp, precise pop.

Now, who would want to (re)visit England in the eighties? Not many. But who would want to hear an energetic and musical album that avoids all the crud (synths, nasally vocals, hair, etc.) from that awful decade, and sticks a knife into its false platitudes?

Most anyone with a brain, I'd say.

A-

The Pretty Things: Parachute (1970)

This long-lived British band has been many things - in 1965, blues-based rockers a la the Rolling Stones (and thought by many at the time to be better), and creators of possibly the first rock opera S.F. Sorrow, per Peter Townsend, a key influence on Tommy.

Was it Wikipedia that told me that Rolling Stone named this Album of the Year in 1970? No, it was probably another Quora answerer. Having read some of their old reviews, both in compilations and on one of my favorite websites, perhaps I should have held back.

But the record sounds pretty damned good! They have nice harmonies, good melodies, guitars that get the job done, and, when needed, a nasty rock 'n roll sneer when called for.

I don't hear anything innovative, but I do hear many AOR 70s rock motifs being deployed. Even knowing they'd be deployed elsewhere, and sometimes more skillfully, that just tells me how durable they are.

In the meantime, I enjoy them just fine right here.

B+

I don't know how long my randomish picks will continue. I'm just trying to say Yes, instead of Later. Later may end up being Never.

Small Town Talk, or Even Later Thoughts on Woodstock

2025-06-26T15:34:00.002-04:00

A while ago, prompted by an Amazon.com $5 mp3 sale (admittedly, a core motivation for most of my life decisions) for the Woodstock soundtrack, I wrote about Woodstock, The Event. Now I'll write about Woodstock, The Place. Sort of.

I've never been there, although I may pass through in a few weeks.

Why is this coming up now? Because I just finished Barney Hoskyns' Small Town Talk, which is a history of the town during the reign of Albert I, who is otherwise known as Albert Grossman - aptly named by the way, depending upon who you ask. In A Complete Unknown, he's a cuddly teddy bear companion to Bob Dylan. Here he is somewhat less so. The ultimate Citizen Kane of rock and roll, he had as many admirers as detractors.

So why do I give a shit about him, you ask? He was a catalyst in the great migration of folk and pop musicians to Woodstock in the sixties, and the ruler of his little kingdom until, oh, the eighties or nineties.

Now, that area has been described by some of our more spiritual folk as a mystical place - a North Eastern Twin Peaks. (Come to think of it, each place had a rather monstrous person named Bob, but whatever.) As such, the town was always a haven for artists and oddballs going back to the beginning of the century, and each new wave of said artists would be derided by the now old guard for ruining the town.

And who are we talking about when it comes to the sixties? Well, there's Dylan himself, Bob Neuwirth, members of the Band, Paul Butterfield, Jesse Winchester, Charles Mingus, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Van Morrison, and Todd Rundgren, just to name a few.

Like episodes of Behind the Music, or any musical biopic, this is another long, sad story, only exponentially greater due to sheer numbers involved. It is one sad book.

Spoiler alert: The biggest asshole is a tie between Grossman, Dylan and Rundgren, with Van Morrison running close behind. The biggest substance abuser is god only knows who.

So, out of the wreckage, I decided to dip into two artists I've not previously had the chance to get into - Paul Butterfield, who is a character throughout, and Jesse Winchester, one of the singer-songwriter types from the 70s I used to listen to all the time. Somehow, I never got around to him.

Jesse Winchester: Jesse Winchester (1970)

Jesse's got a nice deep voice, and veers between rockin' little numbers like "Pay Day" and more serious numbers like "Yankee Lady". All in all, a good balance.

The production is so-so. Typical early seventies better-than-the-sixties-but-not-quite-there-yet sound. The drums, in particular, are quite muffled. (What's up there, Smartypants Todd??)

Speaking of the drums, they are nice when syncopation is called for, less so for forward momentum. I expect better from Levon Helm, and thus believe it's one of the other guys listed in the credits.

However, Winchester has a distinctive voice, both as vocalist and lyricist. It carries the record where it might otherwise slack off. I'm a big fan of great songs like "Black Dog" tucked away at the back of records.

Thus, this 55-year-old record, despite some sonic shortcomings, can often speak to us today.

It's not a Great Record, but a very good one.

A-

This next record also falls short of greatness. Alas, when it comes to the blues, that makes all the difference.

The Paul Butterfield Blues Band: The Paul Butterfield Blues Band (1965)

Paul plays a mean harp, and with Mike Bloomfield and Elvin Bishop on guitar, along with Muddy Waters' rhythm section. What could go wrong? Not much. And it must have been quite exciting when it came out. It has less of an impact now. It packs a sonic punch, and the sheer momentum can overcome one's caveats.

It's just not Great.

Don't get me wrong. I rate it right up there with the other white blues bands of the day. Listening to the Yardbirds, Fleetwood Mac, and the Bluesbreakers, this fits right in. What those bands have in common is a guitar at the forefront. Forget vocals. Save that for the real thing. However, Mike Bloomberg hasn't quite emerged as the genius with an individual style just yet. Elvin Bishop is great, but I think I've heard it all before. And as a guitar lover, it falls ever so short due to that.

A fine album to put on, but one you may not go back to all that often.

B+

As I said, I'll be in the area next month. Given the time, I hope to go to Woodstock and possibly Saugerties as well. I expect more tourist-trap than either Peyton Place or Utopia. Humans, especially our beloved but flawed musical heroes, have a tendency to, in the short run, create magic, but in the long run, create broken families and succumb to addiction.

No judgment intended here, except for major jerks like Dylan (who seems to have mellowed a bit), Rundgren, and oh, Van Morrison (who has not mellowed a bit). They're great at what they do, but can we please just not idolize these guys?

It's a deal.

Sotto Voci

2025-05-29T16:52:00.001-04:00

I Kind of Like Lucy

I Like Adrienne a Lot

I've covered a lot of female artists lately, and while I like most and love some, Mrs. Jaybee is lukewarm overall. She doesn't like the ones who sing with a "girly" voice, and wishes they would "sing like grown women."

I could probably put all of these artists on a spectrum - starting with Phoebe Bridgers and ending with Bessie Smith, with Chappell Roan, Carly Rae Jepsen, Olivia Rodrigo, Angel Olsen, Sandy Denny, Kasey Musgraves, the Beths, Alvvays, the Illuminati Hotties, Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald, to name just a few, order them by girly-voice-ness, and find the dividing line between acceptable and not.

But it's not that simple. What about all the other pertinent qualities? Songwriting obviously matters. (Mrs. Jaybee has grudgingly come around on Joni Mitchell.) As do many other factors, each of which should be weighed based on its importance and pertinence. (At this point, friends from work would recognize a certain look in my eyes and say, There goes Jaybee starting another spreadsheet...) But really, how dare I think I can reduce my wife's taste, nuanced and thoughtful as it is, into a two-dimensional grid?

I'd sooner do that for my taste, which, come to think of it, would save us all a lot of time in the long run. Instead of writing rambling, nonsensical blog posts, I would simply publish my grid once, and upon hearing new music, indicate its coordinates on said grid and give a score. And when I don't like said score, muck with the numbers until I do. Easy and logical, right?

The thing about spreadsheets is that they encourage my tendency to postpone actual thinking. Now I hate to think as much as the next guy, but sometimes it just can't be avoided. I could lie, I guess, but I'm bad at it. It's one thing to write something that makes no sense, which can be construed as being unintentional. But it would be worse to write what I don't mean, especially when you, dear reader, can tell.

So perhaps it's better to focus on outcomes.

To a point.

Anyway, both Dacus and Lenker have distinctive voices. Not strong, mind you, but you sure do know who is singing right away.

Lucy Dacus: Home Video (2021)

Recently, while listening to Boygenius, Mrs Jaybee and I agreed that Lucy Dacus (below) had a lovely, deep voice. One would only naturally want to hear more of it.

Alas, like Emmylou Harris before her, Dacus is a much better backup singer than lead.

Her lyrics, though - and there are lots of them - are quite good, and worth delving into. It's just her voice doesn't break through quite enough to make them front and center.

I don't hear anything wrong with this record, but after having spent a couple of weeks just trying to hear it, I'm not sure I've heard anything exactly right, either. And it's that very voice that's keeping me from hearing the melodies, if there are any.

Mrs. Jaybee originally liked what she heard, but after about a half dozen listens, agrees with me - a rarity - that it all sounds the same. But thank you, Ms. Dacus, for contributing to our marital accord.

I hope I'll get to revisit this again, at which time I'll note an excellence that slipped past me this time around.

PS: Okay, okay, I figured it out. The first problem is that many of Dacus's songs are melodically similar. The second is that you have to play this loud to make out the differences. It is thus, Pretty Good.

B+

Adrienne Lenker: Bright Future (2024)

On another co-listening occasion, this time a Big Thief CD, Mrs. Jaybee may have told me to never play it again. I don't quite (want to) remember.

Adrienne Lenker is Big Thief's lead singer and songwriter. Together, they've made several records, one of which I love and another I wish I liked more. The former provides a perfect musical accompaniment to her voice, while the latter lays bare when things don't match as well.

One can't accuse Lenker of a gloss, though. Her voice is so fragile, you're afraid she's going to emotionally collapse mid-song. Further, she typically chooses minimal accompaniment for her songs, which could just a consequence of doing a solo album to begin with. The first song almost doesn't qualify as one, but she persists, and by the end, you believe it actually does.

And all the ones that follow more than qualify.

A-

Deaf/Dumb/Blind/Speed Dating

2025-04-24T17:21:00.001-04:00

Patrick/Cindy

I've wandered so far off-track and off-time that I've neglected this more-than-half-completed decade. Thus, like Imperial Contracting, I've been redoubling my efforts, with achilles-heel-style-vent included free of charge, just to catch up.

All three of the following records are from 2024, and all are cases of buy first, listen later. Aside from the utter dumbness of this approach, there's also the surprise factor. Does it sound as I expected (based on words used in reviews, band name, or - even more logically - the cover art)?

It's like a form of blind and/or speed dating. And all of these records confound such expectations to some degree. What is one to do? I already bought them, so swiping left (or is it swiping right?) is out of the question.

Plus, having one's expectations confounded is actually way more fun with music - I'd imagine - than actual dating.

Did I mention all three groups have female band leaders??

Illuminati Hotties: Let Me Do One More (2024)

Expectation: Energetic, hard-edged rock 'n roll.

Actual: Energetic, yes, but softer-edged and humorous. And there's even a name for it: tenderpunk.

It's fast and funny, but the high-pitched - okay, squeaky - voice can wear a bit (at least for my demographic). Thankfully, they relieve this somewhat with good melodies, great production, and a couple of strong slow ones as a change of pace.

A great listen if you're in the mood. I just haven't been, lately.

B+

Hurray for the Riff Raff: The Past is Alive (2024)

Expectation: Loud, sleazy (just like the folks mentioned in their name) rock n roll. And forbidding. too, especially as she so resembles Aubrey Plaza on the cover.

Actual: Folk/country mid-tempo ballads, love songs to broken people, with a focus on lyrics.

The tunes are pretty basic. What really puts it all across are the lyrics and the urgency of her delivery. That little quiver in her voice shows that she really means it.

And it just rolls along, one simple song after another, and there's not a bad one among them.

Not quite compelling, but if you want forty minutes of a consistent quality - and a certain laid back, romantic, urgent mood - this is it.

A-

Cindy Lee: Diamond Jubilee (2024)

Expectation: Female singer, torch songs, with a little David Lynch thrown in.

Actual: Some of the above, but with a primitive edge. The guitars are not always in tune, but always there.

The "band" consists of Canadian expatriate Patrick Flegal with some help from Steve Lind. Patrick is also Cindy Lee herself. And they make the space sound huge and intimate at the same time. Like in an empty airplane hangar, or a desolate landscape dotted with factories, making for a "you can't get away from industrialization if you tried" feeling. (We - the USA - should feel so lucky.) Sort of an updated, more rural Eraserhead milieu, 'cept here EH is trans. David Lynch would be proud.

This record has been hard to find - poking around for most of 2024 in obscure places - but finally released on iTunes this month. Somehow, it nearly topped several year-end polls anyway.

Starting from absolute quiet, a slow fade-in with an acoustic guitar played with the minimal necessary technique, then a soft, high-pitched female voice, and then out of nowhere a feedback-drenched electric guitar (Peter Green comes to mind, but with none of the blues licks) played with delicacy. There's also a male voice, which is provided by the same person who provides the female one.

I'm keeping faith that the strength of the opening numbers will hold up over its 32(!) tracks. It's not so easy to tell at first. And I'll admit that the second disc strays a bit, but I'm willing to wait it out.

Production is minimal. Sort of "if you can't kill it yourself, you're not going to eat" approach. And very, very sixties. The whole design is an appeal to obscurity (echoey vocals from a guy who's WAY down the hall, etc). Musical masochists will flock to it. It could all be a huge scam but every time I put it on I hear more. Why does primitive sound so refreshing to me?

It's meant to be listened to in the cold, early morning, when you're all alone, and it's utterly compelling.

Oh, to be Young Again!

2025-03-27T15:42:00.004-04:00

He was a child.

When I think of songwriting genius, names like Bob Dylan, Neil Young and John Prine come to mind first. And I use the word genius especially because they have managed to create brilliant music and lyrics over a sustained period of time, from a pretty limited set of chords/melodies/vocabulary/instrumentation.

When I think of powerful rock n roll, names like Neil Young, the Stones, the Clash are near the top.

As you can see, one name appears in both groups, so as you might imagine I find myself looking for newer artists who emulate artists like Neil Young, who, using a limited palette, somehow infuse their music with both great power and beauty nonetheless.

During the early 70s everyone was looking for the "New Dylan". Now we may be looking for a New Neil Young without even knowing it. We should have started a while ago, but here we are.

The following three artists have gotten me thinking of them as possible new Neil Youngs. Here are my thoughts on their latest albums:

MJ Lenderman: Manning Fireworks (2024)

I'd run into this guy a couple of years ago as part of Wednesday, which, if anything, sounds more like Neil Young than he does alone. And while their guitars delivered an overwhelming intensity, the melodies were less forthcoming. Neil wouldn't make that mistake.

MJ himself has put out five solo records, and this is his latest. He's more laconic and more country than Wednesday. His singing style makes Neil seem like one of the Three Tenors. The lyrics pretend to be about nothing much, which makes them interesting. He almost dares you to not like him.

He plays a rudimentary style of lead guitar, much like Young, but doesn't make it a central part of his performance. The songs aren't as immediately catchy as Young's, either, but they do grow on you.

Overall, less assaultive and more tuneful than Wednesday. Instead of a bunch of drunks in a bar fight, there's just one drunk minding his business. But he is still drunk.

B+

Wussy: Cincinnati Ohio (2024)

With both a male and female vocalist, Wussy covers Neil Young's vocal range. Their first album, Funeral Dress, was ragged, with electric guitars up front, interspersed with beautiful songs, and one of the best albums of the aughts. I thought of it as the Neil Young comeback album he never quite got around to making.

My next Wussy album was Attica! It was a bit more polished while simultaneously leaning even more heavily into droning guitar noise. Like Funeral Dress, it contained at least two or three masterpieces, but here they stand apart from the noise.

This time, the tone is hushed, in keeping with the sudden death of guitar player John Ernhart in 2020. Atmospheric and reverential, with vocals that no longer snarl, it captures the loss of a comrade in all its shock and confusion, and unlike certain other people they don't use it as an excuse to drown themselves in drugs and alcohol doing it, even if a better album came out of it.

Wussy now appears to have chosen a different path and is, thus,, less likely to be compared to Neil Young. And that's okay. Ultimately, it's about quality, and Wussy provides that in spades.

A-

Waxahatchee: Tiger's Blood (2024)

Meanwhile, this "band" (really just Kate Crutchfield and whoever she's playing with at the moment) doesn't have such aspirations or obvious similarities to Young. However, where she matches him most closely is her knack for tunes. I held off a while on getting this one, thinking, because I'd already loved Out in the Storm and liked the later St. Cloud, her songwriting might not keep up the pace she set for herself, especially since she's also done other records in addition to her solo stuff.

But that's not the case at all. I was pleasantly surprised that this one is a melodic rebound from St Cloud. The vocals are stronger, too, as is the production.

She did rock n' roll proud on Out in The Storm, and did the same for folk/country on St. Cloud. Now, with Tiger's Blood, which occupies a middle ground between those two records, she may have outdone herself. God only knows what I've missed on her other albums.

In songwriting, hooks, singing, simplicity, and most of all, consistency, she comes closest to Neil Young in spirit if not actual sound.

And that's good enough for me.

2025 My Soundtrack to a Coup

2025-02-27T15:30:00.000-05:00

My apologies to the makers of the documentary Soundtrack to a Coup D'etat - where several of these artists coincidentally appear - but I needed a title for this post. I promise to watch your almost certainly depressing film but not until our coup - because "coup" is what it f*cking is - is stopped.

I'm listening to a lot of classical music and jazz. I typically do this in the winter anyway but it seems especially apt this year. Best to have one's ears stuck in the past than one's head in the sand.

And since these days things like DEI are out of fashion this post will be based strictly on merit.

The Complete Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong (2007)

Perennially cited as one of the greatest jazz albums ever, Ella and Louis has been on my radar for some time. I never quite got it, though, because Fitzgerald's compilation 75th Birthday Celebration didn't quite do it for me. Plus, while I knew and liked Armstrong the cornet player, getting familiar with Armstrong the singer was not high on my bucket list.

Last year, though, I fell in love with Fitzgerald's Cole Porter Songbook, so I figured maybe it was time to give Armstrong the singer a chance. I could have settled for the single disc Ella and Louis and be perfectly happy, but this three-CD set - containing all of their recordings as a duo - was very reasonably priced, so I dove into the deep end and didn't regret it for a second.

I got this compilation album in 2024 but, due to some technical issues, I didn't get to hear it all until 2025. It's comprised of Ella and Louis, Ella and Louis Again, Porgy and Bess, and a couple of live tracks. So that's three-plus albums spread over three discs.

Disc one or album one would have topped my best-of-2024 list. Disc two and possibly three would have made my top ten. The added bonus of disc three is that I'm finally getting to know Porgy and Bess. Miles Davis was no help in that regard, but after this maybe I'll be able to hear his version better.

As usual, I opted for overkill so you don't have to. The original albums are all available, as are several single disc best-ofs, giving a smaller, more focused dose of this music if that's more your speed. No matter. Any of them would be wonderful. I can't see how you can go wrong here.

Song after beautiful, clever, funny, tuneful song, sung by two great singers. Pre-Beatles, of course, but I've made my peace with that.

Louis Armstrong: Louis in London (2024)

Speaking of Armstrong, last year Verve released this recording of a 1968 concert - one of his last - by Armstrong and his band.

It's half greatest hits and half songs of the day, so one could mistake it for nostalgia bait, but that would be a mistake. The performances are wonderful. The band plays with great enthusiasm even on the older material.

Speaking as someone who only became acquainted with "What a Wonderful World" from Twin Peaks, I'm far from an expert. But I'm now beginning to understand how someone with such a limited vocal range can be considered one of the greatest singers of the 20th Century. It's called expressiveness.

A-

Duke Ellington/Charlie Mingus/Max Roach: Money Jungle (1962)

I'd had my eye on this one for years mostly because I loved the title and the cover. Given such rigorous selection criteria, once I finally got it, I prepared myself for a major letdown.

No need.

It's just three guys - one older legend and two youngish turks - Ellington on piano, Mingus on bass, Roach on drums, banging out some tunes. Given the set up there's not much in the way of soloing. This record's more about texture. And while I suspect Ellington isn't a technical virtuoso, he seems to ooze musicality, and that holds it all together.

As the cover shows, Roach leans over Ellington, focused on understanding the compositions from score to piano, intent on finding rhythmic opportunities at every turn. Mingus keeps his distance (Mars is a ways away, you know) working by ear, and often playing what you'd least expect.

As they say, sometimes less is more. This is a great record, and a perfect introduction to jazz.

So Where Does This Leave Us?:

This music is more than fifty years old, and it all provides a great start to 2025. I count three - and possibly five - geniuses here. What are the chances of that?? When you think about it, quite good. (Note to fellow White Folks: Just pull yourselves up by those old bootstraps, etc.)

Next time I'll try to get back to pop, looking at some 2024 albums I'm only getting around to now.

Alas, the world is on fire. I'd like to help put it out but I've been a bit under the weather lately. Being agnostic and yet oddly superstitious, I put the former on hold while I tried to make a deal with God before the election. That didn't work out - Harris lost AND I got sick.

For the sake of ending our current nightmare, I'm willing to give it another try, but I fear God may be agnostic towards me, too. Fair enough.

I'll have to remind him I do, in fact, exist, and - more importantly - he's the one with the lightning bolts.

2024 Also Rans

2025-01-30T16:37:00.001-05:00

Martin Phillips 1963-2024

Okay, we're all sick to death of the debacle that was 2024. I'm sure 2025 will be better. Look how it's going already!

But before we completely finish with that awful year, I must belatedly recognize some records whose true worth went unrecognized by yours truly until, like, now. Much like, say, a country choosing its President, I failed to choose these records when it mattered.

Amy Winehouse: Back to Black (2006)

The only music I trust the British with is rock 'n roll, folk, and reggae. When they try to sing soul music the men are a disgrace. Amy does much better here.

She's got a great voice, the songs are good and the band is all over them. While I get the feeling that many women of color have done this before, with less monetary success, that's not Amy's fault.

The themes I pick up are that she's no good, her man's no good, love itself is no good, etc. (Alas, rehab is no good, either.) But she keeps your attention with great lines like What kind of f*ckery is this?

And she meant every word.

A-

Beyonce: Cowboy Carter (2024)

I typically confine my comments to my own musical purchases, but for this album - gotten by Mrs. Jaybee - I'll make an exception. There's not a bad song here, and few really soar. Even when I don't hear a great song I hear people working hard to turn it into a great record.

So is this a country album or what? I neither know nor care. Whatever you may think - or want to think - this is an excellent record. Her versions of "Blackbird" and "Jolene" are fine, and the duets with Miley Cyrus and Post Malone are great.

Anyone who actually listens to this record and concludes it's bad is nuts. Or worse.

A-

Chappel Roan: The Rise and Fall of a Midwestern Princess (2023)

This sounds a bit like Olivia Rodrigo thanks to Daniel Nigro, who produced both records. But Roan is the more expressive singer. So expressive, in fact, at first the songs are indistinguishable from one another.

This led me to think I'd had my fill of this type of pop music, so I took a break. All that youthful energy in the summertime just made me tired. Not her fault.

When I returned this winter all those songs were patiently waiting for me to catch up. Each subsequent listen revealed more melodic details which gave each song its own identity. So that awful youthful energy paid off in the long run.

So have I had my fill? Not as long as I keep finding such worthy artists.

A-

The Chills: Brave Words (Expanded and Remastered) (2023)

The Chills spent the early part of the 1980s in their homeland, New Zealand, making legendary singles. In 1986, they pulled them all together and released the wonderful Kaleidoscope World, which I picked up in the fall of 2016.

I have fond memories of Election Day that year. The weather was sunny and mild, and I was off from work, so I spent the afternoon in my backyard listening to KW. Hilary was up by 5% and I assumed nobody would be stupid enough to change their vote because of Robert Mueller.

Now I ask myself, why, oh why do I keep buying Chills albums in election years? They promise so much and then reality dashes those hopes.

ANYWAY, this is their first proper album. It was originally released in 1987, and this version was remixed and remastered in 2023. Here, the band is almost militaristic in its rhythm and drive. Not to be outdone, their songwriter and leader Martin Phillips is obsessively singleminded in his pursuit of the perfect melody and thoughtful lyric. It makes for a very impressive record.

Their follow-up to this - Submarine Bells, one of my all-time favorites - is a bit more graceful, incorporating all of the above elements more organically. However, it's fun to hear all this sheer talent before it ripens into genius.

It's hard to love this record since the election. Harder still knowing that Martin Phillips died this year. But I keep playing it and it gets better and better each time.

I'd hoped for joy, but I'll settle for solace.

A-

Sonny Sharrock: Seize the Rainbow (1987)

I'd checked out this avant-garde jazz guitarist a couple of years ago and found him to be a bit slick. Here he decides to rock out.

At first, the opener ("Dick Dogs") sounds rather silly, with its heavy-handed power chords seeming to announce I TOO can rock! Now, jazz musicians are capable of many things, but rocking usually isn't one of them. Oh, they play the notes technically better than any rock musician can but, in doing so, take all the fun out of it. (Kinda like Sting.) So I braced myself for the worst.

Luckily, when it got to the solo parts Sharrock becomes himself and thus gets to have things both ways, sideways, up and down. In other words, six ways from Sunday. (That's means a lot.)

He's helped by a band that nimbly bypasses those moments when a rock cliche threatens to rear its empty head.

What we end up with is something very worthwhile if not quite brilliant.

B+

100 Gecs: 10,000 Gecs (2023)

Lots of beats for a not-quite-thirty-minute record. Lots of laughs, too.

I've never been a fan of sampling stomping Led Zep riffs a la Beastie Boys (although I think they got there first.) or the noisy use of noise ala the Sleigh Bells. But this young couple uses a larger palette, like throwing ska beats into the mix. Then they sew it all together into something almost coherent.

Fast, loud, and funny. There's something to be said for keeping things short.

B+

Ceremonial Washing of the Hands:

Now let's be rid of 2024 and try to bear 2025.

We Can Be Weirdos 3: Wrapped in a Flag, Carrying a Cross

2025-01-16T16:12:00.000-05:00

Reality Can Go F*ck Itself:

In a time when those who are described as successful - media moguls and tech titans among them - line up to kiss the ring all in the name of making a buck, I prefer to stick with those strange folk over in the corner who don't dress well, and pass the time by making things they like regardless of what other people think.

Let's face it. What passes for normal these days is appalling. I'd prefer the company of those who, simply by being and creating, reject it all out of hand. None of these folks come out and say so, I'll admit. But I'd like to think so.

So let's all raise a finger to this new class of rich idiots playing with guns, while the powerless - as usual - pay the price.

Thanks, Johnny! Thanks, Neil!

Musically speaking, we will move on from Ambient, to where things quickly get out of hand.

Fishmans: Long Season (1996)

Thirty-five minutes long, built on a simple synth melody riffed on by guitar, bass, and piano. With vocals in Japanese, of course.

It's more upfront than the records that follow below, in that it has an easy loping beat and a simple direction. It takes its time to get to its destination, which is nowhere in particular. Quite accessible and kind of laid back.

In other words, short and sweet. At first a bit strange but in the end, what's not to like?

WTFITS Score: 4.5

A-

Godspeed You! Black Emperor: Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven (2000)

Not ambient. It just seems that way because it takes its sweet time getting started. But unlike Fishmans, it's got places to go and people to see, and damn if it doesn't get to each and every one of them.

But that takes some time so this is over 80 minutes long. Just four cuts, each about twenty minutes long. So if you were patient enough for Stars of the Lid and not going anywhere for an hour and a half, you will probably be fine with the buildup, digressions, and somewhat anti-climactic, um, climax. Because the peaks - and there are many - are worth it.

The word "symphonic" comes to mind. But not in that fatal way of sounding like classical music - it's a rock band after all - but more in how it develops themes and brings them to their logical conclusions. And it's not overly dependent upon keyboards, like typical prog rock. The guitars are front and center and stay there unless there's a mysterious digression to spoken/overheard words.

Quite daunting at first, but unlike many efforts, I keep coming back to it, and each time it sounds better and better.

WTFITS Score: 7.0

A-

Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band: Safe As Milk (1967)

Remember the Summer of Love? Well, this has nothing to do with that. It's Captain Beefheart's first album, and let's just say it wasn't in harmony with the times.

It's not exactly like the Captain just stomped out onto the world stage fully formed and took it by storm. In reality, this is the Captain before his vision comes fully into focus. It's a solid rock record - consisting of admirable takes on blues-based rock n' roll, with the occasional foray into pop and soul - that the record company wasn't going to let get too weird. And as usually happens in such cases, everyone pretty much ignored it.

Some '60s cliches pop up here and there, and that might tempt one to dismiss this record. But I have to give it to the band, which is very tight. Excellent lead guitar and drums throughout. A young Ry Cooder helps out on the bluesier cuts, but the other guitarist Alex Snouffer is no slouch, either. And drummer John French gives even the wilder stuff some structure. The only outright strange element is the vocals - a combination of Howlin' Wolf and Wolfman Jack - which are there from the start. Even then the twenty-six-year-old Captain had a downright scary growl.

My version has some bonus cuts taken from sessions for what would be his second album. And here is where the Captain and the Magic Band start to sound like who they would become. The songs are longer, the lyrics odder and the signature slide guitar sounds like it's being played on a rocking boat. Even John French risks losing his way.

A mere two years later, with the help of producer Frank Zappa, the facade falls away completely and the Captain and Band are on full display on Trout Mask Replica. I tried to play my vinyl the other day, and by the time I got to Side 3 my turntable died/refused to play it/committed suicide. Hard to tell. But with CB it's hard to tell when the record player is on the fritz to begin with. Lucky for me, unlike the Captain himself, turntables can be replaced.

But Safe as Milk is where it all starts. It could have been a runner-up for my "Most Work But Not Necessarily Worth It" award, but I guess I played it one too many times and was converted.

A-

WTFITS Score: 7.5

Dirty Projectors: Bitte Orca (2009)

They are youthful, arty, pretentious, and precious, with a lead singer/songwriter who sounds like a cult leader. In all, annoying as f*ck. Upon my first listen I was tempted to fling the disc into the wall.

It's my fault, really. I try to take in everything at once and end up hearing nothing at all. At least not the core of the songs. I hear the distractions only, and it first appears that this is made up entirely of distractions.

Here's how my first few listens went:

First Listen: Grade: D, WTFITS Score: 9.5 Utter loathing.
Second: Grade: C, WTFITS Score: 8.5 Arty, but with good musicianship
Third: Grade: B-, WTFITS Score: 7.5 That first song is actually good.
Fourth: Grade: B, WTFITS Score: 7.0 The fourth one is very pretty.

So you see what's going on here? It's wearing me down. Just like this weird shit always does. Goddamn it. It's the old Jaybee shuffle. I go from hate to like/admiration/love and when I recommend it everyone thinks I've lost my mind and I know they're right.

WTFITS Score: 6.5

B+

Pere Ubu: The Tenement Year (1988)

Remember this Jack Benny skit?

A bandit points a gun at Jack Benny.
Bandit: Your money or your life.
Silence.
Bandit: Well??
JB: I'm thinking! I'm thinking!

That's how it was when I thought about buying another Pere Ubu album. Their album Dub Housing remains a 10/10 WTFITS score to this day. And no amount of replays or increased familiarity is going to change that.

But after forty-odd years, I'm in a strong f*ck you kind of mood, so I decided to give them another try.

In one respect they're weirder than ever. That is if you think matching David Thomas' "quirky" vocals with straightforward rock 'n roll, with the synth acting as glue is weird. If not, I take it all back. But otherwise, you might think you're listening to two different records playing at the same time. Maybe three.

But the rock and rock is very, very good. And David Thomas is, well, himself, but more "sociable" than before.

Who knows? You might even like it...

WTFITS: 8.0

B+

Ornette Coleman: The Complete Albums Collection 1958-62

After Of Human Feeling (WTFITS Score 9.0), Song X (9.0), and The Shape of Jazz to Come (8.5) I'm no closer to understanding this man's music than I was forty years ago when I started to try. So I didn't know what getting this set would do other than shorten my life, but that has taken care of itself and I've taken the plunge.

This collection brings together all of Coleman's first eight albums, all of them controversial to one degree or another. Most jazz enthusiasts found it to be an attack on jazz itself, or at least its foundations. My experience (see above) seemed to confirm that view. So I was afraid I was getting an endless barrage of unstructured, atonal, screech.

And yet given the overall mood I've been in lately, I was attracted to the idea of that barrage. In that respect, it's sad to report that, over these eight albums, the barrage only occurs once. And even that isn't so bad. In fact, it's all really quite good.

What is here is fast, hard, melodically intricate jazz. I'm just not hearing what's so strange about it. I guess you had to be there then.

And since The Shape of Jazz to Come is here, too, I'm getting to hear it - and enjoy it more - in this new context.

All in all, the news of Ornette's weirdness has been somewhat exaggerated.

WTFITS Score: 7.0

A-

All in all, there's nothing here to really piss people off. I do have a Cecil Taylor CD I can play with the car windows down, though, if needed.

Nonetheless, all of this music will help me immensely during the farce that is about to commence.

In the meantime, hang onto your humanity.

And your weirdness.

The 14th Annual Jaybee-bies: 2024, or Love Among the Ruins

2024-12-31T14:28:00.002-05:00

Billie Eilish

You don't need me to tell you how f*cked up 2024 was. I'll try to identify some silver linings.

Executive Summary:

Music: Pop music good, if not exactly in my comfort zone. Jazz, Blues, and Oldies wonderful. Weirdos thriving. (More to come on that).

Music/Personal: No longer striving for competence on guitar.

Personal: Retired and grandfather of two. Getting old fast.

Politics: Everybody knows the war is over, everybody knows the bad guys won. Fascism is cool again, apparently. The young folks - men, mostly - let us down.

Humans:

Best:

Jimmy Carter
Adam Kinzinger
Liz Cheney
Many, many others who, in my current state, I just can't bring to mind. Feel free to write in some names.

Worst:

The ever-expanding "Usual Suspects", as I called them last year, make a repeat appearance here. I'll only make special mention of their Rookie of the Year, Nancy Mace, whose popularity confirms the existence of a new mini-industry busily producing Awful Women, like veterans Elise Stefanik, Nicole Malliotakis, Marsha Blackburn, Kristi Noem, and others. However, I will risk being accused of sexism by saying they'll never quite match the production of Awful Men. But keep up the bad work gals!

Best Books:

During this, my first year of retirement, my ambition was to "just lie down on the damn couch and read a f*cking book or two".

And I did! I read all of the following books with great enthusiasm:

A Distant Mirror by Barbara Tuchman: A remarkable history of Europe (mostly France) in the 14th century.
The Spy and the Traitor by Ben MacIntyre: A true-life spy story and a great one.
Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain: A true-life restaurant story, and a very entertaining one.
Consciousness Explained by Daniel Dennett: What's an "I", anyway? Mr. Dennett tries to explain.
Karla's Choice by Ken Hardaway: John le Carre's son admirably continues the George Smiley saga.

The following are part of my World History Project, which has now reached the end of the American Civil War. I read a lot more than these five, but these are the best of the lot:

The Good Lord Bird by James McBride: A hilarious and tragic retelling of the John Brown story.
The Fiery Trial: Abraham Lincoln and American Slavery by Eric Foner: Notorious flip-flopper's views on slavery.
Battle Cry of Freedom by James McPherson: The entire Civil War, miraculously, in a single volume.
Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin: Lincoln and his Cabinet. Possibly the best history book I've ever read.
Lincoln by Gore Vidal: Vidal could be pompous in interviews and lectures but he did work his ass off to get his historical fiction right. I read this alongside Team of Rvals, and was in awe of his grasp of the details. And, like Burr, it's funny too.

Best Movies:

I did manage to get out and see a few movies, but the only one worth mentioning here is A Complete Unknown. What it may be lacking in specific details, it more than makes up for with Timothee Chalamet's performance (and performances). Ed Norton is also great as Pete Seeger. The music is pretty great, too.

Best TV:

Somebody Somewhere
I May Destroy You
Insecure
Bodkin

Best Concerts:

Still none. I'm still waiting for one that's worth time/trouble/$.

Music Awards:

Most Work (But Worth it):

Billie Eilish

Most Work (And Possibly Not Worth It):

The Dirty Projectors

Most Surprising (and Not Necessarily in a Good Way):

Nico

Best Nostalgia:

Jimi Hendrix

Best Artist:

Daniel Nigro, producer of both Olivia Rodrigo and Chappell Roan

Best Albums of My Year:

Billie Eilish: Where Do We Go When We Fall Asleep? - The key to this young lady, and what eventually wore me down - is not the loopy sound effects (that's her brother). It's the songwriting that stays consistent from beginning to the very end.
Cannonball Adderley: Somethin' Else - NOT "worse" than Billie. Just a slower burn.
The Quintet: Hot House: The Complete Jazz and Massey Hall Recordings - Ditto.
Jimi Hendrix: The Cry of Love - Not a masterpiece. Just a very consistent (that again!) yet relaxed set of tunes with great guitar playing.
Chappell Roan: The Rise and Fall of a Midwestern Princess - I'll get to this at another time, but in short, she edges out Olivia by the sheer volume of hooks and emotion she brings to the table. Geez!
Olivia Rodriguez: Guts - A smart young woman. NOT worse than Chappell. Just a bit more professional sounding, which is both a plus and a minus.
The Chills: Brave Words - Another one for a later time. RIP Martin Phillips.
The Feelies: The Good Earth - "Only" rock n' roll and I love it.
John Cale: Paris 1919 - Professed weirdo plays it straight with lovely results.
Low: I Could Live in Hope - Just how depressed can you get? Find out here and come back alive.

Honorable Mention: Arto Lindsay, Fishermans, Steely Dan, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Stars of the Lid, David Behrman, Elliott Smith, Beyonce

Best Compilations:

The Album I Listened To Most but Had the Least to Say About It Due to Density (Mine, not the music's.):

Bach: Violin Concertos

Some of the best songs I heard this year can be found here.

Oh, and Mrs. Jaybee's Favorites:

Beyonce: Cowboy Carter
Billie Eilish: Where Do We Go When We Fall Asleep?
Gorillaz: Cracker Island
Bill Withers: The Ultimate Collection
Amy Winehouse: Back to Black

Conclusions:

Now with two granddaughters, I'm slowly beginning to understand what life is all about. I hope I'm not too late.

Pop continues to grow - sometimes away from me. That's okay. I don't have to be in the middle of it. As long as I can find some electric guitar music - now a small sub-section of pop - I'll be okay.

Jazz and blues (and oldies, and older pop) will always be there to fill the gap. I was hoping to keep you informed about new stuff, but if old stuff is new to both of us what's wrong with that?

And finally, I have come to realize that most of my countrymen think a dictator is someone who is NOT popular. A little more education might have helped. One can only hope the bad guys form a circular firing squad.

Happy New Year!

Post Election Blues

2024-12-12T16:25:00.003-05:00

Given how one of our esteemed political parties was accused of being weird this election year, I could have called this post "Weirdos, Part 3", but since I'd rather focus on music, I decided not to.

This one's about music for a special occasion, which the advent of fascism kinda is, doncha think?

Upon hearing the election results I didn't need an analysis. I didn't want some smarty pants nabob explaining things to me. Oh, I wanted to know the why and how all right, but the habit of our media ecosystem to provide an explanation while the fucking thing is still happening just rubs me the wrong way, even if that explanation were to be correct. (It wasn't, of course.)

It's the same reason why I watch the Superbowl with the sound off. The event itself is quite enough thank you. I don't need the additional aural input. I could see what was going on, and now just f*cking needed quiet.

Well, not complete silence, mind you - just something that takes that as a starting point, and adds the least possible amount of stuff to end up with something I can deal with. In other words, something that doesn't try to match the energy level of said media ecosystem.

Last time, I mentioned a few records that one might think would fit the bill. But no. They were good at dealing with negative possibilities. I needed something to get me through negative realities. Not overtly political music, either. Just music for (God forgive me for using this word) existential realities.

Robert Johnson: The Complete Recordings (1990)

When I bought King of the Delta Blues Singers about forty years ago I had trouble getting into it. I was young and still had a smidgen of hope. Not even Reagan could inspire me to gaze into the abyss from which it emerged.

But this year, in the months leading up to November 5, I could listen to this two-CD set in its entirety and love every second. Was I - or it - tapping it a general vibe portending the collapse of what little was left of our social contract?

This collection has alternate versions of some songs, which some folks might find annoying. If so, King of the Delta Blues Singers is for you. But for now, listening to the complete recordings is a willful act - the equivalent of refusing to leave my room until this new era is over.

Perfect, but a lot.

Low: I Could Live in Hope (1994)

Funny story about this band. A few years ago, I was listening to their eighth album, 2001's Things We Lost in the Fire. It took until near the end of it for me to notice that - probably due to a syncing issue - iTunes had two copies of each song and was playing them in numeric order. In other words, like this: First song, First song again, Second song, Second song again, etc.

I remember thinking wow this album is longer than I realized. But since the songs were so glacial, mournful, and quiet I didn't notice they ended and started again. I thought, well, that's the way they are. They're slow so why wouldn't there be a pause in the middle of each one?

This time around, I'm listening to their first record where, if anything, they're even more quiet and mournful. I had to listen hard (even with the hearing aids) to confirm there were drums. Oh, yeah, there they are. But there's no beat to speak of here, except that of nails being hammered into a coffin.

Low's music comprises one man and one woman singing in harmony. He plays a muted electric guitar. She plays the drums. They sound like they're in an abandoned church. Their sound fills that space better than any organ or sermon would.

One-word song titles, cryptic, minimal, vaguely menacing lyrics about various states of isolation, disrepair, and dislocation, that don't become explicit until you get to "Rope", followed by their straight version of "You Are My Sunshine".

It's cold, but oddly beautiful. In other words, everything The Marble Index was aiming for but missed. Ripe for parody, but I dare ya.

Perfect for the day after a particularly tough election.

A-

Cannonball Adderley: Somethin' Else (1958)

I used this as a palette cleanser in between listening to Captain Beefheart and Nico, who I always (well, since just now) saw as an ideal couple.

I've done my best to get exposed to all the top-tier jazz geniuses and am only now getting around to the next-level players. And if you think that's a knock I recommend you listen to "Freddy Freeloader" from Kind of Blue. Yeah, it's the ever-searching Coltrane who takes you to Mars, but Adderley's relaxed, open solo tells you how great things can be here on Earth.

Adderley worked for Davis on KOB and Milestones. Here Davis returns the favor, and one could be forgiven for thinking it's a Davis record. If it is, it's one of his best.

If Kind of Blue is quiet jazz played and heard in the middle of the night, then Somethin' Else is the jazz played - and heard - the following morning, after everyone has had their coffee and is ready to take on the day.

The Feelies: The Good Earth (1986)

Gaffa, in his one-star Amazon review, writes:

"I cannot figure out how anyone in their right mind could give this record a good review. You would have to be insane. In this day and age, to have a producer mix the sound of this record/CD to the extent of ruining the vocals is beyond me. This may have been a really good record if the vocals were able to be heard. The music for the most part is really catchy and well done. But, having to listen to the vocals so low ruins the listening experience. I cannot imagine that the band was alright with this, and if they were, shame on you. Terrible all the way around and a huge waste of money."

Now, for Jaybee, that's a rave. I should say upfront that I was already a fan of the Feelies' first record, the nervous, jittery Crazy Rhythms. But I needed a push to go back for seconds. Thanks Gaffa!

Poor Gaffa. The vocals don't remind him of Lou Reed and the ominous momentum doesn't remind him of the Velvet Underground. Of course, mere imitation would never be enough, and the Feelies know that, so they're faster, cleaner, and more modest.

Peter Buck from REM (another band known at the time for murky vocals) produces here, and suddenly the two band's similarities are obvious. REM's own third record - made the year before - is good but a little too tangled in the kudzu. This one beats it. The next REM record - while still short of magic - was a little snappier, thanks, I believe, to the influence of this record.

Alas, some of the Feelies' lovable/scary awkwardness got left behind (I can only wonder what Gaffa would have thought of Crazy Rhythms), the chord progressions are well-worn, and the solos usually stick to the scales. And yet they still sound great. Besides their trademark furious strumming, the guitars now chime and echo, too.

This, their second album, was made six years after their debut. During those years they broke up and then re-formed with a slightly different lineup. That experience may account for some of the lyrical themes. Topics include not flying, taking the road, being away too long, and even company. In other words, rock cliches with aging added for spice, and sung in a manner that fits the music like a glove and makes one hear them as if for the first time. What a relief from singers who sing them as if they're hearing them for the first time.

The cover of "She Said She Said" is less than essential but it's the thought that counts.

There is no funk here, and no syncopation I can hear. Just drums and bass marching in lockstep with those guitars. The sound of a renewed commitment after some setbacks.

The sound I need now.

A-

We Can Be Weirdos 2: Background-ish Music

2024-11-14T15:40:00.001-05:00

Stars of the Lid

David Behrman

Arto Lindsay

If anyone remembers what I did in 2016 to deal with that awful election run-up and result, it will come as no surprise that I immersed myself in the following music for this one.

Before we delve into our topic today, I offer this article to help with some terminology. I'll delve into three of the categories mentioned, but will ignore the rest because life's too short.

Muzak:

Musical Kryptonite. It's ignorable if you're familiar with the song they're covering, but if it's something you love you will have heard the abyss.

After hearing Muzak repeatedly emasculate anything resembling a beat, I waited for their version of John Lennon's "Love". Surely, its slow, gentle melody was impervious to any tinkering. After all, there was nothing in it to emasculate.

But I was wrong. They did a perky version of it. I tried to track it down (well, I gave it about five minutes) to no avail. So instead I'll provide this readymade playlist, which is all you need to know. You can thank me later but I doubt you will.

Foreground/Beautiful/Easy Listening/Mellow

I always considered this worse than Muzak, which was at least ignorable in theory and laughable in practice. But F/B/EL/M wanted to be more than that, and to their everlasting shame, they succeeded.

After all, it's one thing to desecrate actual good songs but entirely another to pluck songs that might have served as individual respites amongst other, louder/faster fare, and then string them together to form a permanent environment of utter conformity, superficiality, and fake feeling.

My disgust for this category goes back to when I spent years working in a large office where - briefly - everyone listened to their favorite radio stations. Our manager didn't like the "cacophony" (she said it like it was a bad thing) or happiness in general for that matter, and so mandated we all listen to WPAT, which for all intents and purposes was a Muzak station, although they called it Easy Listening. After years of agony, the staff requested a change and we ended up on another Easy Listening station, which played lame songs by the original lame artists. An improvement? Not really. Alas, I got an education in how many people like insipid music. I still have the scars.

"Mellow Rock" stations might occasionally play an actual good song. But let's face it: the term "mellow rock" should be a contradiction in terms. But they wanted to have it both ways and ended up with lukewarm water.

And no, I'm not saying you have to listen to actual rock 'n roll music all day long. Just understand when what you're listening to is NOT rock 'n roll, okay?

ANYWAY, I'm putting this record here because it sure sounds like it could belong in this category. However, I detect more than a little feeling here, like the original version of "Love".

Arto Lindsay:Mundo Civilizado (1997)

I thought this guy was all about the skronk. Exhibit A is all nine minutes of his first band's EP A Taste of DNA, circa 1981.

But it turns out I was wrong. I only recently found out Arto spent part of his youth in Brazil, where he absorbed its music (So today's version of white supremacist skinheads can f*ck off right here and go bowling.) before going full No Wave in the late '70s.

I really should have figured out where he was headed, given the relative pop slickness of Greed (1988) - his record with his next band, the Ambitious Lovers.

Here, he's gone full crooner, with very laid-back accompaniment, except when the snare drum makes you sit at attention. It's not dissimilar to "Girl from Ipanema", and just as well suited for early-morning listening.

And yes, it could have been played on the Easy Listening stations, but it wasn't, was it?

A-

"Complicity"

Ambient:

Here's Wikipedia's excellent definition of Ambient music. But if you just don't have the time, the short definition is music you can put on but don't have to actively listen to.

When done badly, it's hard to distinguish from New Age, which is just ambient music with an inferiority complex. In other words, it needs to draw attention to itself.

Ambient just is, and when done well there's a slight chill or distance to it that can leave you feeling something without being manipulated into doing so. And some of it is so moving you end up actively listening anyway.

One of my all-time favorite albums - Brian Eno's Another Green World - has several quiet interludes, but it was really his Discreet Music where he dove in headfirst by programming a couple of tape loops to each play a brief theme - but, crucially, at different speeds - together for 30 minutes.

And on the next day, he rested. (He really was kind of lazy.) Then he looked upon his creation and said "And it shall be Levon, er, Ambient!" And the rest, as they say, is boring.

Or it at least seemed so if you put it on, and like a fifteen-year-old, sat next to your stereo expecting revelation. If instead you put it on and then went about your business, you might forget about it, but then suddenly remember it's on and realize it was filling a void you hadn't noticed was there.

Of course, one could go too far. The supposed ambient classic Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works, Vol. 2 (all shall hear me and despair!), clocks in at over two hours, is daunting and cold, I found it worked best on those occasions when I needed a look into the abyss. If you're made of stronger stuff than I, you might try it to hear the musical equivalent of Zero Degrees Kelvin.

(Election Update: 11/5/24 - I now give this record a complete - if unenthusiastic - thumbs up.)

I will instead direct you to two excellent examples of Ambient 101. The first is brief while the other takes its sweet time:

David Behrman: On the Other Ocean (1978)

At first, this sounded quite bland. A little too ignorable. For the first minute or so I kept waiting for William Shatner to intone "Space, the final frontier."

BUT WHEN I REALLY LISTENED (ie, when I finally broke down and got hearing aids) I could hear its simplicity and beauty. (And yes, just like my new speakers did, my new hearing aids might prompt a reappraisal of some music I first found blah-ish.)

Like Discreet Music, this record uses some computer-generated tones. But instead of pressing the start button and going to lunch, Behrman mucks around a bit with it. And he has actual musicians react to it, and damn if the computer doesn't react right back. It works amazingly well. The second, less famous piece features a cello that could have passed as a droning electric guitar for any pretentious art band trying to empty a room, except it's so unassuming.

Perfect for reading, or doing things around the the house. And if you should decide to be naughty and, what the hell, listen to this not-meant-to-be-listened-to music it repays you many times over

A brief but ideal introduction.

A-

"On the Other Ocean"

Stars of the Lid: The Tired Sounds of... (2001)

This one's much longer. Two freakin hours worth, but still more concise - and bearable - than Selected Ambient Works, Vol. 2.) The length makes it more functional as ambient because you really do get the opportunity to ignore it for a while before picking it up again later. It really has a chance to become part of the environment.

It's more somber than On the Other Ocean. It's difficult to imagine it accompanying a nature video, thus avoiding the New Age label. (I did include a video below that makes that pretty clear.)

I have played all the way through many times - probably more than any other album this year - and enjoyed every minute. Even the parts I wasn't paying attention to. (Hearing aids again, I think.)

It's best for mornings but evenings work okay, too. Acceptable in Summer but Fall seems optimal. This Fall in particular. It amply supported two hour's worth of anxiety. Now that the election's over I'm going to see if it will do the same for depression (or Depression).

A-

"Requiem for Dying Mothers, Part One"

Next: Perhaps as a reaction to our current situation, It Gets Weirder Still.

We Can Be Weirdos: VU Alumnae

2024-10-10T16:14:00.003-04:00

Nico

John Cale

The Time of Your Life vs. No Time At All:

Having recently retired, I veer between two contradictory ideas:

I now have all the time in the world, so I will get every Bob Dylan bootleg like my friend Nutboy recommends.
I am nearer to the end of my life and time is thus limited. Therefore I must be unrelentingly focused on the best of everything, not in every weird byway.

While my default approach is number one, lately I've been opting for number two.

WYHIWYG vs. WTFITS

Most pop records are pretty straightforward. In the olden days, there was a thing called "airplay", which was needed if a record was to become popular. Thus artists, "encouraged" by the record companies, would try to not scare off DJs, whose motto was "what you don't play can't hurt you". The song had to be short, sweet, and catchy right out of the gate. Thus, the end product tends to be what you expect. They hold no secrets and offer no mysteries. And it's good, even great, sometimes. You get what you pay for. Or, to put it another way, What You Hear Is What You Get (WYHIWYG).

Then there are records that, when you put them on, an unprepared listener is likely to say "What the fuck is this shit?" Call it the WTFITS (pronounced what fits?) Test. I'm not talking about records like Ruby Vroom or Second Edition whose first impressions are quite daunting, but that eventually pull you in. I'm talking about the ones that - after dozens of listens over the course of, ahem, decades - still make you shake your head.

I will never know who the WTFITS GOATs are, but I am aware of some real contenders. In Pop Music there's Pere Ubu and Captain Beefheart. Scratching the surface of Jazz reveals Cecil Taylor and Ornette Coleman. And out there in Classical Music, there's Steely Dan fave Cathy Berberian. And if there are Country and Western weirdos I don't want to know about them. I don't need Deliverance vibes.

In this series about, well, weirdos, I will try to limit myself to new purchases. Of course, my mind wanders, and now that I mention Pere Ubu I ask myself why I have not gotten anything else by them since Dub Housing in the early eighties? Oh, because that record scored highest-ever (in the Jaybee Universe anyway) WTFITS score with a 10 outta 10. Even Trout Mask Replica (9.5) can't match that. And my one listen to Metal Machine Music reveals it to be only a 9.0, as you get the joke rather early in the proceedings.

My reaction to such music can be perverse. Sonic Youth, for instance, has enticed me to buy at least six albums while not fully satisfying me on any of them. How did they do that? Is it like having an argument with someone and you keep going back hoping to come out on top of the conversation.

This might explain why, after getting two rather mystifying Ornette Coleman albums I'm tempted to put this on my Christmas list.

But deep, deep (deep) down I realize the really really real reason is that cool people like these albums/artists and I want to be cool, too. Never mind that when I actually meet any of these cool people I guard my wallet and look for the exit. It turns out the cool people I meet via the written word tend to be the same ones I avoid on the D train.

So before I do any further damage I'm pulling out all my WTFITS albums and, before I die, come to some understanding of/with them.

In the meantime, I will look at some new (for me) records that are kinda strange. This time I'll limit myself to two Velvet Underground alumnae.

Nico: The Marble Index (1968)

Take Chelsea Girls, subtract the good songwriters (Jackson Browne, Dylan, Lou Reed, etc.) and add random background noise to announce that it's art. Nico mostly disavowed Chelsea Girls, and here she wants to prove her avant-garde bonafides, so she dragged John Cale - producer and fellow VU alum - into this project. Good soldier John doubled down on the Art with a capital A and thus must accept some blame. I imagine Nico standing erect wearing a Viking hat when "emoting" these tunes (a term I use loosely) from the top of Mt. Bindingsnuten.

If the theme is "life sucks and then you die" that's fine, but don't actively try to make it so. I like a lot of music that could make one want to slit one's wrists but this could take out an entire neighborhood.

It starts off okay, with an off-kilter little ditty that sets the doomy tone. Okay, fine, I'm thinking, you're preparing me. So I get comfortable in my chair and wait. Then she does it again. And again. And so on.

I will admit that after repeated listenings, a few songs do emerge, but alas, they recede again as the accompaniment (again Cale) is erratic bordering on random. On one song the background adds tension and thus improves things a bit, on another song it just gives the sense of two blind people occasionally bumping into each other in a dark room.

The climax is "Evening of Light", which - as you can see below - belongs in a cheap '70s horror flick. It reminds me of the worst parts of Pleasures of the Harbor and the best parts of The Wicker Man.

And yet, I don't hate it. It just needs a label, like "Warning: Pretentious, Bordering on Silly".

B-

John Cale: Paris 1919 (1973)

Having spent last summer with Lou, I felt it only fair to dip back into John Cale's oeuvre (I always have wanted to write - but not necessarily pronounce - that word!). I've got his three albums on Island Records, which are good, if not exactly catchy. His 1990 collaboration with Eno is a lot more fun.

Cale, by the way, was born in Wales, was quickly recognized as a musical prodigy, and ended up in America playing with avant-garde luminaries like La Monte Young and Terry Riley, and playing 18-hour concerts as one does.

He then met Lou Reed and formed the Velvet Underground, playing, among other things viola. After he got tossed out of the band (just Lou being Lou) he went on on to produce numerous artists including the Stooges, Patti Smith, Nico, the Modern Lovers, and Squeeze. And his own solo career would be singularly idiosyncratic without all the Lou Reed nastiness.

This is probably his most accessible record. Quite lovely and way more enjoyable than anything Lou was doing at the time. I guess this is Cale's stab at commercialism, just to show he could do it. But he can't without it coming out weird anyway. How does one recruit half of Little Feat and get them to sink into the mix without a trace? (Well, they do manage to bust out for "MacBeth".) I guess after years of trying to bend Lou Reed to his will (and vice versa) Lowell George was a piece of cake.

It's a bit baroque, rife with literary and historical references. What undermines it is his not exactly unpleasant but kinda shaky voice. He sounds like he's hanging onto the melody for all it's worth, and occasionally falling off. If it were sung more skillfully, it might have been one of the best records of the decade.

Alas, it's only pretty freaking good.

A-

Next: It gets weird(er)

Normies but Goodies

2024-09-12T17:02:00.000-04:00

I've been spending a lot of time with weirdos lately. And by "spending time" I mean listening to their records, not hanging out with them. So let's have a post spotlighting the infinitely sane folks pictured above could serve as a palette cleanser before I go down that deep hole.

Timing Really Is Everything:

Pre-1964: Music didn't mean anything to me. All I knew were the Irish records my mom and dad played, which were ridiculously uncool (accordions) and downright depressing (the Troubles). Elvis was no help because I interpreted his sneer as him being conceited, and six-year-old Irish Catholic me did not like that!

1964: One assassination later, the Beatles arrived and that was that. Anything before that may as well not have existed. My attitude would only harden as I bore my parents' constant criticism of any person with an electric guitar. Say the following aloud with a brogue and you'll get the idea:

There'll never be a Beatles record in this house!

So I figured the best defense was a good offense, and I'd show nothing but contempt for anything pre-Beatles. And that meant 1950's rock 'n roll, too.

1972: Two assassinations later, and I was in full rock-snob-mode. Long guitar solos meant rock musicians were virtuosos, prog rock meant they were intelligent, and the Grateful Dead meant they wrote better songs. (Well, one out of three ain't terrible.) I hated Fifties music. It was simplistic, sappy, and lame. It also emphasized vocals when I wanted electric guitars. When WCBS-FM switched from a pretty good AOR format to oldies I was outraged. Having a station devoted to something other than '60s music suggested that there might be something lacking in it. I wasn't having any of that.

So I reacted by mocking oldies mercilessly. One song was the epitome of all that was wrong with it: "Soldier Boy" by the Shirelles. The first time I heard it, I scoffed at the melodramatic opening line, found the melody to be simplistic in the extreme, and the rest of the lyrics trite. After all, there wasn't a war or anything, was there? Four girls singing with an orchestra was just as wrong as could be.

1985: This was the year of the great Mr. and Mrs. Jaybee wedding and, almost as significantly, record-collection merge. Having only purchased quality music myself, I needed to ensure my collection remained free of any "impurities", so I made a point of listening to every one of Mrs. Jaybee's records before admitting them into the collection.

Amidst the occasional good album was some disco, R&B - neither of which I'd yet come to appreciate - and, lo and behold, The Best of the Shirelles - a ten-song single record with a crappy black and white cover photo AND the corner cut away, indicating a budget buy. The presentation was a clear indication of the "quality" inside. After some rest and preparation, I put it on, patiently awaiting thirty excruciating minutes of bad pop music, and failed to hear any.

1987: I played it again and couldn't detect a single awful song. I played it yet again, and couldn't detect a single mediocre song. I did hear a couple of great ones, though.

Like "Soldier Boy", whose melody now sounded timeless, and the lyrics innocent and longing, the singing utterly artless and all the more powerful for that. And although even they don't know it yet, they're talking about fucking Viet Nam. Or may as well have.

This was folk Art.

2024: I decided there is some music out there I don't want to leave undiscovered, and ten Shirelles songs were no longer enough. So I opted for this compilation.

Shirelles: All Time Greatest Hits (1999)

Okay, so it's not a thirty-minute flash of genius that the knockoff LP was. It's over an hour (26 cuts!) of usually great and otherwise excellent music. It feels more complete if less miraculous.

Highlights:

"Foolish Little Girl", where I'm tempted to sing the first line of the chorus But I love him! out loud at random/inappropriate times (supermarket, airport, restaurant, etc.)

"Tonight's the Night" kicks the Rod Stewart song's ass, and gives Neil Young a run for his money.

Their comparably matter-of-fact version of "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" edges out Carole King's more emotive version. Ditto their "Baby It's You" vs. Smith's version.

I could go on, but will instead report the Shirelles are rightfully in the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame. Luther Dixon, their main songwriter, alas, is not.

But I love him! (You see what I mean?)

Fats Domino: My Blue Heaven: The Best of Fats Domino (2006)

Now who would want to get a record by Fats Domino? The songs are sweet enough but they are ubiquitous on oldies radio. So you sing along or dance along at a wedding because they're so damn simple and catchy, but don't take him seriously right? Indeed, his affable persona might cause one (me) to underestimate him.

Slightly wider exposure to his music makes a strong argument for him as one of the founders of rock 'n roll, at least the New Orleans version. It's astounding that such simple music could still sound so vital.

How could this be? Is it the accompaniment that is terrific throughout? Good tunes? That affable persona? Good guesses, but here's some actual evidence:

The bottom of "Ain't That a Shame" is astounding. (No, not his ass. Although... Subject for Further Research: Did Fats have a nice ass?). The piano, bass, drums, and god knows what else that provides the bomp in between the poetry:

Oh well BOMP BOMP Goodbye BOMP BOMP Although BOMP BOMP I'll cry

Ain't that a shame!

And have you ever heard anything that summarized the human condition so concisely? It makes "Love In Vain" seem like Infinite Jest. And speaking of concision, these songs all clock in at the low 2-minute range. Why did it take our '70s heroes twice as long to say essentially the same thing?

Other highlights include:

The sax on "I'm In Love Again" is to die for.
Fats' singing is out front on "Valley of Tears" so you can hear his voice in all its glory.
And who gets away with singing oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh for over half the song before he starts singing actual words as Fats does on "Please Don't Leave Me"? (The title does the heavy lifting.)
And is that ska I'm hearing on "By My Guest Tonight"? Did he invent that, too?
It ends, appropriately enough, with "What a Party". Try it out at your next one and see.

With all this under his, ahem, belt, you'd think Fats would be an asshole. But he appears to actually be the humble entertainer we all see him as. (Kanye, take note.)

Next: Things, Alas, Get Weird

Jimi

2024-08-15T16:40:00.000-04:00

Ah, Jimi.

In 1967, you scared my young, white ten-(but in reality eighty)-year-old soul, with your (and Mitch's and Noel's) wild hair and even wilder music. The bent notes, sound effects, and suggestive lyrics (and suggestive music!) all put me off.

I was a conservative Beatles fan and had strict rules for what was acceptable. Your hair could be long but not wild. Your clothes could be cool but not Dionysian (and no, I didn't know what that word meant and I'm still not sure, although the Olympics helped). And most importantly: you had to JUST PLAY THE NOTES. I could never quite put you in the pantheon because I suspected you were all show and no substance.

And you looked nothing like that nice Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Yes, we did end up killing him even sooner than you, but you get my point. So for a guitar hero, better the admittedly paler (coincidence?) Eric Clapton who, well, just played the notes. And look how he turned out!

I was sorry when you died but not devastated. Not like I was with John Lennon. You were one of those revered artists I couldn't bring myself to love. And yet, over the years your name kept popping up in conversations with friends, usually when yet another album of "newly discovered tapes" was released, albeit to less and less enthusiasm. Even so, everyone I knew - including my Mom - considered you a titan.

After punk broke in 1977, when I learned noise had value, I began to suspect I may have missed something in 1967. So, in 1980, I broke down and began to buy your albums.

Since I already knew most of the songs from Are You Experienced? I started with Electric Ladyland. (That record trip also yielded The River and Trout Mask Replica me being into double albums at the time.) With its vast swathes of material I'd never heard, it was a record I could immerse myself in. And I did! From the soul vocals of the title track to the hard jam of "Voodoo Chile" and the sheer beauty and majesty of "Burning the Midnight Lamp" and "1983 - A Merman Should I Be", and finished off by "All Along the Watchtower" and "Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)", it was studded with sublime moments. I would play it more today except it's on vinyl and thus a pain in the ass to put on. As with most double albums, it's not as consistent as single ones, but it's about the overall impact, and in that it is marvelous. A

I'd heard Axis: Bold as Love at Childhood Friend Mike's house around 1968 and remembered the time passing quite pleasantly. But by 1981 I couldn't hum it if I tried, so it was time, and I found it nearly as warm and weirdly laid back (at least compared to AYE) as I'd remembered. There are rockers with great guitar playing, of course, but it was the vocals and drums that drew me in. And the songs! This one is my personal favorite - very rewarding and highly recommended. A

We got married in 1985, and on the way to church that day, I stopped at the record store to pick up Are You Experienced? (Okay, I made that up but you get the idea.) In one of the rare instances when I hear a record where I already know most of the songs, not only was I not let down by an anticlimax, I felt I was hearing it for the first time. A stunning debut, and one of the all-time greats. Jimi turns out to be a better guitar player, singer, songwriter, and human being than Eric Clapton would ever be. A

Having finally absorbed these three core records, I was sated. Temporarily anyway.

Cut to 2008 when I kept hearing about how - like the Beatles and Stones records before him, and Elvis Costello after him - the UK version of Experienced differed from the American one. Since CDs can contain about 80 minutes of music, many record companies (bless their hearts!) took the opportunity to re-release expanded versions of many such albums. Most of the time they include dross. In the case of the Beatles, however, we got the longer, usually better, UK versions. For Jimi, they included all the US cuts in their original sequence first, followed by the missing British songs. Oh, and also singles like fucking "Purple Haze". Better than the American version for the simple reason there's more of it. A

This reminded me of the daunting Band of Gypsies that Childhood Friend Eddie used to play on his stoop when it came out. I remember how tense and forbidding "Machine Gun" was. Now I felt ready for it, and it didn't disappoint. One good thing about Hendrix playing live is that you get to hear what he could do with a single guitar outside a studio. The mood here is more somber than before. He's got a different band, and he's taking the opportunity to explore a more brooding sound, at least for side one. Things get faster and louder on side two, but it's "Machine Gun" that stays with me. A-

That kept me satisfied for a while. Now it was time to dig deeper. The problem is that we're now dealing with all those posthumous releases some of which are just cash grabs.

The Cry of Love (1970)

This record was assembled from what were deemed completed or almost completed recordings. Lucky for us they are high quality. It wouldn't always be that way.

After the supernova of his first three records, Jimi is merely human here, albeit one who plays great guitar. Having proven himself many times over, he now shows his more relaxed side. Like he has all the time in the world. But that was just for show, as the voluminous tape vaults can attest.

So while there's nothing epochal here it is full of moments that show what a superb craftsman he could be. "Angel", "Night Bird Flying" and "Freedom" all being examples.

A good balance of guitar and songwriting from an artist who had more to give.

A-

Rainbow Bridge (1971)

This also came out in 1971. And since producer/engineer Eddie Kramer was involved it's not a rip-off. The barrel scraping had not yet begun in earnest.

It's more raw than COL, which is fine, but it's also a little lightweight. It contains an inferior studio version of "The Star Spangled Banner", and an overly dramatic "Roomful of Mirrors". The songwriting is not quite up to par.

The guitar playing nearly makes up for it, though. "Hear My Train A Comin'" is magnificent. Sounds like what "Voodoo Chile" would eventually become.

B+

The rest of Jimi's catalog is far too vast and plagued by bad faith - at least until the Hendrix family took over - to dive into head first. There appear to be many worthy live recordings, but since they are usually made up of familiar songs, I'm less inclined to try those.

So until something changes, I'll take another extended break.

Who knows? Maybe next time I'll get to meet him in person.

The (Not for) Summertime Blues

2024-07-18T13:31:00.000-04:00

Reasons to (Not) be Cheerful:

Sweltering summer weather (courtesy of James Inhofe, who at least had the decency to die recently. Keep up the good work, Jim! Won't miss ya! #pissonjimsgrave), and
The lack of quiet central air conditioning (this one's all on me)

have combined to frustrate my attempts to listen to new (for me) music. I can only hear it clearly when the humongous dining room AC is off at the beginning of the day or later when hypothermia sets in.

And no, don't tell me to wear earbuds. It's hot enough already without chunks of plastic in my ears. Plus, I'm one of those pessimists who assumes the call to get to a fallout shelter will occur while I'm listening to the Ramones. So no earbuds!

Thus, I'm left to report on some music I listened to this past winter, which you might understandably not be inclined to listen to in the hot weather.

Of course, you may not be like me - a depressive type needing all sorts of artificial stimulants (coffee, alcohol, chocolate, the odd pill, music, etc.) to maintain a positive outlook on life - and can handle music in July that I'd only recommend for January, then be my guest because the first two below are great.

Though to be on the safe side I've included one pretty damn good Afropop record that I have been able to listen to in our newly sub-tropical climate, probably because it was recorded in a similar one. It reminded me of our honeymoon in Aruba in 1985, where the island setting and intense heat taught me to appreciate reggae, which was playing by the hotel pool. It was too freakin' hot to listen to anything louder or peppier than that. So now, in Brooklyn - hot, steamy, noisy, pungent Brooklyn - Afropop is the way to go.

But before we get to that:

Reasons to be (Somewhat) Cheerful:

Muddy Waters: Anthology 1947-72 (2001)

Muddy had to play in the summer before AC was widely available. You'd think simple empathy would encourage me to at least listen to it in July, but no. It just makes me feel hotter.

So it's not your summer picnic music. But what it is is primal. It packs more punch per CD than the BB King box set I was raving about last year. And it's sharper than the Sonny Boy Williamson record from the same post. And because of his electric guitar, it's more impactful than his own acoustic Plantation Recordings record.

Oddly, I find I prefer Muddy in the studio rather than live. I caught him in 1978, when he leaned into his faster crowd pleasures, like "I Got My Mojo Working". Here he's basically alone with his electric slide, telling you his troubles and there ain't no white college students around pretending they can empathize. He's telling you the bitter truth, to no applause.

This two-disc set is less comprehensive but takes up less room than the three-disc Chess Box Set. You see? I'm learnin'!

And yes, it all sounds the same, more or less. You gotta problem with that?

Not for an afternoon with friends in the Hamptons. Try it in January when the credit card bills start coming in. Then queue up Martin Mull.

"I Can't Be Satisfied"

The Quintet: Hot House: The Complete Jazz and Massey Hall Recordings (2023)

This is a recording of what some consider "the greatest jazz concert ever", aka "Jazz at Massey Hall". There are numerous incarnations of the event but this purports to be the entire concert, with improved sound.

Why the greatest? First, there's the band, which actually deserves the label "all-star" - Charlie Parker (sax), Dizzy Gillespie (trumpet), Charles "not Charlie" Mingus (bass), Bud Powell (piano), and Max Roach (drums). Hint to fellow geezers: It's the rough equivalent to Cream, but with Jimi Hendrix and Steve Winwood added.

And they've all brought their A-game. Powell is the one I immediately respond to, then, in order, Parker, Gillespie, Roach, and Mingus. And because of people like me, who notice the bass last, Charles Mingus (quite the character) insisted on overdubbing his bass lines, as one does when surrounded by four geniuses playing their asses off. My edition has an extra disc containing versions with said overdubs. I still don't hear a difference.

Oh, wait. Now I do!

I'm still partial to Charlie Parker and the Stars of Modern Jazz: The Complete 1949 Carnegie Hall Concert. It's not a fair comparison, since Carnegie is a showcase for several different artists, and thus unrelenting in its quality. HH is "just" these five men. But since Bebop is so insistent one can't help but be in awe of what they accomplish.

This one takes a bit longer to sink in but once it does you're hooked for life.

"Wee (Allen's Alley)"

Dr. Sir Warrior and the Oriental Brothers International: Heavy on the Highlife (2006)

This is a compilation covering 1973 to 1988 by three brothers from Nigeria who make Oasis and the Kinks seem like models of sibling harmony. Just for fun here's a (probably incomplete) list of the "Artist Names" that have been slapped on the several records where these six songs have appeared:

Oriental Brothers
Dan Satch Orchestra
Dr. Sir Warrior
Warrior
African Brothers International

That's approximately one artist name per cut, which makes the Artist Name of this compilation a wonder of concision.

Why this record, you ask? Blame Robert Christgau, who is my go-to guy for all things Afropop-related. He's been listening to it for over four decades and, dilettante that I am, I know I'll never quite appreciate it at the historical/political level he does. The liner notes are quite helpful, though. Either way, it's no biggie when the music is this good.

I can hear the enthusiastic vocals and the more-detailed-every-time-you-hear-it guitar accompaniment. The songs veer from the short and sweet to the long and insistent. It will take a few listens to take in the details. But give it a chance and this 67-minute CD will flow by in no time.

And like the reggae in Aruba (or, for that matter, Beach House's Teen Dream in cloudy, humid, rainy Brooklyn in June 2018) this one fits the weather quite well.

No air conditioning required.

A-

"Uwa Atu Alamujo"

In the Meantime...

Enjoy yet another heat wave. I'm sure everything is just fine.

Nearly 24, And So Much More

2024-06-20T16:05:00.000-04:00

The Artists. Get Used To It.

Kids These Days:

Since I retired and became a grandfather, I've been waiting for any random young person to walk up to me and say look at my life, I'm a lot like you were. So far, no takers.

The young folk just don't care, and - aside from Neil - they never have. I know I didn't. During my childhood, the older folks listened to Lawrence Welk and voted for Nixon. We loved our Beatles yet felt defensive about this brand-new culture of ours.

These days, young folk who are far more secure about youth culture than we ever were just laugh at our music and call it things like yacht-rock, or worse, dad-rock (two words that should never go together).

Their reaction to us - utter indifference - could be a lot worse. And it will be, once climate change really kicks in. We'll have to buy plastic sheets to cover our graves for when they start pissing on them. (I'm smelling, so to speak, an opportunity here... Time for a patent?)

And they go on making and loving their music. Our opinion of it means nothing to them. How can an old geezer/blogger - who still believes there's something worth hearing there - keep up? Should he even try? (Asking for a friend.)

Diamonds in the Rough:

It doesn't help that the music industry continues to pump out ever more "product". You'd think I'd be happy about that, but it just makes it that much harder to locate new music to love among the bazillion albums released yesterday. I know it's out there. It's what keeps me going. The results, alas, have been hit or miss.

I'm tempted to liken the current rate of music production to the thousand proverbial monkeys typing away, theoretically on their way to eventually producing Hamlet. But that's not a fair comparison. After all, this is about guitars, not typewriters, and bands that know how to play them. On a good day, they're producing maybe Henry V. Not bad and often very good. Alas, I'm looking for Hamlet.

This is unfair, of course. I'm chasing that first high (or in my case, the second and third ones, too, meaning the Beatles ('64), Allmans/Dead ('73), Punk/New Wave ('78)), that hit of ecstasy that a new album could provide back when I was seven/sixteen/twenty-one. It's exceedingly rare to begin with and my aged synapses are worn down, much like my taste buds (thank you, Frank's Hot Sauce) Would I even recognize "great" if I heard it? Possibly not, yet I'm certain it's out there. It's just a question of finding it.

Don't Look at My Life, I'm Not Like You Were:

So I bide my time and explore other genres. I retreat to jazz, blues, etc. for a while and when I return, pop, if anything, is even more dominated by high-energy-dance-oriented-female-vocal-calisthenics, the singer intent on ruling the Earth. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But it can be exhausting. Carly Rae Jepsen's Emotion, for instance, is quite good but I don't play it much. It feels too much like getting run over by a truck. One with high heels.

Is this what it means to be old? When any display of sustained energy by a young person is by definition exhausting and thus depressing because I am much closer to dying than they are, and I don't like being reminded of it?

But that's the whole purpose of pop music, isn't it? To celebrate youth. And here I am trying to kick it off my lawn. So keeping up with, and god forbid appreciating it has become a challenge.

And I look damn silly trying to at my age. Even Mrs. Jaybee wonders what's going on when I get yet another record by yet another often attractive young woman. I try to explain that I've been listening to guys sing about their woman problems for decades now, so it's refreshing to hear women bitch about us. But I'll admit my recent buys are the aural equivalent of hanging around by the local schoolyard.

Mrs. Jaybee has shown both a forbearance and a healthy skepticism ("Who's this weirdo?"). And while her initial reaction to the music is often a mild dislike, she usually does warm up to it, like she did with me.

Consulting my no-longer-trusty spreadsheet, I see that it is bigger than ever (8,000 rows>), yet the possible candidates for purchase elicit only a yawn. I keep looking though, and found two artists who, if I hope to just know what the hell is going on, I'd better check out.

And of course, they're young and female. It just gets weirder. As of now, they're both over twenty-one, now. However, these records came out when one was seventeen, and the other was nineteen. Is this even legal?

Billie Eilish: WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP WHERE DO WE GO? (2019)

Wanting to avoid repeating the Carla Rae Jepsen experience, I hoped for something different, and Billie was certainly that, even if I didn't know it. Without knowing who I was listening to, I'd hear a brief snippet of a song on the car radio, barely making it out. She tends to sing in a whisper, you see. And since Mrs. Jaybee hated that, she'd switch the channel before I knew who it was.

But the name was on my radar. While only seventeen when she released this, her first album, she managed to have a bunch of hits, Grammy awards, and critical accolades. Not the usual thing.

It's irritating enough for Mrs. Jaybee when I innocently buy what turns out to be a strange CD. Knowingly doing so could be considered an act of war. It would take more time before Billie could come into the house.

It took True Detective using a few of her songs for Mrs Jaybee to reconsider. So I had an opening.

Finally, I took the opportunity when I retired (when everything was about me anyway) to sit her down and inform her that I would be getting Billie Eilish's first CD. I feared a reaction akin to that if I was proposing an open marriage, but she was okay with it. With Billie, I mean.

And we're playing Billie all the time now. She is practically family. And if anything, Mrs Jaybee likes her more than I do.

The whispers, vocal distortions (via her producer-brother), and eerily quiet backdrop are the antithesis of all I have come to fear in pop music. And if anything, it's more like a musical whack-a-mole game. One second, a voice pops out of the right speaker, and a second later it's coming out of the left one. Dodging, and weaving, maybe she's a boxer. Or just shy. And when she dispenses with the sound-affects, and just sings a ballad she's damn near devastating.

After at least a dozen listens I still don't feel I'm at the bottom of it yet. There's always more to hear, even on the very spare ones. And she almost always hits her mark.

And in her unique way, achieving world domination. It's heartening that the young folks would take to such a weirdo.

A-

Olivia Rodrigo: Guts (spilled) (2023)

This one's a slightly expanded version of her second album, Guts, released last year, adding five new songs.

Olivia's not weird, but she does have issues. And she makes the most of them by co-writing a bunch of intelligent, funny, and tuneful songs.

Every song has at least a few things to offer, whether it's her great voice, the thoughtful lyrics, or sturdy melodies, all done in a variety of styles, including rock n roll and country. As a matter of fact, every kind of music - fast, slow, loud, and quiet - is accounted for. And speaking of quiet, the ballads aren't awful (i.e., over-the-top delivery of bad lyrics to compensate for unearned emotion). Quite the accomplishment. There are no wasted moments or filler.

When I put it on I braced myself for the onslaught. But right off the mark, I got a different vibe. Okay, she does hit you with the sledgehammer about thirty seconds in, but it's those quieter thirty seconds - with an acoustic guitar no less - that I latch onto. It's like a signal saying, I trust you to listen to the quieter parts. And there are several here.

This young lady has it all and is just getting started. I'm betting that's her on guitar, too.

A-

The Kids Are More Than All Right:

Out of caution, I'm being stingy with the grades. They're not quite on the level of So Great I'm Dying to Put It On, but they definitely are I'm So Glad I Did Put It On material. I give the edge to Olivia for now, but Billie may have the staying power.

They're not GOATs but they give me hope. That's all I'll need for now.