1000 Recordings #19: Ay Dios, Avalon Lighthouse!

Back when Critical Masses was just a pocket of gas in my overworked intestines, I had a blog called Auscultated Sixfold where I chronicled my thoughts resulting from an ambitious project to listen to all one thousand albums in Tom Moon’s 1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die. I only got through 90 of them between April and November of 2009. By the time we started this site the following summer, I’d abandoned the attempt. While I’m not quite ready to say I’m going to begin listening to album number 91, I have decided to lightly edit my scribblings about the first 90 and post them here for posterity.

At the Lighthouse by Cannonball Adderley Quintet (1960/Riverside; 2001/Blue Note)

Moon points out that Adderley played a “happy jazz” and Allmusic.com calls this “soul-jazz.” I suppose those are both ways of describing what I heard in this recording. Adderley’s quintet plays with enthusiasm, taking energetic solos. It sounds as if the musicians are enjoying playing for the audience and want to entertain and delight. The music is not brooding or confrontational, but it is complex and played with excellence. “Exodus” features an excellent, rich solo from pianist Victor Feldman, also the composer of the track (along with another here, “Azule Serape”). Feldman again stands out on the reissue bonus track “Our Delight.” His piano work was probably the highlight of the album for me, but hearing the interaction of the two horns was also enjoyable.

Avalon by Roxy Music (1982/Warner Bros.)

Roxy Music is a band I have been well aware of for a good while — read a little about here and there, know them as Brian Eno’s former group — but have never spent that much time with their music. Avalon is their last album (and Eno was long gone by this point) and if one looked at the cover, featuring Bryan Ferry’s girlfriend in a medieval helmet and holding a falcon, and thought that it contained bad metal, one would be forgiven. It does not, however. Put simply, what the album contains is 1980s new wave rock. Roxy Music’s take on that sound, circa 1982 at least, is lush and atmospheric, a lot more concerned with texture than structured pop. In that sense it reminds me of later Talking Heads and their contemporaries: both use loops of guitar and drum machines and take influence from African rhythms. In Roxy Music’s hands, these tools are employed at times to a haunting effect and at other times the sounds are soothing. The electronic components are often handled in a way that renders them warm and human instead of cold and robotic. Upon pressing play, I was greeted with something familiar: the lead-off track and first single from the album, “More Than This,” which I know but did not realize was Roxy Music. The rest of the album was not so recognizable, but nonetheless of a similar quality.

Ay Dios, amparame! by Los Van Van (1996/Caribe)

Los Van Van are a timba band, the Cuban variety of salsa. It seems they are extremely important to Cuban pop music. Moon mentions that many have called them “the Cuban Beatles.” Earlier, I listened to an album by Los Amigos Invisibles from Venezuela and reflected on their fusion of Western and other music styles with those native to Latin America. It appears that Los Amigos Invisibles and other bands that make such syntheses owe a debt to Los Van Van. From allmusic.com: “Though the 1990s were pervaded by groups that mixed folkloric and traditional music with the musical trends of the day… in the 1960s and 70s that Latino fusion sensibility was scarce at best.” Los Van Van were one of the few bands to experiment in such a way during those earlier decades.

Ay Dios, amparame! contains ten tracks, none of which rush to their conclusion. Throughout these songs, the salsa grove is maintained, becoming a little bit monotonous at times. That said, there’s much to find interesting about this music, and I should acknowledge that the focus of their sound — and if I’m not mistaken, that of salsa in general — is upon making music for dancing. That’s not to denigrate them at all, but to recognize that upholding a beat is therefore important.

The album has a lot of intriguing moments: “Hay Mujeres” features a nice organ solo that (perhaps because I so recently listened to him) reminded me of Monk; the 80s synth, funk breakdown in “Deja la Ira,” the third track, was my first real indication that I should expect the unexpected from Los Van Van; the chunky fuzz bass of “Soy Todo” and flute (I think?) solo of “Hoy Se Cumplen Seis Semanas” confirmed that Los Van Van do not consider any sound incompatible with their timba foundation. An absorbing listen.

That’s Josh on the right. What’s with the hanging plungers, I wonder?

I’ve said it a million times at this point – I know Josh Ricchio. I went to high school with him. I have incriminating photos, mostly featuring him wearing a 311 t-shirt. So for me to actually interview him for his “band” Freak Owls, an outfit mostly featuring Josh and Kolby Wade, his bicoastal partner in crime, made total sense. I didn’t have to try to be nice, or even coherent. I didn’t have to pretend about anything, especially about liking his music. (Except that I actually like his music. What are you looking at?)

Josh has been around – he’s recently moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles, and is reacquainting himself to West Coast living. (He spent some time in San Diego several years ago.) He just came out with a new record, Orca City, this past January on Ricchio’s own Sing Engine Records. It’s a great step forward, a soundtrack to an imaginary film (more on that later), and finds Josh and Kolby branching out in lush, orchestral directions. I reviewed it. You’ll see more of that link, too, throughout this post, so you should probably read it at some point.

And now, without further ado, or sincerity, here it is. It’s a blindingly beautiful conversation.

Critical Masses: Maybe we should get this out of the way first: You and I performed (along with some ham named Brian Melcher) in the legendary basement project Hollywood Lobster Trio in the mid-1990s, back when you and I were both taking guitar lessons. As the former third wheel looking up to the two of us, you were obviously inspired by our incredibleness. I would imagine that the percentage of our influence to your current style is at minimum 90 percent. Tell us about these formative sessions.

Josh Ricchio: Well, I’ve done a fair amount of drugs since that time (mainly to forget), so my memory’s a tad hazy. I do, however, remember being quite the inspiration to the two of you. With no life experiences to speak of between either of you, you both turned to my wealth of knowledge and lifestyle for lyrical fruitfulness. Even something as mundane as my pair of $80 sunglasses found their way into those songs. To your credit, that’s like buying $100,000 sunglasses in today’s market, so it was certainly something special to sing about in those days. I was certainly something special to you kids back then. So, yes, I would wholeheartedly agree that my influencing you influences my current style at around 90 percent. [Ed. note: The Hollywood Lobster Trio, previously Abe Lincoln, did indeed reference Josh’s sunglasses in the rap song “Bucketful of Blues.”]

CM: I … don’t think you understood the question, actually. But it turns out the joke’s on you – we amounted to nothing! NOTHING! Where are your idols now?

Speaking of lobster, you’ve released two albums (Taxidermy, Orca City), an EP (Orchestrates), and are now embarking on a single-a-month series. Which format to you is the sweet, succulent tail, which the claws, and which is the nasty beady ol’ eyes?

Josh loves lobster.

JR: Dude, I fucking LOVE lobster.

I recently moved from Brooklyn to L.A., and started writing the songs that we’ll be releasing as monthly singles on Bandcamp. The change of scenery, and the ability to be able to write collaboratively with Kolby online (he’s still in NY), has been the juice in my cup. As you know, I hate the idea of B-sides, and really strive toward making every song memorable, melodic, and catchy. So, this whole new venture of releasing a single-a-month has been really fun and motivational. Kind of like Stop Boys (I hope you explain what they are to your readers, as I still have no idea).[1] Instead of being any particular part of a lobster, I consider these songs as uni. Delicious uni. Yum.

CM: You released your most recent album, Orca City, in January. We reviewed it. What did we get wrong about it? What did we get right? How do you feel this album compares to your earlier output? What’s different in the songwriting, the production, the performance?

JR: You actually (and surprisingly) got two things right in your review. “I Would” was stationed as the first track on Orca City purposefully, as much for myself as for others, to be a gateway from Freak Owls’ past music to what lies ahead. The rest of the album is a more natural progression, but I wanted to start off the album with a bit more rock instead of the usual paper and scissors combo.

Orca City was also meant to be a soundtrack, of sorts, which brings us to the next correct portion of your review. The second track, “Bodies,” embodies (ha) the repetitiveness and climax building (ha) normally associated with soundtracks and scores. I focused less on song structure and more on mood, texture, and layering. This track is also a, sort of, gateway to the rest of the album, which I wanted to come across as a soundtrack to an imagined movie. One of my main goals in writing is licensing, and I’m beginning to lean more toward that as I get older. And wiser. And stuff.

I think, as a whole, the new album is a completely different beast than the first two releases. Taxidermy was a foray into a new way of writing and recording for me, and Orchestrates was more a collection of songs written more for the live band. Orca City, however, became a natural melding of the two, as the songs became one idea that was fortunate enough to live in both worlds. Deep, son.

CM: What’s the imaginary movie about? Does it star Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner?

JR: If it were up to me, Kathleen Turner would star in every movie. But it’s not, so she doesn’t. Do you know there’s a 1984 film called Romancing the Bone? I don’t think she stars in that one either. If I were to remake the porn remake of Stone, I would have no choice but to give Ron Jeremy the role Danny DeVito had. I mean, no offense to either of those guys, but who else?

What was your question again?

CM: Um. So who would play General Zolo? I can’t fathom how the line “Lookit them snappers” would be used. Cartagena would get such a bad rap. Actually, forget it, don’t answer this question.

I’ll get back to the Bandcamp releases, but I want to know more about the move. This has to be really transitional for Freak Owls, and for any band frankly, when a bicoastal relationship is involved. What brought on the move? What’s different about living and playing music in LA for you? How different is it working with Kolby via the internet – writing process, recording, etc.? What’s the future live iteration of Freak Owls?

JR: The move to the West Coast was a personal one, and one that I’ve dearly needed for a while now. I sowed my proverbial oats in New York, and now it’s time to make some oatmeal. The steel-cut kind. I’ve always been a bit of a drifter, and I had lived in Brooklyn for 8 years. I needed sun, ocean, and room to breathe. Also, most of the licensing houses I deal with are out here in L.A., and I’ve been writing for television and film more and more lately as opposed to touring. That’s kind of where my focus is right now … making money, not spending it.

As for working with Kolby via the internet, we’ve been doing that for years, so it’s an easy transition with the move. We can get to the music separately whenever each of us has time, instead of trying to get together once a week (maybe) just to work shit out and rehearse or whatever the fuck it was we did when we got together. I only remember cigars and many das boots.

Freak Owls has no plans to give up touring and performing (we love it more than anything), but right now we’re focusing more on writing and getting material out there. When the right time comes around again, after the dust settles, we’ll be in your town and in your face. Although, “in your face” sounds like we’re a lot harder sounding than we really are.

CM: No, I think “in your face” is a good descriptor. Your tour with Mastodon pretty much proved that. [Ed. note: There was no tour with Mastodon.]

So I guess at the moment the Bandcamp singles series is the most logical step in your progression. Not only does it allow you to continue to release music, but it allows you, as a format, to explore the different distribution possibilities as well as hone your recording relationship. (Even though you and Kolby have already worked this way, the possibility still existed of meeting in one place when you were living in New York.) What’s the plan for the series? Will the songs exist forever on Bandcamp as single entities? Or will they be compiled into a whole at some point? And honestly, why not do a 7” or a limited cassette release? Cassettes are in, hoss.

JR: I love that cassettes are in now. I still have a pretty sweet cassette collection … there’s every Mötley Crüe up to, and including, Dr. Feelgood; Hysteria and Pyromania; a White Lion, a Winger and a Slaughter … man, I was into some good shit! Then, there’s this weird transition into Ice Cube’s Predator, followed by a bunch of Snapcase and VOD tapes. Weird. A ton of hardcore in here, and a compilation you made me about 20 years ago riddled with Pavement and Pixies tunes. You did your best. [Ed. note: It was THE best, not just my best.]

Kolby and I have been talking for years about putting out vinyl, though, so you might see all these upcoming songs in that format. Maybe something like a Cattle Decapitation release, where the LP looks like someone bled and came all over it. I think our fans would appreciate that.

CM: My favorite line from Predator: “I even saw the lights of the Goodyear blimp, and it said ‘Ice Cube’s a pimp.’” That’s true poetry, you know. I can hear that influence in your lyrics. I think you should release one track a month forever. Saturate the market. No more albums. Addict your audience to the crack rocks of your creativity. Or do a double C80 cassette release to ensure your underground credibility. (What was that you said about licensing?…)

So besides an affinity for pop metal, rap, and terrible hardcore, what’s the Freak Owls back story? What were you doing before this, and how did you get to where you are? I know you’ve played in “harder rocking” outfits prior to your Freak Owls output, like Pela, which has now become We Are Augustines. (Seems like you jumped that ship a little too early…) Did you ever think you’d have settled into this style of music? What led you here?

JR: I had been toying around in different genres for a few years before Freak Owls came about. Kolby and I recorded a group of R&B songs with this really talented singer about 5 or 6 years ago, as well as a ton of Portishead/Massive Attack kind of stuff over the period of a year or so.

The whole Pela thing happened when I was playing guitar in a straight-up dance pop group with my friend Kerry Beach (The Beach Project). I was working at a cafe with Nate Martinez, who was Pela’s guitarist at the time, and they were looking for a keyboardist. At the time I was not a very good keys player, but was really into the challenge. Luckily, I didn’t have to learn any ballads or anything. I had the best time with all of those dudes. Our first live performance was on Jimmy Fallon, and our last was opening for Sonic Youth in front of 6,000 people. How could I not have a blast? They had been together for 7 years before I joined up, so it was nice and fun to be able to step onto a moving train for once, instead of having to build something from the ground up. That came next.

I wrote most of what would become Taxidermy while I was in Pela, and finished the record with Eric Sanderson (Pela bassist, who also worked on the “Orchestrates” EP). I went into the writing process with the main focus being on simple, catchy melodies with universal, catchy lyrics. I wanted to get away from the loud guitars and drums that I had gotten used to and start using more acoustic instruments. I bought a mandolin and a ukulele and went to town. The whole process was very liberating, and I started to really feel like I was finally doing something for myself. Good times. I was all like, “I gotta go, cuz I got me a drop-top, and if I hit the switch I can make that ass drop.”

CM: I don’t understand that reference. Is it still Ice Cube? I’ve only ever heard that one line that I quoted above, actually. Ice Cube was always a little too tame for my tastes. I like the real hard stuff. Like Eminem.

I also like ukuleles, and think they should be used much more often in pop music. What’s Jimmy Fallon like? What’s Thurston Moore like? What’s Kim Gordon like? (I don’t care about Steve Shelley or Lee Ranaldo, although they’re clearly cool dudes.)

JR: Fallon was actually a really nice guy. He was just getting started with the show, and took the time to come back to our dressing room to say hi before we went live. He was cracking jokes, but you could tell he was a bit nervous. After the show, all of the guests, Jimmy, The Roots, and us stood on the stage in front of the audience like at the end of an SNL episode. Our singer, Billy, leaned over and told Jimmy he was doing a great job, and Fallon said, “Really? Thanks, man, I’m scared out of my fucking mind.”

We never actually met Sonic Youth. Even though we shared the same green room tent with them, we were shooed out after our performance by the promoters so the band could have the room all to themselves, which actually made them way cooler in my mind. They destroyed that night. Pela had a pretty energetic live show, but somehow middle-aged people wiped the floor with us.

CM: Sonic Youth sounds like a bunch of dicks. (Just kidding, Sonic Youth, I love you…) In that case, would you consider yourself the Björk or the Joan Baez of your generation?

JR: I would consider myself the John Tesh of my generation. But, obviously not as good a pianist. Penis.

CM: I don’t think that language is necessary. Here’s a good question that I’m sure all of the soccer moms are going to want to know: Mark Kuykendall, who engineers your tunes – any relation to Bobby Kuykendall (cka Bobby Dall) of Poison? Does he ever go by “Marky Dall”?

I always thought it was just “Bobby Dall”!?! I’m gonna start calling Mark that now. It’s funny, I only met Mark once about 8 years ago in Tulsa, Oklahoma, while on tour with an old band Kolby and I were a part of. He’s an old friend of Kolby’s from high school, and they’ve been collaborating on projects for years. Even though we both record most Freak Owls music from the comfort of our own homes, you can’t beat the nice expensive preamps and other gear actual studios are privy to. Mark takes our mixes and just makes them sound better. It’s kind of hilarious that we’re spread all over the country like this, never actually getting any face time with each other, but it works.

CM: I don’t think this interview is going well at all, and I don’t like your attitude. You’re a guest on my site. What do you have to say for yourself?

JR: I’m really happy for you that you were able to get this interview with me. This’ll, no doubt, boost your career up into the big leagues. “It’s all about the little people,” as I always say. I ALWAYS say that. It’s crazy.

I’m gonna have to cut this interview short, though, as I have to get back to work on these new Tesh tunes. These new songs are some of my favorite Freak Owls have done. I like the songwriting process, as well as the end results, and can’t wait until people hear them.

Hey, also this dude (Olav Christensen) has been doing some remixes of my songs. Maybe throw that in there somewhere. I posted a link to the remix of “Karaoke Angel” a while ago.

Before I go, isn’t your brother in a boy band? Is there no age limit on boy bands anymore?

CM: …

The Critical Masses Podcast logo by John Newcomer (Twitter: @thejohnisjohn)

Episode 004, Part 2 – Fall of Efrafa, “Owsla”

Before we start, if you didn’t listen to part 1 of this podcast, do it right, freaking, now. I am your link.

So this is part 2 – where cliffhangers go to be resolved. Were you clinging tightly to something after last week’s podcast?  Couldn’t believe we didn’t have the whole thing ready for you? Angry? Confused? Betrayed? Hungry? I was. And I helped make this whole thing. (This is Ryan. This is aaaaalways Ryan. Until Inle comes for me.)

I got over it though. How? Hamburgers and other sandwiches mostly. And Fall of Efrafa. Yeah, that’s right, this band right here helped me rage my emotions away in some overly dramatic primal fashion. I yelled, I beat my fists, I glowered at the computer screen, I shook my head, I wept a little. OK, a lot. And then there I was, all out of energy, broken, ready to be built back up into the man I once was, the man I knew I could still be if I dug deep enough. So, after a week filled with self-pity, I’m ready to not be angry at Matt anymore for not recording the second half of the podcast by accident. I’m ready to forgive. Because, arguably, this is better than the discarded session. Quite possibly WAY better. Maybe the best thing we’ve ever done.

No, that’s not true – it’s not nearly our best work. First, because John couldn’t make it this time. Second, I was never really mad at Matt, that was a joke, so there was really no emotional investment. That whole thing up there? Lies. Third, because Evan forgot to mention Terror and Comeback Kid this time, even after I did my homework, going to the trouble of LISTENING to them before this session to see what he was talking about. And he was right, there’s some of that in this here Fall of Efrafa record. But it never comes up in the conversation.

Of course this is still well worth your time to listen to. So do it. At the beginning we suggest John’s absence is the result of a prolonged stay on the toilet. Childish hilarity ensues. Beware, some language NSFW, but that’s only because we’re QUOTING things.

1000 Recordings #18: At the At-At’s Folsom Home in Newport

Back when Critical Masses was just a pocket of gas in my overworked intestines, I had a blog called Auscultated Sixfold where I chronicled my thoughts resulting from an ambitious project to listen to all one thousand albums in Tom Moon’s 1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die. I only got through 90 of them between April and November of 2009. By the time we started this site the following summer, I’d abandoned the attempt. While I’m not quite ready to say I’m going to begin listening to album number 91, I have decided to lightly edit my scribblings about the first 90 and post them here for posterity.

At Fillmore East by The Allman Brothers Band (1971/Mercury)

At Fillmore East was recorded at said venue in New York City on March 12 and 13, 1971. To say that the band is Southern rock doesn’t really cover it, as they’re grounded in blues and are clearly influenced by jazz music. The first few tracks, two of them covers, all sit pretty firmly in the blues tradition. The fourth track, “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed,” begins to stretch things out a bit, extending to thirteen minutes. Here the jazz influence becomes apparent; in many of their longer jams, the band begins and ends with the melody while taking extended solos in-between.

Later in the album, my attention began to wander a bit. Through “Stormy Monday” and the first part of the twenty minute “You Don’t Love Me,” things started to get a little bit same sounding. By the time I got to “Whipping Post,” another twenty minute jam, and the bonus track “Mountain Jam,” which is even longer, I’d had enough. But glad I gave this one a chance. Not something I want to sit all the way through, really, but there are some highlights I wouldn’t mind revisiting.

At Folsom Prison by Johnny Cash (1968/Columbia)

Even after many listens, At Folsom Prison still gives me chills, and were I to put together a list of my favorite albums, it would probably rate pretty high. Cash’s effort to put forth the lives of his inmate audience in song form makes for some absorbing moments. The album invokes complex emotions; at times I’m caught up in the sympathy Cash expresses, at other times I’m taken back by the nihilism of the prisoners. The pairing of “Cocaine Blues” and “25 Minutes to Go” illustrates this complexity. The first song is a raucous tale of a man killing his wife under the influence of the cocaine and whiskey. He’s sentenced to 99 years in prison (a precursor to Springsteen’s “Johnny 99”). Brilliantly, following up with “25 Minutes to Go” continues the story, as the narrator of that song contemplates his impending execution (the sentencing is different, of course, but it still works). Cash takes the prisoners from crime to conviction to execution in less than ten minutes and you can tell from the sound of their reactions that they’re following right along emotionally. There are dozens more moments I could mention, but if you’ve heard this one you know what I’m talking about. At Folsom Prison is an amazing display of Cash’s talent as a performer.

At Home/Around Midnight by Julie London (1996/EMI Original Release 1960)

This totally evokes the late 50s/early 60s era. One can picture London in an evening gown on stage in some classy nightclub, cigarette smoke wafting about, singing these songs in her intimate delivery. Her accompaniment on Around Midnight is a full orchestra: the horns are jazzy, the strings are lush. The word “lonely” permeates the recording. These are songs about longing, songs that emphasize the transience of love; these are songs sung the morning after a one-night fling. That said, as was much more common in that era than today, the sexuality is mostly implied, suggested, hinted. This misdirection manages to make it all the more sensual.

At Newport 1960 by Muddy Waters (1960/MCA)

Waters gives a commanding, confident performance here. One can hear that he knows this material — most or all of which were Waters standards by 1960 — intimately. His voice is rich, earthy and complex like a Faulkner story. His band is top notch as well; I enjoyed the piano playing of Otis Spann particularly, but would be remiss not to mention James Cotton’s harmonica. There’s no real standout because the quality of the music is so consistent, but the performance of “Got My Mojo Working” (Pt. 1 and Pt. 2) brought a big, contented smile to my face. Waters sings the chorus as if he’s imprinting the earth with the force of his words and backs that up with bursts of sound pushed through his vibrating lips. It is crazy sounding and awesome.

(Lava Church, 2012)

Felisha Ledesma, Virgin Blood’s mastermind and sole member, roots her compositions in the most-used adjectival synth sounds ever – murky, squiggly, vapory, minimal, astral. OK, maybe they’re not the most used adjectives (some are, I assure you), but they’re apropos to Ledesma’s work as Virgin Blood. The Portland, Oregon, native’s Cupidity cassette for Lava Church is awash in nostalgia, and plunks itself just nicely down in the chillwave and hypnogogic pop genres, exuding a gentleness and a warmth while being equally distant. It’s like looking at an old photograph from a revered era of someone you don’t know. Actually, it’s probably more specifically like looking at the sample photo in a rustic Pottery Barn frame and wishing that person was you, and so you buy the frame with no intention of replacing the sample picture and weep on your way home… You sentimental old sadsack. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

Ledesma has this whole Julee Cruise/Twin Peaks thing going on at points, and considering that David Lynch and Angelo Badalamenti pretty much defined an entire genre with their soundtrack work together, it’s not a bad thing to emulate. Leadoff track “Being/Time” has that whole Roadhouse vibe where the band is on stage with Cruise but there’s not much more than the drone of the synth and Cruise’s gentle coo, and Virgin Blood knocks this moment out of the park. The song is not an emulation, definitely, but as homage it’s perfect – it’s out of time and place, as is instrumental follow-up “Verismo,” which utilizes samples to freeze time and root the listener in a moment that repeats on a loop.

It’s not all young longing though – I think some of this release could be construed as paeans to BOB, as he crouches frighteningly behind Laura Palmer’s bed in obvious sight and ready to menace all who can actually see him. “Imagination/Taste” devolves by its end into something more ominous and dissonant, but it’s “Dream Revisited” that functions as a trip through the barely (un)conscious, highlighting the grotesque misrepresentations of reality you’re bound to witness halfway in and halfway out of sleep. Luckily we’re able to cleanse our palate with “Wavelength,” its beautiful, poetic tones rippling within and over one another, fighting for the title of “most beatific,” as if there’s such a prize. (There will be, if I have anything to say about it. Virgin Blood’s tones reach “beatific” territory on a seemingly regular basis here.) “Wavelength” arrives, already radiant, and blissfully fades after exactly four minutes. I want it back.

I’m not going to suggest that Virgin Blood has any interest in Twin Peaks – maybe Ledesma does – it’s just something I happened to hear in it. And that’s OK – for the uninitiated, it’s helpful to have some point of reference, and for a dude who writes a music column, it’s helpful to have a hook. Surely I can be forgiven. Maybe not so much for baiting sappy nostalgia-hounds in their pursuit of feelings via retail therapy, but hey, I calls ’em like I sees ’em. Fortunately, for Virgin Blood, there’s nothing cloying about Cupidity, nor is there any sense of mass production – it was originally released in a limited cassette run, which has now sold out, for goodness’ sake. It’s real, actual, acceptable emotional stimulation, and, for Felisha Ledesma, it’s a perfect outlet. Thanks for sharing. I promise this is well worth the time.

RIYL: Julee Cruise, Grouper, Sleep ∞ Over

Frank Lenz is a lifer. Yeah, dude’s been around. Ever hear of Starflyer 59, Pedro the Lion, Richard Swift? Yeah, thought so. He’s drummed for them. (And my gosh, can you imagine being the drummer in an ever-shifting outfit like Starflyer, knowing that the singer/guitarist/songwriter Jason Martin is also a drummer, and has written and recorded all by hisself before? Wouldn’t you be a little afraid of your job security?)

(I think it was somewhere around 2000 or 2001 when I saw Starflyer play at a school or a church or something, and they had the classic Leave Here a Stranger touring lineup which featured, I’m sure, Lenz on drums. I also met Velvet Blue Music label head/Starflyer bassist Jeff Cloud at that show, but I’m sure he doesn’t remember. I’m an audience member, I’m not memorable. He was very nice though. Thanks for that Jeff.)

(This whole thing is going like an aside. I didn’t mean to do that honestly. I meant to talk about Lenz’s video for “Pentasynth,” from his forthcoming record Water Tiger due out June 25 on VBM. I’ve barely got past Lenz’s drumming history. Crap. Let’s get back to that.)

Water Tiger, out June 25 on VBM. In case you hadn’t heard before.

…Lenz also has composed film scores. Holy Rollers, and Strictly Background – heard of them? Actually, I wouldn’t begrudge you if you haven’t. But Lenz the solo artist! He’s out there, man, the preeminent purveyor of instrumental heartstring tuggin’, an emotional roller coaster that gradually ascends from heartbreak and descends from nostalgia. His music is tailor-made for visual accompaniment, not unlike Jon Brion to whom he’s been compared. And hey, speaking of, we’ve got a video here for you! “Pentasynth,” the first track from Water Tiger out June 25 on VBM (wait, did I mention that? Are the asides all in my head, or are they here on the page? Can’t look back to check, must proceed…), is the perfect score to a sepia-toned road trip video. Part desperate escapism, part lonely reminiscence, the video is a top-down journey through hills and city alike, where you’re rendered inadequate in different, but no less equal, ways.

So it’s sad, yes, but hopeful too, because it reminds you there’s an individual there behind it all: you. And you’re important. At least I am. That’s what I was taught in school, anyway, and by my parents. This was before the fall of the Berlin Wall, though, so it may have been an exaggeration. I’ve never been to a shrink.

Did I say Water Tiger was out June 25 on VBM? I can’t be bothered to check.

TO THE VIDEO ROOM!

The Critical Masses Podcast logo by John Newcomer (Twitter: @thejohnisjohn)

Episode 004, Part 1 – Watership Down

So you might be wondering why we’ve split this podcast into two parts. Is it something about the number 4 (as in 004, as in the episode number) that levels extra importance to its proceedings? Is it your damn lucky number or something? Thinking that’s the case? That you’re special? That you’re somehow linked to us through cosmic means? Well, I’m here to tell you, “4″ is the first cursed number my friend. That’s right, cursed. As in the first number in this series: 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42. Bad luck city. And just like Hugo Reyes, whose life was badgered by these malignant digits and whose path brought him to the Australian outback in search of answers, you’ve come here with hope and will receive nothing but punishment. Because, let’s face it, you deserve it.

Where was I? Right, episode 4. So, we didn’t hit record during the second half. That’s really it. You can come back next week for the exciting conclusion (as well as the trivia answer) if you want. I suggest you do. But the idea here is, we’re pretty much just a minivan full of idiots dumber than a sack full of cats. With the attention span of a warren of horny rabbits.

Right, rabbits! That’s the real point. Bring on the bunnies of Watership Down, the movie that’s not, I’ve come to find, about submarines.

1000 Recordings #17 – Ask the Astral Monk

Back when Critical Masses was just a pocket of gas in my overworked intestines, I had a blog called Auscultated Sixfold where I chronicled my thoughts resulting from an ambitious project to listen to all one thousand albums in Tom Moon’s 1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die. I only got through 90 of them between April and November of 2009. By the time we started this site the following summer, I’d abandoned the attempt. While I’m not quite ready to say I’m going to begin listening to album number 91, I have decided to lightly edit my scribblings about the first 90 and post them here for posterity.

Ask the Ages by Sonny Sharrock (1991/Axiom)

Add stringed instruments to jazz and you may end up with something excellent. There’s a recent Vandermark 5 album, Beat Reader, which features a cellist. Man… really good stuff. Something about the abrasiveness of a stringed instrument amidst all of the round, room-filling instruments common to jazz really does it for me; it strikes a beautiful contrast if done right. Even the upright bass when played with a bow can have this quality. On Ask the Ages, Sharrock does some really interesting things with his guitar. Moon writes: “His solos are dotted with bloodthirsty lunges into metal or jazz skronk, but they’re never just a look-at-me freak show or aggression for its own sake.” That’s a pretty cool thing to write, and this is a pretty cool album. But don’t tell your mama he said “skronk.” Check it out if this sounds like your kinda thing.

Astral Weeks by Van Morrison (1968/Warner Bros.)

Some artists wait until they are well-established, at that almost-an-institution-unto-themselves point, before they get all surly and insistent that everything be done the way they want it done. Like a good Irishman, Van Morrison got going with the artistic direction disputes right at the beginning of his long career. When what became Astral Weeks got rolling, Morrison was up in Massachusetts or somewhere, just recently saved from being deported by a hasty marriage to the widow of the recently deceased head of his record label. Said widow had all kinds of hate and vitriol for Morrison because she seems to have blamed the ongoing struggles between him and her husband as contributing to the man’s death. Her husband wanted pop music like “Brown-Eyed Girl” and Morrison was interested in doing something all together different. It was this type of stuff that he was playing at gigs, sometimes just him and one other musician. As Moon points out, Morrison didn’t have a whole lot going on and you get the impression that the future didn’t really look so bright. Still, Morrison had a really, really great voice and a lot of success with the aforementioned tune, “Gloria,” and with the band Them and, thus, Warner Bros. was interested in him. Morrison got out of his contract with the former label by accepting a bunch of ridiculous monetary concessions to them which he found equally ridiculous ways of fulfilling (i.e. he was supposed to give them three new songs a month for a year, so he went into the studio one night and recorded 36 nonsense songs). Warner Bros. wasn’t really interested in the acoustic, mystical stuff he wanted to do either, but that’s what they got.

Astral Weeks contains eight songs which vary in length from three to ten minutes. The songs don’t run together per se, but they do end up sounding like parts of one whole. In some ways, the album feels like one long piece of music. It is, in fact, a song cycle or sorts, seemingly concerned with a young man longing after a lost lover. Something along those lines, but one can be forgiven for not grasping all the specific details since the lyrical approach here is impressionistic. This suits the music. Whether because he was shy, a genius or a jerk (no one seems to agree), or maybe all three, Morrison showed the session musicians assembled for the album, mostly jazz guys, the basic songs on guitar. From there, he kind of left them to play what they wanted to, wanting the album to have a loose, improvised feel. Morrison takes this approach with his vocals as well, twisting and turning phrases, repeating words, varying his timber, volume and tempo. This probably had a really high risk of failure. I think there have probably been a few hundred attempts at an album like this that we’ve never heard because they were terrible. And I think the session musicians might have thought he was a little crazy. Maybe the oddity of it accounts for the differing opinions on how assured Morrison was of what he was after. Certain or not of what he wanted, the results speak for themselves. A man with a less impressive voice probably couldn’t have pulled this off, but Morrison is a pleasure to listen to and hearing him let loose and wander freely through his words is really enjoyable. For me, the album has a kind of transcendent feel, evoking both feelings of nostalgia and hope for the future. I feel both relaxed and excited by it.

At Carnegie Hall by The Thelonious Monk Quartet with John Coltrane (2005/Blue Note – Recorded 11/29/57)
Personnel: Thelonious Monk – piano; John Coltrane – tenor saxophone; Ahmed Abdul-Malik – bass; Shadow Wilson – drums

A few years ago, this release was greatly heralded. Moon says “it was as if the Dead Sea Scrolls had turned up on 57th Street.” Newsweek said it was the “musical equivalent of the discovery of a new Mount Everest.” I think one has to have been a jazz aficionado at the time to fully appreciate the significance. Apparently, Monk’s band featuring Coltrane, an arrangement that lasted about eight months, was often written and speculated about as there was little recorded to document the band. This recording was found in 2005.

“Not every soloist could content with Monk, because where other composers provided easy chairs, he put sharp tacks down. The ever-restless Coltrane was, in many ways, Monk’s perfect foil – like Monk, he was interested in elucidating a song’s underlying architecture.” That’s how Moon describes this pairing of jazz greats. One can hear this in the recording. Whereas many jazz albums have one musician, usually the band leader, that holds the spotlight, it is clear that Monk and Coltrane were both giants, Monk the established, experienced player, Coltrane, the young genius.

The opening, “Monk’s Mood,” finds Coltrane blowing smooth, broad swashes of sound over Monk’s complex piano lines, accentuating their atypical qualities. “Evidence” follows and in it Coltrane goes off. It’s under five-minutes, but the saxophonist runs off at triple-time against the support held down by Monk, Malik and Wilson. “Crepuscule With Nellie” takes things down to a more subdued level before “Nutty” comes along. This track features an impressive solo by Monk as he pounds out an intriguing polyrhythm. “Epistrophy” is a highlight, as Moon acknowledges. Wilson’s skill on the drums is most apparent here, featuring nice fills and cymbal work under the melody. Monk and Coltrane play off of each other, taking the low- and high-note road respectively. Later, in “Blue Monk,” the pianist displays his idiosyncratic talent, chopping out solos that have a tentative quality as if he’s flirting playfully with the melody.

While I don’t have the knowledge of jazz to be ebullient about the existence of this recording, I am nonetheless impressed with the music here and excited to be hearing more and more jazz through this project.

Thollem McDonas, right, and John Dieterich of Bad News from Houston.

Thollem McDonas is a well-respected and prolific experimental pianist, having released a butt-ton of material already this year both on his own and with others, including a new Tsigoti record, Read Between the Lines … Think Outside Them, on Post-Consumer Records in January. He’s got at least four more albums coming out this year, one with The Hand to Man Band, an experimental quartet featuring living legend Mike Watt, also on Post-Consumer. His duo Bad News from Houston, with Deerhoof drummer/Hand to Man Band member John Dieterich, released their debut album In the Valley of the Cloudbuilder in March also ALSO on Post-Consumer, and we here at Critical Masses (well, me, because I wrote about it) dug loved it. You can refresh your memory on how I felt about it right here. Here’s a little excerpt to whet your whistle: “McDonas and Dieterich spend their time reveling in the tactility of their instruments. They’ve allowed themselves nothing more than acoustic guitar and piano on which to perform, but the space and the studio were fair game, and they use it to great advantage as cavernous echoes and sampled tones are as equally important as the notes actually played.”

In between his insanely busy schedule, Thollem was kind enough to correspond with me via email. He’s got a lot on his plate, as you can see in the fully detailed discography of McDonas’s output from 2012/2013 following the interview, and as we’re barely a third of the way through the year, there’s some great stuff coming. This includes a new Hand to Man Band album, for which Thollem’s disclosed that there are SEVEN HOURS of usable recorded material. So… what’s that, like a septuple album? (It’ll be trimmed, I know, I know…) But we get a peek inside the working mind of a master of his instrument, and although the focus is on In the Valley of the Cloudbuilder, there’s a wealth of other fun stuff here too.

Critical Masses: You and John have been working together for some time now in various capacities, including as part of The Hand to Man Band. When and how did you first start working together? What drew you to each other as likely collaborators?

Thollem McDonas: Martha Colburn, the NY/Amsterdam filmmaker brought us together to perform to her films at the SF Museum of Modern Art in 2009. We really hit it off musically, and have enjoyed working together since on several different projects. All for Now on Dromos Records (Lisbon) was our first album together. We recorded it at SF MOMA the day after the performance with Martha’s films. We have a real ease working/playing together in every context, so far. Now we’ve got a second Hand to Man Band album we just started post-production work on last week in Albuquerque. We have so much great material for it, it’s going to be hard to carve it into just one album…

CM: Was that first performance mostly improvised, or did you hammer out what you’d do ahead of time? Who played what? Was All for Now written and recorded via the same process?

TM: John and I met a few times before the performance to get an idea of how we’d approach both working together and also with Martha’s films. We found right away we really loved matching our sounds to each other to create, in a sense, one instrument with two parts. That has been one of the main compositional devices we have used together since, it’s one of the defining elements of our duo. We are both interested in improvising within frameworks, general or specific. All for Now was recorded in this way, where one of us would throw out a concept and we’d play within that until we felt it had run a course like a short poem, I suppose. So the album ended up as a series of short pieces each with a well-defined character unique among the others, but nothing written down or composed in the traditional since.

CM: The press materials for In the Valley of the Cloudbuilder talk about an “evolutionary leap” in your collaboration, and that the two of you are “mining very new musical territory.” What does that mean?

TM: Well, first of all, we spent much more time on this album, in the conceptualizing, recording, and post-production than on All for Now. We also utilized more timbres even though it’s still basically just guitar and piano. We both did much more preparations of our instruments and also used feedback with the piano, recording both the piano itself as well as an amp. The recording was much more elaborate and this became an essential aspect of the album compositionally/conceptually. It’s VERY well recorded, thanks to Nicholas [Taplin]! This is not to say that All for Now was not well recorded, we’ve just pushed things beyond from that. With All for Now we did very little post-production work with it. That album is basically exactly as we played it. In the Valley of the Cloudbuilder is more complete in its overall concept and has elements that are shared throughout it, sounds and ideas that come and go in different contexts, and constant surprises, pulling the listener into tiny sonic nuances. For me, I really hear a story, or many stories, but wide open enough for the listener to fill in all the details for themselves, perhaps differently on every listen. It’s so multi-layered and rich, I’m astounded each time I’ve listened to it. I think Tuia [Cherici]’s artwork and video also play right into the open-ended story of it all, she really caught on right away to what we were after. We didn’t give her much to work with except for the music itself. We wanted to let her run with it as her imagination led her.

CM: I’ll come back to Tuia’s work, but you’ve nailed one thing here that really stuck out for me, and that was the use of the studio, the recording process, and even the engineer as de facto third, fourth, fifth players on the album. And not that two people can’t make a full sound together, but it doesn’t necessarily sound like two people making music together, it sounds like more. I think mic-ing the amps as well as the instruments helps in that. I mentioned in my review how I thought the songs that allowed the “room,” or the ambience of the studio, to assert itself—which oddly (to me) tended to be the less frantically played songs—came off as a bit more “jazz,” or obviously improvised in that you and John had to play around the results. You even mentioned above the “constant surprises.” How much of those effects, the unpredictability of your surroundings and how they were recorded, were you going for or even hoping for, and how much was happy accident?

TM: Honestly, there weren’t so many happy accidents, necessarily, we were pretty strategic about everything we did. For sure, the recording process was very important and the post work we did as well. Nicholas was instrumental in the process as were his great gear and recording knowledge/ideas. When I say “constant surprises” I mean that in terms of listening to it after many months and with very fresh ears. I don’t remember what’s coming around the bend next and it’s fun now to listen to it in this way.

CM: I probably should have asked this question earlier, but here goes. I’d been familiar with John’s work in Deerhoof but I wasn’t terribly aware of Tsigoti until recently (really great stuff by the way, I immediately thought of rRope as a contemporary), and it’s quite obvious that your work in Bad News from Houston (and The Hand to Man Band) is much different than perhaps the casual listener might expect from either of you. Before being approached to do Martha’s films, were you and/or John itching to try something more experimental in a wider setting, or was that simply opportunity knocking?

TM: I’m glad you like Tsigoti, thanks for that. It’s really a side project for all of us, even though we’ve just released our fourth album. We meet once a year or so, do a little tour, and write and record our albums in three days. So, it doesn’t have anywhere near our full attention. Perhaps that’s best in some way, because it keeps things fresh and immediate. But I do also wish we had more attention, since we have many reviews that are over the top appreciation for what we do, and I’d love to tour the band more often, and they are some of my best friends in the world. Jacopo is the drummer of L’Enfance Rouge, and that is his main focus, then we all have varying focusii and so on. I’m actually most known as a pianist in post-classical, imrov, free jazz. So, I actually come more from the experimental side of things though I have interest and curiosity for many different approaches and musical attitudes and have been working much more with rocker-ish types of musicians in the recent years. John also is an avid musical explorer, which Deerhoof is a great vehicle for, but he also has many other projects that go in a variety of directions. I think when Martha asked us to perform for her films John and I were both just really excited to work together and to see where it goes. I’ve performed for quite a few years now with Martha’s films, in major museums around the world. She’s an incredible artist. She and I are talking about new projects currently, so we’ll see where that goes too! I’m writing you right now from John’s kitchen, actually. We’re just starting work on the new Hand to Man Band recordings that we made in December. For HTMB’s first album, my hope was that it would sound unlike anything any of us had done before, and I think we were pretty successful in this pursuit, though I wouldn’t necessarily say that was the overall goal of the band…

CM: Since you’re with John, you should totally mess with him and make up a story about how I’ve belittled his contributions so far.

TM: Ah, funny… I don’t think you have though!

CM: I hope I haven’t really belittled John – that would be bad form…

I think I could get really lost talking about the sound and the method of capture and the studio setup, but I’m afraid that might be over the head of the casual reader, so I’ll leave it somewhat open-ended for you. All I’m going to say is the absolute tactility you’ve achieved on record is astounding – it really feels like you’re in the room.

TM: I’m delighted as well by this… First of all it was Nicholas’s equipment and his particular way he approached the session. Honestly, you would need to ask him to have a more thorough answer to this. John had his hand on the controls for mixing. We do everything together but he would be the one to talk more from a technical approach. Maybe you should do a full interview of him about his mixing and mastering.

CM: Speaking of Nicholas Taplin: What about his methods or work ethic drew you to him? How did you end up collaborating with him?

TM: I’ve been working with Nicholas for ten years or so now. The first time was with Zdrastvootie who asked me to overdub piano parts. He was the recording engineer on several projects including Naked Future (ESP-disk) and Intuition, Science, and Sex, my duo with Arrington de Dionyso on Edgetone Records and other projects as well, including The Hand to Man Band’s first album and our new recording we made in December. It’s been a good run!

CM: Back to the idea of tactility, Tuia Cherici’s artwork for the album is brilliant, I want to touch it as much as look at it. Cherici’s video for “Red Dirt Meet” achieves that same sort of “touchy-feely-ness” (my technical term…) with its stop-motion animation (and on an almost totally unrelated note, it reminded me of those old Tool videos they used to play on MTV). Talk about that direction for the visual aspects to the album. And whose idea was it to make the video for that song, yours or Tuia’s? Why that song? Do you feel it’s representative as sort of a “lead track” (since the video was released before the album)?

TM: Tuia is an amazing person and artist, also an improvising musician as well as an improvising filmmaker. She does a lot of real-time visual work with projectors and so on, improvising with musicians like a dancer. She made a music video for Tsigoti which is pretty crazy amazing as well.

She and I have worked together in a variety of projects now and so we know each other’s work pretty well. We didn’t suggest anything to her for either the video or the artwork. We wanted her to just work straight from the music with total faith in what she would produce. Honestly, neither John nor I had any idea of what she was doing until we got her work from her. I think what she did really emphasizes the abstract story aspect inherent in this music.

CM: I think that nails it – she did a phenomenal job, and you and John were wise to let her have at it, as it were, and put together such wonderful visual contributions. I’m beating this over the head, but Bad News from Houston’s music = tactile, and Tuia’s visuals = tactile, so the two media are perfectly matched. You’re very brave letting someone outside of your musical collaboration run free with major artistic aspects! It’s a sort of extramusical improvisation.

TM: And that’s just it. She’s an improviser, a musician, a good friend, and a great artist. John and I are both intrigued by the idea of letting go of control in certain ways. I love collaboration and seeing how someone interprets my music visually, in this case, both in the moment as well as after the fact. For me, it’s always about who I work with and their overall intention as an artist/person. If they inspire me, then I respond by trusting their ideas and vice versa.

And it’s really fun to get her work pretty much finished, and to see it for the first time in that way. It’s great to be surprised, and it gives me the perspective similar to anyone who wasn’t involved in the creation of the album.

I also have tons of projects all happening simultaneously, so it’s a relief when I work with someone that I feel TOTALLY comfortable running with their own ideas, and I don’t have to manage every little thing! John and I also work both in the same room and also in separate states, sending each other ideas of edits and mixes. Sometimes I’ll get something from John and suddenly I’m hearing it in a completely new way, and since I trust John’s ears and curious about his mind, I’m totally open to his ideas!

CM: And that, I think, is such an important aspect to your music, for both you and John to be able to hear things differently and respond to things differently and adapt to those differences. It’s what makes In the Valley of the Cloudbuilder an actual fun record, rather than perhaps a “difficult” or “technical” one, two adjectives I could easily see being thrown at it by listeners who really aren’t paying attention.

TM: I love making albums that are both difficult and tasty. I think it’s healthy to be challenged both as a maker of music as well as a listener and at the same time to have fun with it all. I think the means of the revolution need to resemble the ultimate vision of the revolution itself. For me, that means healthy people and environment, liberty, challenges directly connected to reality, and fun…

John and Thollem, in a slightly different promo photo. Snappy!

CM: Let’s get broad: Where do you draw your inspiration? Is there a brief list for the uninitiated that you felt was behind the Bad News from Houston “sound”? Or do you try to eschew that kind of outside influence as much as possible? I mean, I know this is probably going to be hard to pin down. You’ve got the amazing opener “Changery” with its drawn out piano chords that you can literally dwell in, the two-part “Confuse the Ghosts” that ends on wildly hammered notes evoking the sound. I also love the lengthy suite “Make It Fall” and the utter beauty of the piano lines in “Invisible River” and “Middle Man Problems.”

TM: My inspiration and influences start at the birth canal, then death, then everything else in between. John and I both feel this is like music made for a culture that doesn’t yet exist. It’s non-intentional music in the sense that it’s really not birthed within any already existing style/tradition/practice.

We really set concepts in motion and then the music started to fill in these ideas. Then at certain points we found these shiny stones on the beach, so to speak, and the album is us bringing them back to show to people that we think will like it as well. We actually had this whole scheme set up before we played a note. Then months later we came back to all this material we had recorded and we completely forgot the whole scheme that this music was supposed to fit into. So, we had all this material and we worked with it for its own nature.

CM: Is there a deliberate theme running throughout? What’s the significance of “In the Valley of the Cloudbuilder” as a title and/or concept?

TM: We both loved this idea of clouds being built in a valley by a conscious being of some sort. It’s a creation myth basically. But totally open ended for each person to fill in as their own imagination can. We both have deep connections with New Mexico, it’s all kind of related. This is again why we didn’t want to give Tuia any direction, because this album really should be a vehicle to facilitate the imagination of the listener. We don’t want to be dictators in this sense, just facilitators. I hear a different story each time I’ve listened. Different environments, scenes, creatures, storylines. It’s really fun abstract music in this sense.

CM: Totally off topic and a minor curiosity: Did you have anything to do with setting the genre metadata for the MP3s? They’re all cheekily “Gospel & Religious” until closer “They War,” which simply reads “Bed” under genre.

TM: No, in fact this is the first time I’ve heard about this… hmmmmm…

CM: Give us a sneak preview of the next Hand to Man Band album. Is it much of a departure from You Are Always on Our Minds?

TM: Well, we’ve got 7 hours of music recorded. We spent 3 days in Nicholas’s studio in Oakland and tried many different approaches to improvisation. John and I just met in Albuquerque for a few days to start distilling all of this stuff into chewable chunks. It could end up being like an Ethiopian music album, or a futuristic punk album, or alien jazz, or, or, or. It’s really still too early to be able to see any shapes at this moment. But there is a LOT of great and pretty diverse stuff there. I’m sure over the next few months it’ll start taking shape. It might end up being two albums plus… (We have some interesting ideas that I’ll keep a mystery at the moment…)

CM: Here’s a sad, old fanboy question – what’s it like working with Watt? From completely a fan’s perspective, he seems like a genuine, honest, interesting person. I think rock and roll produces too few artists like him.

TM: He is ABSOLUTELY genuine, honest and an INCREDIBLY interesting person. I really love Watt, his attitude toward music making, his dedication to the moment and to others, his not only willingness but need to challenge himself. He’s got an encyclopedic mind, ridiculously great memory, giant antennas, and a signature sound. I hear his sound immediately, I don’t know how he does it. With the recording in December Vern Zaborowski loaned him his bass and amp and as soon as Watt picked it up he sounded like Watt. There’s just something unique about the way he touches those strings. I feel really fortunate to be working/playing music with him and to call him a friend!

Thollem’s discography of releases from 2012 to 2013:

2013 albums, released or otherwise:

• Tsigoti, Read Between The Lines…Think Outside Them (Post-Consumer Records, January)
• Bad News From Houston, In the Valley of the Cloudbuilder (Post-Consumer Records, March) – new album with John Dieterich
• Dear Future (Wild Silence, March) – old recordings of previously unreleased material from the age of 15 to 23
• Estamos Trio, People’s Historia (Relative Pitch Records, May) – with Milo Tamez and Carmina Escobar
• The Whistling Joy Jumpers, Surprising Wooden Clocks (Thick Syrup Records, May) – with Jad Fair of Half Japanese and Brian Chase of Yeah Yeah Yeahs
• Soar Trio, The View From Up  (Edgetone Records, August) – with Joel Peterson, bass and Skeeter Shelton, sax
• The Hand to Man Band, as-yet untitled second album (Post-Consumer Records, 2013 sometime) – with Mike Watt, John Dieterich, and Mike Guarino

2013 albums without labels … yet:

• Thollem’s Confluence: Solo piano
• 3GMT with Mia Zabelka and Gino Robair
• Electric Nashville with Ed Pettersen, Ryan Norris, Tracy Silverman, and Dylan Simon.

2012 releases:

• Thollem, Parker, Cline, The Gowanus Session (Porter Records) – trio album with William Parker and Nels Cline
• The Hand To Man Band, You Are Always On Our Minds (Post-Consumer Records) – with Tim Barnes, John Dieterich, and Mike Watt
• Arrington de Dionyso and Thollem McDonas 10,000 Tigers (self-released)
• Magimc, Polishing The Mirror (Amirani Records) – trio with Edoardo Marraffa and Stefano Giust
• Tsigoti, The Imagination Liberation Front Thinks Again (Post-Consumer Records)
• Perpetually Traveling Music – live improvised concert recordings with many great musicians (additions ongoing)

Plus, an essay published in Anthology of Essays on Deep Listening for Pauline Oliveros’ 80th birthday.