129 replies to this topic

[wayfaring stranger]

Ovo mi ne funkcionise ne mogu da procitam sta je u spojleru
edit: sad radi 

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

Mozda si mnogo brzo kliknuo

[djeneralche]

Mozda si mnogo brzo kliknuo 

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

Vrlo moguce.
Zelja za znanjem je neobuzdana

[wayfaring stranger]

Direktan link

Bob Dylan earns first No. 1 album since 1976
Wed Sep 6, 2006 2:18 PM ET
By Katie Hasty

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

NEW YORK (Billboard) - For the first time in 30 years, Bob Dylan topped
the U.S. album charts Wednesday with "Modern Times," his third
consecutive top-10 studio set.

The Columbia Records release sold 192,000 copies in the week ended
September 3, according to Nielsen SoundScan data.

Not only is it the legendary songwriter's first album to reach the
throne since "Desire" in 1976, it's also his highest debuting album and
his best sales week since Nielsen SoundScan began tracking data in 1991.

Dylan's previous album, 2001's "Love & Theft" opened at No. 5 with
133,760 copies. Before that, he peaked at No. 10 with 1997's "Time Out
of Mind," which opened with 101,600 units. Aside from "Desire" and
"Modern Times," only two other Dylan albums assumed the plateau on the
chart: 1974's "Planet Waves" and 1975's "Blood on the Tracks."

After crowning The Billboard 200 last week, MTV girl-band Danity Kane
slipped to No. 2 with 117,000 copies, a sales hit of 50 percent.

Young Dro's major label debut, "Best Thang Smokin'," bowed at No. 3 with
104,000 copies. With help from his smash hit "Shoulder Lean" (featuring
T.I.), the Grand Hustle/Atlantic release also overtook OutKast's
soundtrack to "Idlewild" (LaFace) at No. 1 on the Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Albums
chart.

Christina Aguilera's former chart-topper "Back to Basics" (RCA) fell one
to No. 4 on the Billboard 200, with 101,000 copies. Jessica Simpson's "A
Public Affair" (Epic) entered the chart at No. 5, selling only a couple
hundred albums fewer than "Back to Basics" with 101,000. Her last album,
2003's "In This Skin," originally peaked at No. 10 but hit No. 2 after a
2004 re-release.

The Disney soundtrack to "The Cheetah Girls 2" fell one to9 No. 6 with
80,000, while "Idlewild" tumbled five to No. 7 with 78,000.

Rapper Method Man scored his fifth consecutive top 10 debut, as "4:21
.. The Day After" (Def Jam) landed at No. 8 with 62,000 units. Another
Def Jam effort followed at No. 9 in the form of the Roots' "Game
Theory," which moved 61,000.

In its 48th week on the chart, Canadian rock band Nickelback's "All the
Right Reasons" (Roadrunner) moved up two to No. 10.

Other big debuts this week include Too Short's Jive release "Blow the
Whistle" (No. 14, 40,000), Ray Lamontagne's sophomore RCA set, "Till the
Sun Turns Black" (No. 28, 28,000), Crossfade's sophomore Columbia
effort, "Falling Away" (No. 30, 28,000) and Hatebreed's first Roadrunner
album, "Supremacy" (No. 31, 27,000).

The Toby Keith-led "Broken Bridges" soundtrack, released on his Show Dog
label, opened at No. 36, followed by the Atlantic debut of reggaeton
star Tego Calderon, "The Underdog/El Subestimado," at No. 43.
Singer/songwriter Pete Yorn bowed at a disappointing No. 50 with the
Columbia album "Nightcrawler"; its predecessor, 2003's "Day I Forgot,"
debuted at No. 18.

Indie veteran M. Ward made his Billboard 200 debut with the Merge album
"Post-War" at No. 146.

At 9.39 million units, overall CD sales were down 1.5 percent from last
week's count and down 10 percent compared to the same week a year ago.
Sales for 2006 were down 6 percent compared to 2005 at 354 million
units.

Reuters/Billboard

[LostInMusic]

http://www.tweekitte...h100.party.html

[wayfaring stranger]

Direktan link

M. Ward embraces `Post-War' dream

By Greg Kot
Tribune music critic
Published September 6, 2006

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

When Matt Ward was 15, he taught himself to play guitar by learning
the chords in a book of Beatles songs.

"I soon realized that if you learn all the chords that the Beatles
ever played, you've pretty much learned all the chords you'll ever
need in life," Ward says with a laugh.

Some of those chords can be heard on M. Ward's fifth album, "Post-War"
(Merge), which is winning rave reviews and affirming his status as one
of the best of the new wave of indie-rock singer-songwriters. His
prowess as a guitarist may not be immediately apparent to the casual
listener, because Ward folds his skills into songs of unusual depth
and the kind of humid lived-in atmosphere once routinely found on old
Roy Orbison, Billie Holiday and doo-wop records. Ward's albums live in
the room in which they were created; the listener can almost feel the
presence of the musicians through the speakers, the sound of fingers
on strings and voices speaking rather than shouting the language of
intimacy.

"All my songs start as experiments on a four-track recorder, and
months, weeks and sometimes years go by before I pick them back up
again," Ward says. "If the song still makes you feel a sensation that
has worth after all that time has passed, then you bring the song to a
bigger studio and the thicker tape. The most amusing part of the
process is transferring the original ideas to the bigger screen. I'm
trying to create a hybrid of the way the four-track feels and the way
that a bigger studio project like [the Beach Boys'] `Pet Sounds' makes
you feel."

Ward grew up with four siblings in Ventura County, Calif. He borrowed
his brother Carlos' $45 guitar and stumbled into a career. He recorded
music with Grandaddy's Jason Lytle, then began releasing solo albums
in 2000 with the aid of Giant Sand's Howe Gebl. Then he toured with
Bright Eyes' Conor Oberst in 2004, opened for the White Stripes in
2005, and co-produced and played on the acclaimed solo debut album by
Rilo Kiley's Jenny Lewis, "Rabbit Fur Coat," released this year.

"Post-War," recorded with his touring band in his attic studio in
Portland, Ore., finds Ward at the peak of his powers as a songwriter
and singer, in part because he not only writes durable songs but also
creates a rich atmosphere in which those songs can flourish. The
disc's title in part stems from Ward's enduring passion for "post-war"
sounds: the blues, jazz and early rock 'n' roll records that he
discovered as a youth and has cherished.

"We'd play Elmore James or Billie Holiday's `Lady in Satin,' and use
our imaginations to figure out how they got certain sounds," Ward says
of the recording sessions. The songs themselves conjure mysteries; "If
life is so short, why is the night so long?" the narrator in "Chinese
Translation" asks. They aren't meant to produce definitive answers.

"All of the music is just a dream, and you don't want to take it too
seriously," Ward says. "At the same time, dreams can change people's
minds. I feel extremely fortunate to have this job. I would hate to
jeopardize that feeling by thinking too much about it. I don't write
songs because I have this burning desire to get something off my
chest. I suffer my friends and family with that. I write songs out of
a burning desire to create something good."

[wayfaring stranger]

E, da se ovoliko pisalo o Touch & Go pre dvadesetak godina ...
... mozda bi omladina danas bila mnogo zdravija  winkwink.gif   832bytes   85 downloads

Direktan link
Touch and Go's silver anniversary gift? Mass reunions

By Greg Kot, Tribune music critic
Published September 8, 2006

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

Only one thing could prompt Steve Albini to pick up the phone and
suggest a one-time reunion of Big Black, the big nasty of Chicago
postpunk bands: the 25th anniversary of Touch and Go Records this
weekend at the Hideout.

Big Black wasn't originally signed to Touch and Go when Albini started
the band while studying journalism at Northwestern University in 1982.
But the band finished its run at the Chicago-based independent label
in 1987, and Albini has been there ever since: with his subsequent
bands Rapeman and Shellac, as well as serving as recording engineer
for numerous other bands on the label.

Reuniting the original Big Black--Albini, guitarist Santiago Durango
and bassist Jeff Pezzati--for the label's anniversary festival at the
Hideout this weekend "seemed like the thing to do," Albini says.
"Being involved with Touch and Go felt like an honor, and I wanted to
do something to acknowledge that."

He emphasizes that the reunion (one of several for the festival) will
involve the performance of only a few songs, and there will never be
any other appearances. Albini has been approached numerous times over
the last decade about reuniting Big Black as the band's influence and
reputation expanded, but says he never even considered doing it until
now. Nor would he ever consider doing it again.

"I wanted to do this to show my appreciation," he says. "If we do a
bunch of other [stuff] as well, it would negate the initial reason for
doing this."

Besides nurturing some of the most important indie-rock bands of the
last quarter-century, Touch and Go and label owner Corey Rusk have a
well-deserved reputation for treating their artists ethically,
splitting profits 50-50 with their artists once expenses are recouped.

That in part explains the host of improbable reunions taking place
this weekend, including the original lineups of Scratch Acid,
Killdozer, Didjits, Man ... or Astroman?, Girls Against Boys, and
Seam.

For Rusk, usually a reluctant spokesman, the festival is a rare
opportunity for the label to celebrate its bands' accomplishments
collectively. "Historically, we try to put all of our time and money
into promoting our bands' records and not really worrying about our
self-identity," he says. "But we've been blessed with more than our
fair share of great bands over 25 years, and we thought it would be
cool if we could get many of them together in one place at one time."

David Yow says he decided to regroup with Rey Washam, David Wm. Sims
and Brett Bradford in their Texas art-punk band Scratch Acid as soon
as he heard of plans for the anniversary festival last year.

"It's a way to say thanks," Yow says. There was also talk of a reunion
involving the Jesus Lizard, the more notable band Yow fronted after
Scratch Acid broke up. But the singer says it wouldn't happen without
original drummer Mac McNeilly, with whom the rest of the band has been
out of touch for years.

"The Jesus Lizard sold a lot more records, but I feel like Scratch
Acid was a more important band," says Yow, who now works as a graphic
artist in Los Angeles. "I felt like Scratch Acid broke ground, whereas
the Jesus Lizard was just covering it."

Yow says the bevy of reunions will be thrilling for him to witness.
"The bands that are coming together to play this, I can't believe it,"
he says.

Topping his list of must-sees is Big Black. In its '80s heyday, the
trio played a punishing brand of noise rock that sounded more abrasive
and confrontational than just about anything else. The band's final
album, "Songs About . . . ," remains Touch and Go's biggest seller,
with more than 100,000 copies sold. It laid the groundwork for
countless more commercially successful bands in the '90s, but few
matched the still startling power of Big Black in its prime.

Big Black's rhythm section was anchored by a Roland drum machine,
which became like a fourth personality in the band. "Roland has been
coaxed out of a plush existence in the Mediterranean to play the
reunion," Durango says with a laugh. Certainly, without Roland there
would be no Big Black. Over the man-machine's pitiless thud, Albini
and Durango created a new vocabulary for electric guitar that hasn't
been equaled, one that evoked heavy machinery being abused more than
it did traditional rock riffing.

"I was lucky to hook up with Steve, because he appreciated that kind
of approach and actually encouraged it," says Durango, now an attorney
with the State Appellate Defender's office in Ottawa, Ill. "I started
play `Smoke on the Water' as a kid, but got disillusioned with that
approach. Punk revitalized me. It offered me a way to express myself
on guitar. We weren't that good technically, but we played with our
heads more than our hands. Instead of playing music, we arranged
noises. We didn't think anyone else could possibly be interested, but
that was never the point."

"Nobody gave a [expletive] about the mainstream, or having records on
[commercial] radio," Albini says. "Nobody we knew even thought that
getting a record played on the radio was even possible.

"The mini-industry of being in a rock band didn't exist. It was built
on word of mouth. You'd find out from friends in other bands or call
local record stores for ideas about what clubs you could play in
different towns. It was all very homemade. Business considerations
never factored in. We were just happy to be doing it."

Yet Touch and Go has grown into a thriving business, without
compromising its ideals.

"It's hard to say why Corey didn't end up being a jerk like so many
other people running labels at the time," Durango says. "The fact that
all these bands are playing indicates how grateful we all are that he
didn't."

Edited by wayfaring stranger, 09 September 2006 - 21:32.

[wayfaring stranger]

Direktan link
Touch and Go Records' 25th Anniversary Celebration at the 10th Annual Hideout Block Party

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

TOUCH AND GO HAS BEEN A CRUCIAL PART OF THE CHICAGO LANDSCAPE for so
long now—establishing residency in 1986—that it's easy to take the
label for granted. But back in the late 80s I remember anticipating
nearly every release like it was Christmas morning, whether it was Big
Black, Killdozer, the Butthole Surfers, the Laughing Hyenas, or Die
Kreuzen. Along with a handful of other labels that are either defunct
(Homestead) or on catalog-driven life support (SST), Touch and Go
defined the sound that came to be known as indie rock—though at the
time anyone on the label probably would've just called it punk.

Quality music aside, the label's most enduring and important legacy
may well be its modus operandi. Touch and Go didn't start a business:
it was an artistic endeavor governed by a philosophy of
self-sufficiency. Corey Rusk just wanted to put out records, sell
enough to break even, and then start all over again. His label's
certainly gotten bigger, but the reason it still thrives is because
it's always been run within its means. Defying traditional record biz
wisdom, Touch and Go gave its artists an even split of profits and
built relationships on trust, never locking anyone into a contract.
(That arrangement allowed the Butthole Surfers to successfully sue for
the rights to their back catalog several years ago, but in a karmic
twist, their career tanked shortly thereafter.) The model has since
taken root around the country, particularly in Chicago, where Thrill
Jockey, Drag City, and Bloodshot all employ similar practices. And
Rusk has been supportive of like-minded imprints, offering
manufacturing and distribution deals to some of the most influential
indies in the country: All Natural, Kill Rock Stars, Estrus, Merge,
Thrill Jockey, and Drag City, among others. Some of those labels no
longer use Touch and Go for this service, a sign of the growth the
arrangement helped foster.

Touch and Go survived the alt-rock boom with only a few defections
(Urge Overkill, Girls Against Boys, the Jesus Lizard, Therapy?), and
while its aesthetic was stuck in a rut during the early 90s, the label
eventually broadened its scope by launching Quarterstick, a sister
imprint less focused on rock, and bringing in acts like Calexico, TV
on the Radio, CocoRosie, and !!!, among others. It also preserved the
music of some of the most crucial combos in punk rock history,
reissuing the work of Naked Raygun, the Big Boys, the Effigies,
Blight. Some of the bands reuniting this weekend—Big Black, Killdozer,
and Scratch Acid, in particular—are stifling a strong distaste for
nostalgia solely out of devotion to Rusk and his label.

The 25th-anniversary festival, which doubles as the 10th anniversary
of the Hideout's annual block party, runs Friday, September 8, through
Sunday, September 10. Gates open at 4 PM on Friday and 11 AM on
Saturday and Sunday. There will be 25 full sets and seven minisets,
taking place on two stages at the east and west ends of the site in
front of the Hideout at 1354 W. Wabansia. Advance ticket sales end at
noon on Thursday, September 7; anyone who has purchased will-call
tickets or a festival pass can trade them in for a wristband starting
at 4 PM at the Hideout. At the gate, single-day tickets cost $20, and
a weekend pass goes for $45; call the Hideout at 773-227-4433 to check
availability. All shows are all-ages (children ten and under are
admitted free) and reentry is allowed. Professional cameras, audio
recording devices, and all outside food and beverages (except sealed
bottled water) are prohibited. Food and beer will be sold on-site, and
Reckless Records will be on hand selling the entire Touch and Go
catalog. All proceeds from ticket sales will be donated to Tuesday's
Child, Literacy Works, and the Thomas Drummond Elementary School.
—Peter Margasak

[wayfaring stranger]

Direktan link

Calexico - September 2006
Interview with Joey Burns of Calexico in this month's Maximum Ink Music Magazine

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

I’m going to be blunt about this: Calexico are one of my favorite bands of all times. Formed in 1996 by Joey Burns and John Convertino after they both did stints in Giant Sand and the Friends of Dean Martinez, the pair were heavily influenced by the desert landscape and culture of their adoptive city of Tucson, AZ, and the surrounding areas, including the small border town of Calexico. Using trumpets, keyboards, accordians, steel guitars and vibraphones along with the basic drums, bass and guitars, Calexico introduced a uniquely modern genre of Americana/Cumbia music. That said, their fifth and latest full-length CD, “Garden Ruin,” is a step away from Calexico’s usual fare, lacking the surprise of the other releases and resulting in a mellow, less brassy and less exciting album. The band perform Sept. 27 at the Pabst Theater in Milwaukee, and in Minneapolis at the Fine Line Music Café Sept. 28. Maximum Ink interviewed the busy Joey Burns via email while the band were on tour in Europe in August...

MAXIMUM INK: What is the deal with the new CD? Why the big change?
JOEY BURNS: Is it really a big change? Can’t tell. Maybe it is not such a big change for the band since we are on the road a lot – okay, all the time – and we don’t see the new album as a drastic change. Do you? Really? Come on. You gotta change things up. Can’t be a broken record. Who wants to play the same ol’ same ol’? You know what is funny? Now, since we have the internet as our global radio station and can hear anything we want, we wind up giving in to what corporations have programmed us exactly to do – Put things into predictable little compartments and push repeat. We release so many tour CDs and get involved with numerous collaborations, both as backing band or as pseudo remix-meisters. We enjoy the variety. It is essential in what we do, and I am sure it will carry us to new musical expressions and projects down the road. After all, it is the road that leads to so many collaborations.

MAXIMUM INK:What inspired you to embrace horns and accordions?
JOEY BURNS: We were getting tired of classic rock stations growing up, and when we moved to Tucson we began diving into thrift store vinyl bins, enjoying the less frequented sonic releases and projects. Al Caiola, the guitarist for Sinatra, has some interesting releases, Santo and Johnny steel guitar instrumentals, Johnny Cash and Townes Van Zandt’s use of horns on various songs have been key. But most important was probably the influence of musical families for John Convertino and myself. John’s mom and dad ran a music school teaching guitar, voice, piano and accordion. My grandfather played accordion and passed his on to me before his death. I always try and use his accordion on every album to make a connection to him and his influence in my life.

MAXIMUM INK: What inspired you not to use as much horns and accordions on the new CD?
JOEY BURNS: I think there are still a lot of horns, just used in a different way. It’s always a challenge to go where no other previous album has gone – Just like “Star Trek…” Or at least have fun while flailing and failing, spinning off into deeper obscurity. We ultimately wanted to make the musical chairs and instrument juggling an even more chaotic and dangerous venture for our live shows, each of us driving our own VW bus packed to the gills with old gear and suitcases full of junk. We wanna play the “Antique Roadshow.” Tucson is a good town for that. You mention the horns and accordion, but a lot of journalists like yourself never mention or delve into what I feel is the most important ingredient in the band, John’s drumming. For me, his phrasing, dynamics, subtleties and inventiveness is what propels the soul of the band. The other instruments added in the arrangement wouldn’t sound as spectacular without his brilliance. Part Max Roach, Charlie Watts, Elvin Jones, Art Blakey and Jim White, all rolled into one. After every show, people always come up to me being blown away by John’s fluidity and drumming style. I think it's time for John and Jim White (Dirty Three) to make an album.

MAXIMUM INK: Is there a place that you are surprised that Calexico is popular?
JOEY BURNS: St. Malo, France, at the La Route Du Rock Festival. Incredible line up: Mogwai, The Liars, Franz Ferdinand, Micah P. Hinson, Band of Horses, Cat Power and the Memphis Band. Excellent food/wine and technical staff/facilities. It is always a pleasant surprise to play Europe. America can’t seem to get it up.

MAXIMUM INK: What is in your CD player right now?
JOEY BURNS: Serge Gainsbourg “La Chanson de Prevert,” Thomas Belhom “No Border,” Bob Dylan “One More Cup of Coffee,” Iron and Wine “The Shepherd’s Dog," Beirut “Gulag Orkestar,” The Notwist “Neon Golden," Benjy Ferree’s new album on Domino Fado’s Archives, “Vol. III – Lisbon Women (1928-1931),” Vinicio Capossela “Ovunque Proteggi.”

[wayfaring stranger]

Direktan link

The Sadies - September 2006

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

Spearheaded by brothers Travis and Dallas Good, who in turn come from a long line of musical parents, aunts and uncles, legendary road warriors and Toronto’s quintessential pick-up band, THE SADIES have backed alt-pop folkie Neko Case, post-modern bluesman Jon Spencer and soul singer Andre Williams as well as participated in projects with members of Blue Rodeo and the Waco Brothers. Their eclectic talents and good natured camaraderie is well documented in the recent In Concert Volume One where they gathered friends and family for a live two day recording session helmed by Chicago’s Steve Albini. In anticipation of the Sadies visit to Madison’s High Noon Saloon September 25th, MAXIMUM INK talked with guitarist, mandolin and fiddle player TRAVIS GOOD.

MAXIMUM INK: Performing with an incredible cast of guest artists on your new, In Concert Volume One, seems like a dream come true. If you could play anywhere with anyone, what would be your ultimate gig?
TRAVIS GOOD: They’re all dead [laughs]. OK … Neil Young and Billy Gibbons.

MAXIMUM INK: The Sadies tour constantly. What is your least favorite part of being on the road?
TRAVIS GOOD: Customs, immigration and air travel... lost luggage, paperwork, traffic jams. I love road food - that’s one of the pluses …. like BBQ in Texas.

MAXIMUM INK: Six albums and almost ten years together is a long time for a band – plus the fact that siblings are involved - what is the secret of your longevity?
TRAVIS GOOD: We sit at different tables in restaurants. We’re locked up in a tin can for most of our careers and we’ve managed not to kill each other, probably because we don’t carry guns [laughs].

MAXIMUM INK: Is there any time in the Sadies’ life where it's just quiet?
TRAVIS GOOD: It’s always quiet in the van. We don’t play a stereo; we all have our own headphones. That may also be the secret to our longevity.

MAXIMUM INK: In Concert is a live career retrospective plus musical history lesson. Besides your own material, you cover, Pink Floyd, the Band and the Mekons. What is the common denominator to your repertoire?
TRAVIS GOOD: We like the same bands: We all like the Ramones, Pink Floyd, Stooges and Love, plus Buck Owens, Merle Haggard. We all like Johnny Cash. We also have the same common dislikes; we’re not big on long saxophone solos.

MAXIMUM INK: Have any of the band ever considered doing anything else besides music?
TRAVIS GOOD: We’ve all been painters, actors, stage technicians with the exception of me; I’ve always been playing.

MAXIMUM INK: The Sadies recently scored Ron Mann’s documentary on ‘60s “kustom” car culture maven Ed “Big Daddy” Roth. What kind of cars do The Sadies drive and what would your dream vehicles be?
TRAVIS GOOD: Mike Belitsky drives a Volkswagen Rabbit; Sean Dean drives a Jeep; I drive a ‘73 Dodge Dart. Dallas rides on Toronto Transit [laughs]. Well, I’m 6’5” and if I drove a Gremlin I would pop out the top like a Big Daddy Roth monster! I’d like a Lawnboy riding mower and a Massey-Ferguson tractor – we’re talking about dream cars, right? I’d also like something with four cylinders – a Honda Civic or a Toyota pick-up truck … just as long as it has four cylinders and doesn’t drink much gas.

MAXIMUM INK: It seems like Canadians appreciate country music more than Americans. Why do you think that is?
TRAVIS GOOD: I disagree with that. We have more of an appreciation for roots music because of Neil Young, the Band and Gordon Lightfoot, that being an influence on every Canadian band you’ll ever talk to; we grew up thinking of that as our own Canadian folk music. But “country music” is American music – I’ve always thought of it that way. Those bands were all influenced by American bands so it’s not fair to say that Canada has a better understanding of “country music” because the people that we learned it from learned it from Americans.

MAXIMUM INK: Is there a Canadian equivalent to America’s redneck hillbilly hick?
TRAVIS GOOD: Have you not seen Trailer Park Boys? I’m not an authority on rednecks in Canada; we’ve got so many types of redneck: There’s the rocker rednecks, like in FUBAR; there’s the trailer park rednecks, there’s the farmer rednecks, so it’s a pretty wide question really. There’s NOTHING like an American redneck - not only did you invent country music but you invented the redneck as well [laughs]. Although really, a redneck is only someone who’s worked out in the sun so it’s something to be proud of – rednecks are actually farmers, according to Don Cherry, Canada’s most famous redneck. So Don Cherry and the Trailer Park Boys are proof of the Canadian “redneck scene.”

[wayfaring stranger]

Direktan link

Speaking with ... Smog
September 8, 2006

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

Self-indulgent, solipsistic, sometimes spooky as all get-out -- yes,
Smog is all of these, and usually they're meant as compliments. A
singular songwriter with a winsome face and an aw-shucks deep voice,
Smog (a k a Bill Callahan) spins sweet and sad tunes that lurk and
shirk in the badlands of balladry between folk and indie-rock.

Smog is still supporting last year's acclaimed CD, "A River Ain't Too
Much to Love," which he recorded at Willie Nelson's Pedernales studio.
After living in Chicago for several years, Callahan relocated to
Austin, Texas, in 2003. A new EP came out this year, featuring a
couple of exclusive songs -- "one of which, 'Bowery,' is one of the
best things I've ever written," he says -- and he'll record his next
batch of introspective songs in November.

Q. You have a natural ability to zero in on poignant details and
haiku-like moments in your lyrics. Is there a process to this kind of
discovery?

A. I have a playful mind. I'm pretty sure everyone does. Or a lot of
people, anyway. And my mind is always wrassling with some thing or
another like a puppy in a shoe closet. But it's not really effort,
like it isn't for the puppy. I can't resist going in that closet and
chewing on some shoes.

Q. You're certainly prolific. Are you therefore recording most
everything, or is there even more that's edited out?

A. I usually ask myself, "Can I look myself in the eye if I release
this song?" or, "Would I be willing to play this for one person if
they were sitting in this room?"

Q. Wow, more than a decade on the same record label. What's your
secret to music biz success?

A. [Chicago's] Drag City is just the dream label. It's like meeting
the raddest people at the party and then finding out they run a record
label in the raddest way possible. They should change the name to
Anomaly City.

Q. How'd you end up in Chicago?

A. I was living in South Carolina and had arranged to record "Knock
Knock" in Chicago with the intention of returning home to South
Carolina. But then my relationship with my girlfriend ended just
before that, so instead of loading only a suitcase and my guitar, I
loaded everything I had and stayed there after recording the record. I
never really got a handle on the music climate. People seem to have
inferiority complexes there. Some great recording engineers, though,
and great studios.

Thomas Conner

[wayfaring stranger]

Direktan link

Coltrane 101: Echoes of a Giant

By BEN RATLIFF, Published: September 8, 2006

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

JAZZ AT LINCOLN CENTER'S more ambitious concerts, while playing to an
audience impressed by flash and smoothness, never completely lose
their pedantic side; they're always functioning in part as lessons.
But sometimes that doesn't sound so appealing. The cost of living is
rising faster than salaries, and now even pleasure is work? And whose
jazz history is this, anyway? Doesn't jazz activate a loose, adaptable
kind of intelligence that teaches you to be suspicious of someone
else's agenda?

I guess the pedagogical aspect can be a drag if you don't feel close
to what's being played, or if the momentum of the performance falls
off. On the other hand, that teaching mission is always a great
strength of Jazz at Lincoln Center. It reminds you, in an increasingly
sponsored-up arts environment, that there are goals beyond corporate
branding.

So let's approach Jazz at Lincoln Center's opening concerts of the new
season, a series of shows based on the music of John Coltrane on the
80th anniversary of his birth, as beginner classes. If you buy a
ticket, you're likely to learn something no matter what. You'll learn
much more if you do a little preparation. Jazz at Lincoln Center has
provided us with a working list of the music to be played; think of
this article an annotated homework assignment, to be supplemented if
possible with some extra-credit listening on your own. Don't be
alarmed. You have a week to prepare.

The Legacy

Next week, Thursday through Saturday at the Rose Theater, Wynton
Marsalis and the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra will present
"Coltrane," a program of his pieces originally recorded between 1957
and 1963. Some will be expanded for big band; in the concerts' second
half some pieces will be played by smaller breakout units within the
orchestra.

Meanwhile, at the Allen Room in the Jazz at Lincoln Center complex,
Kevin Mahogany will be singing nightclub sets with a backing quartet,
drawing from the album "John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman." And in the
following months various other nightclubs and concert producers will
be putting on worthwhile concerts built around Coltrane.

The repertory for the Lincoln Center shows has doubtless been chosen
to break down Coltrane into his various strengths: his kind of blues,
his kind of modal jazz, his ballad styles and his superstudious
paradigmatic pieces, stuffed with quickly moving chords. This
encapsulates the official Coltrane, the period that brooks few
arguments about its merits.

As far as Coltrane's later work — mid-1965 to 1967 (when he died) —
that music is alive from within and mysterious from without, and
perhaps it's better celebrated by other musicians anyway. (The
accompanying list of highlights includes other concerts, including one
by his widow, Alice Coltrane, that might do the job.) But let's not
get hung up on this issue. The works to be played next week are
suggestive pieces that have meant a lot to the last few generations of
jazz musicians, and there is much to make of them.

The Early Works

Born in 1926, Coltrane grew up in Hamlet and High Point, N.C., moving
to Philadelphia after high school; the top of the second-tier jazz
towns in the Northeast, it was his home base as he worked through
roadhouses across the country, apprenticing with bandleaders like
Eddie (Cleanhead) Vinson, Johnny Hodges and Dizzy Gillespie.

When Coltrane made the album "Blue Train" in 1957, for Blue Note, he
was 30 and had only one album out under his own name. By that year
Sonny Rollins, the saxophonist perceived as his rival, had already
made a dozen, and he was four years younger. "Blue Train" was the
newly pulled-together Coltrane, after an entanglement with drugs and
drinking, and a long period in music spent learning, faltering and
near-missing.

"Moment's Notice," a piece from "Blue Train" on the Rose Theater
program, is an unusual and quickly moving set of chord changes, and
soloing through it can challenge improvisers. Double that for "Giant
Steps," which has also made it into the Rose Theater set list.

In "Giant Steps" the chord changes arrive even faster: once every
other beat. Coltrane worked obsessively on "Giant Steps" and the whole
harmonic theory behind it. But he had his doubts about it, finding it
too mechanical, and seldom performed it thereafter. The tune has
accrued weight over time as a finger-buster, an étude to prove one's
facility with harmony.

A clip that appeared on YouTube last month shows the song apparently
being played by a robot, blowing air through the tenor saxophone, with
machine hands fingering the keys. The robot, if it is a robot, sounds
pretty good playing it.

At a certain point, about 1961, Coltrane's name became shorthand for
the idea of cultural rarefaction. You might remember Coltrane
references in movies like Woody Allen's "Alice" or Spike Lee's "Mo'
Better Blues," or from books like Ken Kesey's "Sometimes a Great
Notion": they propose Coltrane as a kind of sacred mystery, an
unparsable source of enlightenment. But he was a down-home character
too, and the raw country sound was always with him.

That's the unique and spooky thing about Coltrane: his stolidity, and
his deep countryness. In photographs, distinct from the hard-shell
hipster urbanites around him, his eyes register the same note of
guileless concentration that you see in Walker Evans's pictures of
farm families from the 30's.

The Bluesman

The lovely title track from "Blue Train" was just the beginning of a
family of original blues pieces. The album "Coltrane Plays the Blues,"
recorded a little more than three years later, has proven weirdly
resistant to age. Lesser known within the Atlantic Records period that
produced the albums "Giant Steps" and "My Favorite Things," it is
beautiful for its new-old kind of blues, a more droning, largely
major-key, easy-tempo, antique-sounding kind than the ambitious bebop
blues tunes circulating through jazz of the 1950's. ("Mr. Knight,"
from "Coltrane Plays the Blues," is scheduled to be part of the Rose
Theater concerts.)

"Coltrane Plays the Blues" doesn't collect all Coltrane's blues pieces
of that period: among others, there's the Moby-Dick of them all,
"Chasin' the Trane," from "John Coltrane Live at the Village
Vanguard," recorded in November 1961.

"Chasin' the Trane," also on the Rose Theater list, is a blues in F,
and a 16-minute spell of off-the-cuff, cropped statements that
eventually roll out into long, precise, stirring improvisations.
Bach-like in hardness and precision, these lines gobble up the horn,
jumping all over it within single phrases.

There are bootleg recordings preceding it that give the general idea —
I cherish one from the Sutherland Lounge in Chicago, eight months
earlier — but this performance is the first well-known indication of
the greatness of Coltrane's band, with the bassist Jimmy Garrison and
the drummer Elvin Jones. (This is not to ignore the pianist McCoy
Tyner, but he drops out for "Chasin the Trane," to make the band a
trio.)

The Romantic

In his time Coltrane had no peer as a player of romantic ballads; he
learned from Johnny Hodges, the master of that form. For his first
wife, he wrote "Naima," which is on the Rose Theater set list. Perhaps
it's the insistent pedal tone, grounding everything, or the wide
intervals, or the rich harmony; but "Naima" almost reinvented this
type of tune in jazz, building on Hodges saxophone showcases like Duke
Ellington's "Warm Valley" yet intimating something deeper, a kind of
contemplative, I'll-see-you-in-the-next-world feeling.

Shortly, though, Coltrane moved on and started making a new and
different kind of ballad, hymnlike songs with ancient and slightly
tragic overtones. And in the tradition of jazz musicians who made sure
they knew the lyrics to a song before playing it on the horn — Lester
Young, for the best example — he began writing his own texts to base
the ballads on, imitating the rhythm of how the words might be spoken.

The culmination of this approach was the "Psalm" portion of "A Love
Supreme." But the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra has chosen instead
something equally powerful: "Alabama," which was recorded in the
studio but came out on the LP "Coltrane Live at Birdland." It was
recorded two months after the bombing of a Baptist Church in
Birmingham, Ala.; within that time the suspect, a Klansman named
Robert Chambliss, was found not guilty and received a small fine and a
six-month sentence for possessing the dynamite.

The first part of Coltrane's "Alabama" sounds as if it were
through-written, its phrases a little unnatural; it has been long
suspected that it is tied to a written text, though none has been
found. At the middle comes an easy-swinging improvised portion, less
than a minute long, and then the re-entrance of that strange theme.
The music projects a feeling right next to despair, but still intent
on moving forward.

If anyone wants to know why there's such a major fuss still made about
John Coltrane, why he is so loved and referred to, the reason is
probably inside "Alabama." The incantational tumult he could raise in
a long improvisation, the steel-trap knowledge of harmony, the
writing: that's all very impressive. But "Alabama" is a kind of
perfect psychological portrait of a time, a complicated mood that
nobody else rendered so well.

"John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman" is another mood record, but one
accessible to anyone who listened to pop music on the radio in the
20th century: the kind generated by a deep male voice singing
heavy-lidded love songs. It serves as the backbone of the gig at the
Allen Room next week, with the baritone singer Kevin Mahogany and the
Coltrane-influenced tenor saxophonist Todd Williams, who was part of
Mr. Marsalis's bands in the late 80's and early 90's, before leaving
to play in the Times Square Church.

It is a supermeditative record, with the drummer Elvin Jones,
elsewhere as forceful as a truck, playing barely audibly on songs like
"They Say It's Wonderful," under Johnny Hartman's cellolike voice and
Coltrane's broad sound. As with the best Coltrane ballad recordings,
these songs conjure something bigger than earthly love. For each
listener the record occupies a distinct imaginary space.

At Lincoln Center the trick will be to make the music work in a very
real space, a high-rent commercial zone with glasses clinking and tabs
mounting. Come armed with a version of it in your own memory, and
remember that Coltrane brought a lot of listeners up short 40 years
ago. If we do our homework, we might be able to catch up to him now.

[wayfaring stranger]

Total trivia ... Van Zandt hotel

Direktan link

Moniker of upscale Hotel Van Zandt reflects the names and notes of Texas
By Shonda Novak

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF
Saturday, September 09, 2006

Developers plan to start work by the end of the year on the Hotel Van Zandt,
a 29-story boutique hotel with 55 luxury condominiums at Red River and Davis
streets, part of an emerging wave of high-rise residential and hotel
projects on downtown's eastern edge.

Kimpton Hotels & Restaurants, based in San Francisco, will manage the hotel,
a $100 million project being developed by JMI Realty LLC of San Diego.

The hotel will have 290 rooms, a 5,000-square-foot outdoor deck, a ballroom
and a 100-seat restaurant, said Greg Clay, senior vice president of JMI. The
condominiums will range in price from $500,000 for the smallest units, 1,450
square feet, to more than $2 million for 5,000-square-foot units. They'll
have a separate entrance and a private pool.

Kimpton manages 40 hotels across the country, each with a local flavor.

Clay said the Austin hotel will be "more like the Four Seasons in feel and
style, with the comfortable Austin vibe of the (Hotel) San José," a popular
locally owned boutique hotel on South Congress Avenue.

He said the Van Zandt name reflects both Texas history and Austin's musical
roots.

Isaac Van Zandt was the first ambassador to the United States from the
Republic of Texas. Generations later, his great-great-great grandson, Townes
Van Zandt, became a legendary singer and songwriter whose career was cut
short when he died in 1997.

"The name does exactly what we want," Clay said. "It simply implies Texas ‹
Texas history and Texas soul."

The Van Zandt will be adjacent to the Shore, a 22-story condominium project
already under construction by High Street Residential, an arm of Trammell
Crow Co.

Nearby, Constellation Properties plans to build a $250 million luxury
condominium and hotel project on three acres at Red River and East Cesar
Chavez streets.

"Downtown Austin is really heating up," said Clay, the JMI executive. "The
residential market downtown is really strong, as is the hotel market.
Because our project includes both of these uses, we feel really good about
it."

In Dallas, Philadelphia and a few other cities, some condo projects have
been shelved or postponed because of steeply rising construction costs or
lackluster sales.

So far, developers of downtown Austin projects report that sales are going
well, with buyers including empty-nesters and out-of-towners, as well as
Austinites who like the idea of living in the center of the city. Developers
of the Shore said 70 percent of the 192 units are under contract, and buyers
have reserved the rest.

JMI, which is privately held, is a large company that has developed major
projects such as hotels, offices and a baseball stadium in its hometown of
San Diego.

"While construction costs will surely prevent many of the projects from
moving forward, we are better capitalized than most developers," Clay said.
"We own the land and are well into the construction documents. So, while no
project is done until the grand opening event, we are driving to start
construction at the end of the year."

The Van Zandt will add to downtown's supply of rooms, where two new
Marriotts have added 449 rooms, and a half-dozen other projects in the
pipeline are expected to add more than 2,300 rooms.

Prica i nekako ali komentar na pricu je odlican. Potice od lika koji je svirao sa Van Zandtom.

Townes would, with little doubt, be thrown out of the place for doing such things as "fishing" in the dining room fountain wearing nothing but his Levi's...that happened in Boston at the Hyatt Regency during graduation week at Cambridge. We had to high tail it out of there before severe charges were brought.

I went into the dining room and there was Cody...eating alone at the center table with the remains of 7 or 8 lobsters strewn about and numerous empty buckets of champagne soldiers lying 'tits up'. It looked like a battlefield. Drawn butter in his moustache and a maniac's grin plastered on his face.....

Carnage of the road...
Rue

Edited by wayfaring stranger, 12 September 2006 - 19:35.

[wayfaring stranger]

Direktan link

Mountain Goats' Darnielle opens up in `Get Lonely'

By Andy Downing Special to the Tribune
Published September 8, 2006

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

Many artists in today's indie rock scene obscure song meanings with
lyrics that are either archaic (Decemberists), dripping with irony
(Wolfmother) or willfully obtuse (virtually everyone else). This is
not the case with the Mountain Goats' John Darnielle, an unplugged
rarity who for the better part of 15 years has been penning
heart-on-a-sleeve songs that unfold with the honesty of documentary
films.

There's a moment on "Woke Up New," from the band's latest, "Get
Lonely" (4AD), when Darnielle finds himself alone in his house, the
shell-shocked victim of a devastating breakup. "The first time I made
coffee for myself I made too much of it," he sings, his voice
defeated-but-defiant. "But I drank it all 'cause you hate it when I
let things go to waste."

"When he sent me the demos it was pretty scary how personal it
seemed," says "Get Lonely" producer Scott Solter. "It struck me that
he was writing from the point of someone who had been abandoned and is
losing love and deeply anguished by it."

This is nothing new for the happily married Darnielle, who freely
admits that he gravitates toward these stories of desperation and
emptiness.

On "The Fall of the Star High School Running Back," from the 1993
album "All Hail West Texas," a sophomore tailback begins the song
averaging 8 1/3 yards per carry, but less than two minutes later he
has blown out his knee and been sentenced to federal prison:

"Selling acid was a bad idea. And selling it to a cop was a worse one."

Like many Mountain Goats songs, which now number 461 according to fan
site themountaingoats.net, "The Fall" finds its central character in
the midst of personal collapse, hanging by a thread as the world
continues to spin out of control.

"As a songwriter he's able to say something specific that people can
relate to in a universal way," says Hold Steady frontman Craig Finn,
another up-and-coming rock lyricist (his band's latest, "Boys and
Girls in America," is due Oct. 3 on Vagrant Records). "He's really
created this world, with his fans especially, where you can overlook
structure and tune and really get the lyrics as the main focus, which
is something quite unique."

"Get Lonely," like "The Sunset Tree" before it, marks a bit of a
departure for Darnielle in that its songs are largely
autobiographical. "The Sunset Tree," however, was explicitly personal,
the singer detailing years of abuse at the hands of his now-deceased
stepfather, whom he slyly credits in the liner notes:

"Made possible by my stepfather . . . may the peace which eluded you
in life be yours now."

"Get Lonely" is harder to pin down, its mood inspired by the feelings
of loneliness that arise at inopportune times as Darnielle goes about
his day-to-day life.

"It's kind of strange to talk about [these new songs], partly because
the me that's present in `The Sunset Tree' is a teenager, right? So he
gets a certain amount of slack," explains Darnielle. "The new songs
aren't limited in that way. I wanted to write about stuff that's more
lasting and common and doesn't go away. That feeling of solitude that
some people, myself included, feel even when they're in company, even
with loved ones. That's a lasting sort of ache, one you either learn
to live with or you go insane."

The songs have much in common with films such as "Lost in Translation"
and "Ghost World," drawing on a sadness that seems to emanate from
nowhere in particular. He captures these emotions with a director's
eye for detail: fumbling with the buttons on his jacket; falling and
scraping his hands; making too much coffee for one.

"There's a great thing in film called the plot point where in the
first 10 minutes of a movie there's a shift that reveals the essence
of the film. That's what Darnielle is like as a writer," Solter says.
"He's like a filmmaker telling a very honest and human story."

Darnielle rejects these cinematic comparisons, explaining that his
songs are more akin to cave-drawings covered with soot and grime,
saying, "I uncover parts and the details start to emerge until the
whole picture comes into view."

[wayfaring stranger]

From the Austin Statesman, Sept 14, 2006...

Measure of a songwriter:Guy Clark's lyrical authority runs deep in Texan hearts
By Michael Corcoran

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

If there's an overall theme to the songwriting of Guy Clark,
Nashville's ambassador to Texas music for more than 35 years, it's
that if you want to explore the poetry of life, go all the way.

Duly inspired, a Texas A&M student got in his car one day in the
early '80s and, on a whim, drove eight or nine hours to Monahans, in
West Texas, to wait for a train that never came.

That Aggie, Mayor Will Wynn, is such a Guy Clark fan that he wanted
to feel like the 6-year-old Clark in "Texas 1947," which Wynn calls
the greatest train song of all time. In the song, the anticipation
of a child is validated by a souvenir nickel, smashed flat by "a mad-
dog, runaway red-silver streamline train."

After several hours, Wynn headed back to the dorm, driving all
night, his nickel still on the track. His friends said he was crazy,
but Wynn just told 'em that he would've stayed all night if he'd had
a sleeping bag.

"His lyrics speak to me like no other songwriter, author or poet
ever has," Wynn explained of his affinity for Clark, who makes his
Austin City Limits Music Festival debut Saturday.

The deeply honest songs of Guy Clark, including the cosmic cowboy
classics, "Desperados Waiting For a Train" and "L.A. Freeway," both
covered by Jerry Jeff Walker, can have that effect on people. He's
not easily accessible — when he's called "a songwriter's songwriter"
it means he has a voice that will ensure cult status — and his gold
records are sung by others (Ricky Skaggs' version of "Heartbroke"
helped kickstart the bluegrass revival in 1982), but Clark's body of
work and continued influence on newer singer-songwriters gives him a
face on the Texas singer-songwriter Mount Rushmore.

Although Clark hasn't lived in Texas since 1970, when he was based
in Houston, he's considered a Texas writer because so much of his
material is set in his home state. Plus he's most often associated
with Texans such as Lyle Lovett and Steve Earle, whom he helped get
signed to MCA, and, of course, Townes Van Zandt, the Sundance Kid to
Clark's Butch Cassidy (only in this one, Butch got the girl).

"Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt are the front axle and rear axle of
the whole Texas singer-songwriter machine," said Joe Ely, who was
also helped by Clark early on. "It's so weird that they gravitated
to Nashville, because the were both really the antithesis of what
was going on there."

Ely said he was worried for Clark after Van Zandt died of a heart
attack in 1997 at 52.

"Guy's whole demeanor went into a slump for two years," Ely said.

Concern intensified early this year when Clark, 64, played a few
concerts looking worn and aged, his hair gone. The CD booklet
for "Workbench Songs" — which has been pushed back to an Oct. 17
release — contains photos showing a very different Clark than
the "Nick Nolte with a guitar" fans are used to seeing.

Songs that work

Diagnosed with lymphoma early this year, Clark underwent
chemotherapy.

"Everything's fine now," he said in August from the basement
workshop of the Nashville house he shares with fellow songwriter and
painter Susanna Clark, his wife of 34 years. He's rebounded visibly
in recent months and the disease is reportedly in remission.

His workshop is perhaps the most productive 8-by-12-foot room in
Nashville. It's there, at a worn and sturdy work table that Clark
makes guitars as well as plays them. This is also where he writes
songs. Every stanza, every line, every word, every letter has to be
perfect.

"Guy's a masterful self-editor," said songwriter Rodney Crowell, a
close friend for more than 30 years. "I've seen him throw away lines
that other writers would die for, because they didn't serve the
truth of the song."

Even the best songwriters occasionally toss in a throwaway line to
make a rhyme, but it would be difficult to find any pieces of Guy
Clark songs that don't ring true. Every song he's written is based
on his personal experience, or something that happened to a friend.

"He pays incredible attention to detail," says Hayes Carll, one of
many young songwriters who've come to Nashville to write with
Clark. "He'll make the most minute changes, but they'll end up
making a huge difference."

It's because of this meticulous process, as well as his skill as a
woodworker, that Clark is often pegged as a song "craftsman,"
usually in the first sentence of a review or profile. It's a
description, although fitting, that he has come to dislike.

"I think of my work as, like, poetry. I'm not building shelves," he
said.

The Clarks moved to Nashville in 1971 because they didn't like Los
Angeles and wanted to make a living as songwriters.

"I wanted to go where the best writers were, the best musicians," he
said.

Through the years, the Clark home has served as "an outpost for
wayward Texas songwriters," he joked. Van Zandt crashed with the
Clarks for months at a time; Earle was also quite familiar with the
guest room when he was starting out.

"You see, early on I decided that I wanted to be a songwriter, not a
Texas songwriter," Clark said, yet through the years he's come to be
referred to as "the dean of Texas songwriters." He relishes his role
as a mentor.

"I'm always interested in what newer writers are up to," he said.

In 1983, a friend at a music publishing company gave Clark a demo
tape of a new kid from the Houston area named Lyle Lovett.

"I listened to that tape every day for a week," he said. "It was the
best thing I'd heard in years." He brought it by for MCA President
Tony Brown to hear and Brown agreed. "I've gotta sign this guy,"
Brown said halfway through the demo. And he did.

Lovett returned the favor by calling the tribute album to his early
influences "Step Inside This House," after the first song Clark ever
wrote.

Friends forever

As he talked about his comfortable, yet not financially spectacular,
career as a songsmith, Clark hand-rolled and chain-smoked
cigarettes, seemingly as hooked on the process as the nicotine.
Behind him was a wall of cassettes, their plain white covers tidily
marked with inscriptions such as "Emmylou at Xmas," "John Prine
11/4" and "Steve's birthday."

The first time he co-wrote with Clark, Carll said, he was mesmerized
by all the incredible artists and songs that had been recorded, on
the fly, in that little room. "There was one tape of Emmylou Harris
singing 'Fort Worth Blues,' " Carll said. "Let that sink in: Emmylou
Harris singing a Steve Earle song about Townes Van Zandt to Guy
Clark." Sitting under a portrait of Van Zandt, no less.

Clark doesn't speak easily about himself. He saves his insights for
his songs. But he talks eloquently of Van Zandt, whose sets at
Houston's Jester Lounge in the late '60s encouraged Clark to write
deeper songs.

"We respected each other's music immensely, but that's not why me
and Townes were such good friends," Clark said. "He was smart — real
smart — and really, really funny. Just a great guy to hang out with."

Ely described the Guy-Townes relationship this way: "Townes came
over for breakfast one day and it lasted 20 years." Clark rarely
does covers, but he records one Townes song on every album.

The biggest difference between the two, who could outdrink an
Australian metal band, was spelled out by Crowell: "Townes wouldn't
share his genius. He was competitive with other writers, but Guy is
incredibly generous. He showed me how the process worked. No one
helped me more than Guy."

Van Zandt was a notoriously private writer. He'd draw the blinds on
a cheap motel and emerge three days later in a vodka haze with a
masterpiece he couldn't wait to play for Clark. But Clark likes to
show his work in progress and has really taken to the role as
collaborator. On his near-perfect 1975 debut "Old No. 1," Clark
wrote all the songs himself. On "Workbench Songs," every cut is a
collaboration.

"When you're co-writing and you have an idea, you have to say it out
loud, so you know right away if it's a dumb one," he said, with a
laugh.

'Won-der-ful' guitar

Although he started playing guitar at Aransas County High School in
South Texas and came of age during Beatlemania, Clark has never been
in a band. He didn't want to rock with a Rickenbacker; he wanted to
write songs that make people say, "I know exactly how that feels."

He was drawn to a life playing music at an office party hosted by
his father, a lawyer in Rockport, near Corpus Christi. A new
associate at the firm, Lola Bonner, played a traditional Spanish
song on the guitar, then passed it to someone who played another
song, and a young Clark was fascinated.

"I thought, 'This is won-der-ful,' " he said, his eyes wide open.
Bonner taught Clark his first few songs, which he sang in Spanish.

When he started writing his own songs, Clark leaned on his memories
of hanging out at his grandmother's hotel in Monahans as a boy. The
washed-up wildcatter of "Desperados Waiting For a Train" was based
on Clark's adventures with Jack Prigg, who lived at the hotel and
filled the boy's head with stories and life lessons.

"He wanted to have a home and a family, so he took me under his
wing," Clark said. "He was like a grandfather to me."

Prigg was also the inspiration for "Let Him Roll," a song about a
man who falls in love with a prostitute, then goes on to destroy his
life with wine when she chooses to stay in the street life.

"Guy will write lines that just rip your head off," said Ely, who
occasionally tours with Lovett, Clark and John Hiatt in a "guitar
pull" format. "We always sit alphabetically, so I follow Guy, which
is not always an easy thing. He'll be singing 'He always said that
heaven/Was just a Dallas whore' (at the end of 'Let Him Roll') and
I'd have tears in my eyes, then it's my turn to sing." Ely
laughed. "I'd look over at Guy and think, 'Man, you got me again.' "

Edited by wayfaring stranger, 16 September 2006 - 12:32.

[reakcija]

Flagpole, Sept. 13, 2006

One Roof, Countless Doors

Dark Meat Has Over The Past Year Built A Reputation As A Live Spectacle. Can The Band's Debut Album Universal Indians Bring The Stage To The Stereo?

Spoiler! --Click here to view--

In the span of only 10 months, Dark Meat has expanded from four coworkers getting together to jam on some Neil Young tunes to a roiling, rollicking supergroup whose lineup can balloon up to almost 20. That might've been enough to warrant attention, but couple that with the fact that Dark Meat has produced the psychedelic debut album Universal Indians, an unclassifiable, challenging and wholly exciting album.

The local band incorporates members from other groups like Carrie Nations, Elf Power, Hope For Agoldensummer and the Olivia Tremor Control; from groups like Col. Knowledge & the Lickity-Splits, Phosphorescent and We Versus the Shark. Dark Meat borrows from garage rock, from punk, from R&B, from free jazz. Like OutKast's "Hey Ya" or Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy," the songs on Universal Indians sound both completely familiar and completely new, absorbing past traditions while suggesting new directions. The band creates a wild and spectacular ride, and a wholly rewarding sound. Dark Meat, to put it simply, is many things.

I. Dark Meat is a Band

Jim McHugh and Ben Clack, the group's de facto spokespersons, are notorious record fiends, and are both steeped in the music of the past 60 years. It was their goal to combine the raw energy and loose urgency of a punk band like the Stooges with more open jazz sounds like that of Albert Ayler or John Coltrane. Universal Indians was named after an Ayler track, and the album is dedicated to his memory - see the sidebar accompanying this story for McHugh's explanation as to why. For a band wrestling with so many influences, tackling a studio recording was a challenge.

"We sort of had to develop our methodology as we went along," says McHugh, Dark Meat's primary songwriter, vocalist and guitarist. "One thing that was really important to me was getting the improvisational spirit of what we do live into the studio, which was really difficult with a conventional recording technique. My idea at first was just to totally Crazy Horse it out, all of us play raw-ass live in the studio… That ended up not being such a great idea because of where we recorded - not only for the sake of keeping everyone focused on the song we were working on… it's an animal, you know, but it was more of a sonic issue because we couldn't find a separation in that huge room for everyone. We had to find a good average where we got good tones, and all the rhythm tracks were recorded at the same time, and all the guitars are live, and then 80 percent of the horns are done later, but they're done together, so that they're playing off each other."

Universal Indians was recorded at the Downtown Athens Recording Company studio and will be released by the local label Cloud Recordings. What it does best is tackle the core of Dark Meat's songs, presenting them as studio tracks rather than straight rips from a live performance. "Angel of Meth" opens like some lost track from the girl group The Shangri-Las before evolving into a spooky, psychedelic Neil Young-like track with fat brass punctuations. The relentless percussion on "Assholes for Eyeballs" plays like the Pixies' song "Vamos" if it had just continued on for another 10 years, ending in its logical extension: vocalist McHugh's driving, frenzied conclusion of improvisation and noise.

Clack says that the organic evolution of the band - members joined up gradually over the band's early months, generally starting as friends who stopped by practice to hang out and share a beer - contributed to the recording process. "It works that way in our songwriting in general," he says. "Jim brings forth about 90 percent of the material, but how it works is we start out the tunes as a rhythm section essentially, maybe three of us or four of us playing it, and then the arrangements come together organically. We need this to be here, this to be here. And so when we got into the studio, we had just been doing that unconsciously, it just kind of happened that way."

McHugh's lyrics provide the common link between songs, pushing the edges of the profane to better define the sacred. They're feverish, they're intriguing, they're psychedelic. "When rock lyrics work best is when they fit like an instrument within the song, not flap above them like an ornate pennant," says McHugh, who studied fiction writing for six years with novelist Michael Parsons, whose liner notes appear on the back of Universal Indians. "As far as my lyrics go, I think that they come directly from an interest I have in narrative - prose narrative - and an interest in those poetic questions that are so often answered implicitly and subtly and perfectly within the texture and shape of a narrative, rather than with what specific information is divulged within a narrative. That is, I guess, what interests me about a piece of writing: the rhythm of it and the syntax of it. How a sentence sings, rather than what it says."

After five months of work at DARC with Asa Leffer and Eric Friar as guides for the production and engineering, Universal Indians acts as its own entity, not just a take on the live show [see Record Reviews in this issue]. "I think it sounds pretty good," says alto sax player Jeff Tobias. "It's a good intro to Dark Meat. Asa and Eric had this impossible task to make sure everything had clarity and everything came out well, and I think it's a pretty good record. If nothing else, it's interesting."

II. Dark Meat is a Family

The official unofficial name of Dark Meat is the Dark Meat/ Vomit Lasers Family Band. And its members take the "family" part very seriously. Members of the band are currently dating one another. Some are no longer dating one another. They're all friends. Some of them are married, and some of them are married to each other.

Accordingly, here is a rundown of everyone credited in the liner notes of Universal Indians: Forrest Leffer (drums, percussion, vocals), Jim McHugh (guitar, percussion, vocals), Ben Clack (bass, bamboo flute, vocals), Kris Deason (guitar, percussion, vocals), Jason Robira (drums, percussion), Chris "SpiritBird" Bradley (drums, percussion). Page Campbell (vocals, percussion, guitar), Heather Heyn-Leffer (vocals, Celtic harp, percussion) and Claire Campbell (vocals, percussion, field recordings) are the SubTweeters, Dark Meat's backing vocal trio.

And then there's Charlie Estes (trumpet, vocals), Aaron Jollay (trombone, trumpet, guitar, percussion, keyboards, vocals), Nick Canada (trumpet, baritone sax, vocals), Jeff Tobias (alto sax, percussion, vocals) and Alexis Daglis (tenor sax, alto sax, vocals) who all blow like they're trying to turn themselves outside in. John Fernandes (violin, clarinet, bass clarinet) brought along his children Sophie Fernandes (vocals, bugle) and Kiran Fernandes (vocals).

But also, there's Michael David (digeridoo, vocals, "guru voicing"), Tim Schreiber (percussion, vocals), Chris Smith (percussion, vocals and "strength and motivation"), Becky Noble (clarinet, vocals) and Asa Leffer (keyboards, beer can). Oh! Don't forget: Matt "Pistol" Stoessel (pedal steel).

"It was something I'd been looking for," says vocalist Page Campbell. "I almost moved away from Athens until I met the people in Dark Meat. For a while there, I was really concerned about my ability to make friends any more. I had three or four friends here, including my sister and people I'd play music with. I was going to UGA, and didn't really feel comfortable there. I've never made friends with anyone from within my classes, and wasn't making friends in the workplace. It was a really weird feeling… I just couldn't find anybody I felt like spending time with, and then I met the people in Dark Meat and all of a sudden it was like, 'Oh, this is great!' There's just something about all these people that's really incredible. It's strange, everything finally made sense."

"Athens can be really fragmented in terms of the cliques," says Tobias, "and Dark Meat is now at about 20 people. Some of them are people I wouldn't have otherwise hung out with, and it gave me a way to operate in a band that I wasn't too familiar with. I do think people go to the mat for each other in this band, which I think is nice. The practices still have the kind of grab-a-beer-and-a-mic-and-get-to-it feeling, but at the same time we get shit done, which is pretty incredible. I love it. It's been a really absurd experience."

McHugh credits the particular skills of his bandmates with establishing an open environment. "The really great thing about playing with all these people is that everyone generally, with what they do, is a total badass in some way," he says. "Generally, we don't really have to edit people as far as their individual parts go, as long as it's not an egregious sore thumb within the song. Nobody we play with is really that ego-driven, so everyone is really trying to serve the song well. It goes beyond that to more of an active role where people will step up."

Campbell agrees, saying the talent level of the musicians involved allowed for more relationship development. "I think because there was really never an issue with worrying about people being able to play," she says, "we really got to freak out and get to know each other and not be concerned with that so much and not be so awkward about that part."

III. Dark Meat is a Show

Have the members of Dark Meat worn sombreros, wigs and medical coats on-stage? Yes. Has the entire troupe performed a show in full, matching marching-band-and-flag-corps garb? Yes. Has a grown man danced around on-stage wearing only diapers, bunny ears and an embroidered crimson cape, grinding on a violin like a possessed street performer? Oh yes.

A large part of the Dark Meat experience is the visual of the band. The number of musicians on-stage would be enough, but the face paint, the costumes and the controlled anarchy push the performances into the realm of spectacle.

Some members of the band, however, bristle at the word. "A couple of people have talked to me about the fact that they think the band is a spectacle and nothing more, but I think one thing the album accomplishes is that it puts the songs out there," says Tobias. "Jim is a very literate lyricist, and I think the songs are really heartfelt, and the performances are kind of... one thing that's so incredible is the whole willingness to try new things. So I don't think it is a spectacle. Here's the thing: the definition of spectacle, and I don't want to get all academic or anything, but a spectacle is something that someone goes to and it's up there and it's entertainment for you and you don't have to engage too much, whereas I think [in] a Dark Meat show, you've got people jumping on-stage, people coming in costumes, people absolutely losing their minds… [but] this isn't some kind of 'We Are The World' bullshit with no standards, open to whoever or whatever. I feel really strongly about the band, and I enjoy it, and I know everyone else does, too."

McHugh, who brushes the hair out of his eyes only when he really wants to make a point, agrees. "On a certain level, I respect that and those people are entitled to their opinion," he says. "But on another level, fuck those people, y'know? I was at a party this time and a dude - who shall remain nameless - pulled me aside and told me basically that he didn't know who we thought we were and that we weren't going to amount to much. Said we were just smoke and mirrors on-stage. He was just a small, small guy, though, jealous because his multiple bands all playing the same three-chord rock all failed."

Since wrapping the Universal Indians recording sessions, Dark Meat's live shows have grown far more solid than in its early days. In early 2006, around the time word on the band was spreading, any given show might swing between stellar and, well, "train wreck" is one phrase that a number of people have used. One sloppy and inebriated springtime show in particular, at a packed Caledonia Lounge, turned many off to Dark Meat for good. But as is the case with most bands, studio time seems to have matured Dark Meat. "It was getting our sea legs in that studio," says McHugh. "I think Asa and I worked well together as far as ideas about the recording process itself, because where maybe I wanted to get a little too far out, he was more concerned with nuts-and-bolts, audio technical things like separation and stuff."

Its live arrangements are tighter, its improvisational sections are more fluid. There's something undeniable about the energy of the live band: the runaway track "Three Eyes Open" breaks into improv jazz before returning to a rolling, Ike and Tina-esque rave-up, while a song like "Well Fuck You Then" swings and swaggers with the Stax-like blasts of the horn section - known affectionately as the Vomit Lasers.

Some of the band's more ambitious concepts still have yet to find a comfortable home in a town more friendly to straight-ahead rock; a recent 40 Watt gig ended with the band playing a 28-minute, open jazz number originally written by Pharaoh Sanders to a last-call crowd that dwindled to seven.

IV. Dark Meat is a Party

From note one, Dark Meat has had a reputation as a good time. On any given night, bandmembers' respective levels of sobriety range from stone-cold to nonexistent. Both Clack and McHugh, however, emphatically state that an altered state of consciousness is neither necessary nor encouraged, despite the band's open-ended and over-the-top performances.

"One thing about the way we operate," says McHugh, "is that everything's up to the individual. If somebody wants to get high, let 'em get high. Drunk? Let 'em get drunk. It goes back to the sense of family, where you know if things start to get a little wild or out of hand, you're surrounded by this immense group of people with an immense love who've got your back and will make sure you're taken care of."

Says Tobias, "It's inclusive and it's between the audience and the band. It's us acting a little more ridiculous in our ordinary day-to-day lives, and I think people kind of latch on to that."

A sense of limit is sometimes lost on certain audience members, however, and there have been shows where unwelcome guests have assumed an open invitation to mayhem. "We've had shows where it's been like that, with people we don't know getting on-stage thinking they can jam out or whatever, but I don't really like it," says Clack. "If it's friends, fine, but if it's just some dude… I don't like that. I hope people realize that it's not something that's open to everyone. Like at [June's Flagpole Athens Music Awards] Morton Theatre show, there was some guy - I still don't know his name, although I see him around - but he thought he could tag along and came up and ended up kind of fucking things up for us and the Morton. He kind of took the chaos in the wrong direction. So the way I see it is that when people become a negative, it's really a counterproductive thing."

In fact, McHugh recalls an encounter with local musician Josh McKay of Macha. Following an already storied - performance isn't quite the right word -sound experience at Transmetropolitan earlier this year, the local scene veteran had some words of warning for the band. "McKay came up to me at work after the first time he saw us play," says McHugh, "and he wanted to warn me, said that he felt that people in Athens and around the world in general were set to pop - ready to freak out - for some unspecified reason. Maybe he was just talking about music, that people around here are ready for a heavier, crazier trip. But I felt at the time that he was talking about something bigger. Seemed like he meant that the mad state of the world was exacting a similar state on peoples' psyches, and he felt that our music was perfect for people to freak out to, get crazy and blow off some steam… He seemed to think I'd stand up there smiling like Jim Jones while a rainbow-colored throng dismantled the venue. If that actually happened, actually, who knows what I'd do? I took what he said to heart, though."

McKay laughs when reminded of his commentary. "That's right, I did say that. And really, if the wrong people happen to be in town for the weekend and they stumble upon Dark Meat, it might create license for things to turn strange in the most fearful of ways, y'know? There's the potential for that sort of snowballing off the edge of a cliff. It reeks of all the things that people wish they had license to do in their day-to-day lives, but don't do. Fluids flying through the air, people rubbing themselves on each other… I imagine fire inevitably shows up, and there's a mushroom cloud of weird above everything."

V. Dark Meat is Not a Church (Yet)

The band's upcoming plans include a brief tour to spread the word. A Georgia Theatre show on Wednesday, Sept. 13 celebrates the release of Universal Indians with a selection of new tunes, as well as reworked and re-arranged ones, and then the group heads up to Philadelphia to perform at a free-jazz festival. Later this year, a quick tour up the East Coast and then around the South will help Dark Meat acclimate to van life and prepare the bandmembers for March of 2007, when they plan to set out on a months-long national tour, spreading the good word and delivering to the unconverted.

"If people dig the tunes, I'm happy. Then I'll know that what we've done was well received. But even if not, I'm okay with having made this beautiful music with friends that I dearly love," says Clack. "You know, we all, or most of us, work in the service industry, and those jobs are fine, but nobody necessarily loves their jobs. I'm hoping that the music can really pull people out of their funk, if only for a little bit. You know, if your job's got you down, or you've got the blues because of something your old lady said, or you just can't figure things out, maybe a moment or two in our show can take you someplace else, even if just for a minute or two."

McHugh aims a little broader with his goals. "I just want to open people's minds to possibilities. Let 'em take a load off after a hard day, sure, but let them know that music can be family and community and all these things we've been talking about. That's what Dark Meat is."

But this belief that music is the healing force of the universe is not limited to the handful (two handfuls, more like) of people living in a small Georgia town who run under the name Dark Meat. It's a more universal concept, and lately, with the growth in popularity of artists like Devendra Banhart, Vashti Bunyan and others in California's neo-psych crowd, more and more independent music fans are hip to the idea that giving peace a chance is just the iceberg's tip. "I think with any band or anyone who's really creative - and Jim's a really creative songwriter - change is always going to be necessary," says Tobias, speaking about the growth and future of the band. "I think we've done that with our shows so far. As long as it keeps evolving, organically and in the same way it has so far, we should be okay."

It's not too difficult to imagine a world where Dark Meat carries on as something more than just the bodies and talents of specific individuals. Could Dark Meat become a codified event, something along the lines of The Rocky Horror Picture Show? In dark and closed spaces across the country, the hungry will clamor when news that someone's putting on another Dark Meat Revue, and those in the know will bring along their virgin friends: "I've been practicing my dance moves… I think I've got them down." "Oh, you've never seen it? I know all the words." "Let's show up early, I want to be a SubTweeter this time!"

And since we're in the realm of imagination, one that Dark Meat plumbs so well, let's imagine Jim McHugh, Ben Clack and the rest of their family, smiling large and secret, as children nationwide say, "Mom, I want to be a Vomit Laser, too." It's universal.

Chris Hassiotis