Katboy's "Gumshoe"

Katboy is the online alias of Matt Hembree, bassist extraordinaire with Pablo and the Hemphill 7 and (occasionally) Goodwin. Fun Matt facts: He was once a songwriter in residence for Kids Who Care, and is even more occasionally the guy who stands on the other side of the stage from me whenever Stoogeaphilia reconvenes.

Matt grew up (a la Charlie Haden) playing in a family bluegrass band back in Tennessee. When he went off to college, he heard the Ramones and thought, "Gee, these songs are like the ones I used to play with Mom and Dad, but more rockin'!" His songwriting came to the fore in the late '90s with Bindle, my favorite Fort Worth band I never heard until they briefly reunited a few years back. He's been working on his own music at home intermittently over the years, and the other day he shared with me a song that I dug so much I asked him if I could share it. (He said yes.)

"Gumshoe" is a tasty pop-rock confection, reminiscent of something from the grunge era. As Matt sayeth, "If it were 30 years ago...and I was 30 years younger...I might have something here." I'd say he does anyway. But don't take my word for it. Give it a listen and decide for yourself.

Obligatory end of year top tens (yes, plural)

I don't get invited to vote in the Village Voice Pazz & Jop thing anymore, which is fine. I am done writing for money. (Yes, I hate being edited that much.) And invariably, no sooner do I post one of these than I get something else I should have included. I'll let you know if I do. Meanwhile, it was a pretty good year.

Albums (not all of which I reviewed):

1) Peter Laughner, Peter Laughner (Smog Veil): My most anticipated release of the decade didn't disappoint, revealing its subject, a prophet without honor in his short life, as a more multi-faceted guitarist-songwriter-interpreter-bandleader than the legend would have you believe (not just a punk precursor, he, although he was that, too, with Rocket from the Tombs and Pere Ubu).
2) Bill Frisell, Harmony (Blue Note): Frisell's too country for some, but he just might be my favorite son of Jim Hall (dig his two ECM albums of duets with bassist Thomas Morgan), and I find his ever-greater simplicity and lyricism irresistible. This has Petra Haden (seek out their unjustly ignored 2004 duo CD, and 2011's Windmills of Your Mind with Paul Motian) singing "On the Street Where You Live," "Lush Life," and "Red River Valley," as well as Frisell's originals, which have the same ethereal quality as his electric sound. I've listened to this more than anything else on this list.
3) J. Graves, Marathon (No label): Smart yet rawly emotive post-punk from a Portland-based performer who's new to me, but has the goods.
4) Charley Crockett, The Valley (Son of Davy): Recorded right before he went in for life-saving open-heart surgery, this is my favorite record yet by this energetic and engaging Dallasite with Nawlins roots (and drawl) who understands that country, blues, and R&B are a lot more alike than they're different.
5) Mdou Moctar, Ilana the Creator (Sahel Sounds): A lot of great guitarists and bands have come out of the West African Sahara, and Moctar -- star of the Tuareg-language remake of Purple Rain -- has the best tone of them all, sounding at times like a Saharan Hendrix, at others like '80s Sonny Sharrock. But it's his band's sinuous groove that makes this music hypnotic. Great live performer, too.
6) Laurie Anderson, Tenzin Choegyal, Jesse Paris Smith, Songs from the Bardo (Smithsonian Folkways): Anderson continues her exploration of mortality, grief and loss with this series of readings from The Tibetan Book of the Dead, accompanied by music that can be used to conjure a meditative state. A record for special (ritual) occasions.
7) Sunwatchers, Illegal Moves (Trouble In Mind): I'm not a big jam band fan, but this NYC instrumental foursome deals in free jazz (including a steaming cover of Alice Coltrane's "Ptah, the El Daoud"), psychedelia, prog, and noise in a way that could give the genre a good name.
8) Pinkish Black, Concept Unification (Relapse): The most advanced material yet from Fort Worth's own dark, heavy experimental duo. The 12-minute "Next Solution" sounds to these feedback-scorched ears like the best thing they've done.
9) Magma, Zess (Seventh): The long-lived French sci-fi prog/jazz-rock outfit finally gets around to recording this 40-year-old masterpiece, and it sounds for all the world like a Kobaian soul record.
10) Christian Scott Atunde Adjuah, Ancestral Recall (Ropeadope): The prolific and ambitious New Orleans trumpet king follows up 2017's sprawling Centennial Trilogy with a double LP's worth of tunes and grooves that blend hip-hop, jazz, and African percussion seamlessly.

Singles

1) Tahiti, "Light Blue Room" (Digital). Ex-PPT/Awkquarius rapper gets real on the subject of Parkinson's disease, with which he was diagnosed in 2015.

Reissues

1) Don Cherry, S/T (aka "Brown Rice") (A&M): The golden age of anything is when you came in, so lately I've been wallowing in mid-to-late '70s jazz, of which this LP is a sterling exemplar. Part of a surge of creativity by the well-traveled Ornette familiar that also included Eternal Now (great proto world music, reissued as Tibet with Moki Cherry's beautiful tapestries inexplicably replaced on the cover by a pic of suit-wearing Don playing trumpet, which he doesn't on that record), Hear & Now (more flagrantly commercial and thus, more dated), and the first Old and New Dreams album. Spiritual avant jazz trance music with Charlie Haden and Billy Higgins.
2) Makaya McCraven, In the Moment (International Anthem): A high-water mark of jazz/hip-hop confluence, the result of a year-long club residency, proving Chicago hasn't lost a step since the heyday of Sun Ra and AACM.
3) Turbonegro, Apocalypse Dudes (Indie Recordings): The best hard rock record of the '90s (even if you can go track by track playing "spot the influences") by a pack of Norwegian despoilers who were never quite as good again.
4) Sonny Sharrock, Ask the Ages (Hive Mind): As close as we were going to get to a new Coltrane record back in '91, the great free jazz guitarist teams with Pharaoh Sanders and Elvin Jones for a 47-minute exorcism.
5) Captain Beefheart, Trout Mask Replica (Third Man): Kudos to Jack White for this 50th anniversary restoration of Don Van Vliet's abrasive masterpiece. This took some doing, as one of the original master reels was damaged beyond repair in storage (at least it didn't burn up in the Universal Hollywood fire). Sounds to me as though this version has the instruments slightly higher in the mix than earlier versions. They even had the original cover photo to work with. Liners give Drumbo credit he was previously denied, and they even include the lyric sheet that my mid-'70s repress didn't have.

Live (chronological, more or less): I went to more shows this year than I have in awhile, so of course I saw more gooduns.

1) Joe Ely at the Haltom Theater. He's put a few miles on the odometer since I saw him open for the Clash twice back in '79, but he's kept his voice and grown into his stories. Best song: "Borderless Love" ("There's no need for a wall").
2) Charley Crockett at the Kessler and the Ridglea Theater. A little tentative at the Kessler, following open heart surgery, but back on his game by the Ridglea, which turned into an all-star revue with guest shots by Leon Bridges and Vincent Neil Emerson.
3) Peter Brotzmann/Heather Leigh at The Wild Detectives. A relatively subdued and lyrical Brotz can still roar when he wants to. And it sold out. Yes, there's an audience for creative music in North Texas!
4) Phorids at Panther City Vinyl. Hardcore punks play their debut show in a record store.
5) Pinkish Black at Panther City Vinyl.
6) Mdou Moctar at Deep Ellum Art Company.
7) Monks of Saturnalia at Revelers Hall (twice). Gregg Prickett's Mingus/Ayler inspired quintet is my favorite band o' the moment. Can't wait till they record.
8) Bill Pohl at Grackle Art Gallery. Best performance I've ever seen by Fort Worth's own prog rock guitar virtuoso. The scaled-down presentation reveals the subtleties beneath the stunning playing.
9) Doc Strange, Ty Macklin, and Tahiti at Top Ten Records.
10) James Hall, Jean-Luc Vila, and Amanda Kana at Grackle Art Gallery.

FTW, 11.14.2019

Nebraska native James Hall is a trombonist-composer-arranger who came to Fort Worth via Brooklyn a year and a half ago. Since then, he's been a stay-at-home dad, flying out of town to play occasional salsa and jazz gigs, his local musical activity limited to jamming at the Scat Jazz Lounge or Grackle Art Gallery (with the exception of a performance of the material from his freebopish 2018 album Lattice for an event at the Fort Worth Community Arts Center).

He's been thinking about and writing music the whole time, though, and meeting collaborators  like electronic musician Jean-Luc Vila (another stay-at-home dad) and fellow trombonist Amanda Kana (whom he met doing an Easter gig -- "the only day when every trombonist has a gig"). "Counterpoint -- Music for Trombone and Electronics" at the Grackle last night was an opportunity to hear some of the ideas Hall has been working on, with a program ranging from baroque to modern and experimental, presented in reverse historical order.

The evening opened with a spontaneous composition that featured the backward-echoed sounds of Hall's trombone over a field recording of wind chimes (electronically manipulated by Vila). Hall played Augusta Read Thomas' Spring Song, originally composed for the cello, using a harmonizer to create the effect of double-stops with the trombone's "single column of air." Seth Shafer's Pulsar was written for trombone and computer, and featured vignettes for four different types of delay. Kana joined Hall to duet on selections from Bartok's collection of modernist piano pieces, Mikrokosmos, and Bach's two part inventions, with each trombonist playing one hand's part.

The different examples of two interacting melodies were thoughtful and engaging, with Hall's personable comments serving as introduction and transition. At different points, I was reminded of  Stravinsky's Firebird, George Lewis' pioneering trombone-computer experiments, and Dave Dove placing the bell of his 'bone near the floor of the Firehouse Gallery to make the house's foundation a resonating chamber. I left with a copy of Hall's 2013 CD Soon We Shall Not Be Here, a collection of art-song settings of poems by New York City poets. In February, Hall's Lattice collaborator, flutist Jamie Baum, will visit the DFW area for a series of performances of that material. We can't wait to hear.

Oak Cliff, 11.8.2019

Ty Macklin: "involuntary motions are normal"

"I look like a hip-hop clown," said Tahiti, who'd just driven in from Oklahoma, where he now lives. The ex-PPT/Awkquarius rapper, whose recent single "Light Blue Room" was inspired by living with Parkinson's disease  (with which he was diagnosed in 2015), was in town for an evening of hip-hop at Top Ten Records. Joining him on this occasion were award-winning producer Ty Macklin (Erykah Badu, india.arie), aka XL7, and Doc Strange, whose Tahiti-produced sci-fi opera Sindrome was a favorite spin at la casa a few years back.

(L-R) Tahiti, Doc Strange, Ty Macklin aka XL7.

The night had a house party atmosphere, starting out with a set of classic hip-hop and soul sounds from DJ Bilal and beats from Dee the Beatmaker. A young chef was handing out fresh Chilean empanadas he'd just baked. Tahiti's PPT/Awkquarius collaborator Pikahsso was in the house, as was violinist Leonard Hayward (Rachella Parks-Washington, Ronald Shannon Jackson).

The DJ set flowed seamlessly into a series of beat demonstrations, in which the creators talked a little about their methods and inspirations. Tahiti's beats featured idiosyncratic textures and musique concrete-like sonic disruptions. Doc Strange took a more aggressive approach, creating the kind of background that might accompany an MC battle, which he illustrated with some forceful, full-throated freestyle. "I like to let a sample play for awhile," he said, "so people can hear this cool little sample I found before I freak it."

Ty Macklin's beats and presentation were the most developed, and unfolded as he stood in "suspended animation" behind an ancient piece of equipment he averred he'd bought from George Clinton, which he said would read his thoughts and translate them into beats. A robotic voice provided narration. When at one point, the previously inert Macklin raised his arms above his head and the voice intoned, "Involuntary movements are normal," it was a moment of theater worthy of Sun Ra or Dr. Funkenstein himself.

A planned video presentation was the victim of technical difficulties, but that didn't stop Macklin (in his XL7 guise), Doc Strange, and Tahiti from finishing with a spirited version of their 2014 single "Don't Get It Twisted," which inspired a local break dance crew to bust moves.

Top Ten Records is Dallas' oldest record store, in operation since 1956 (although, as Macklin points out, "there weren't this many of us there back then), reborn in 2016 as a non-profit focused on "arts engagement and media archiving." They have a fundraising campaign in progress now; they deserve your support.

Tahiti plans an appearance in Fort Worth in the new year.

ADDENDA: 'Twas DJ Bilal, not XL7, that got the dancers breakin'. And the "young chef" was, in fact, rapper Kilo Artefacto. Mea culpa.

J. Graves' "Marathon"

This arrived unannounced on my doorstep a few days ago. Opening the package, I was surprised to see what was unmistakably a chest X-ray (I was a full-time health care consumer for a few months last year). "This record is my heart and everything inside of me," the artist wrote on the enclosed postcard, adding, "I'm just getting started." Indeed!

J. Graves is the performing persona of Portland based singer-guitarist-songwriter Jessa Graves. On Marathon, her first full-length, she chops out churning, chugging post-punk chords on a high-slung Telecaster, shadowed every step of the way by an agile rhythm section that can stop on a dime when the song's dynamics demand it, declaiming her febrile bulletins from the relationship wars in a clear, untutored voice that rings with passion and power. The sound is aggressive minimalism at its best, and the recording serves it well, capturing the band's fury while keeping Graves' voice above the fray. Marathon's a record you'll (sorry) want to go the distance with.

Men of Extinction's "Pistol Grip Wallet"

Rootsy singer-songwriter-bandleader Jim Colegrove has been dealing in topical tunes since the very first Lost Country album, way back in 2001. But when he opens Pistol Grip Wallet, the new CD by Men of Extinction -- his collaboration with Kinky Friedman familiar Roscoe West -- by announcing, "I fucking guarantee there'll be a gospel quartet" (down at the "Side Show Showdown"), you get the feeling that something has changed. And indeed, it has.

During the two years Colegrove and West spent writing and recording these 13 songs, we've seen an increase in anxiety across the land. Faced with mass shootings, climate change, and a government that appears hell bent on undoing a century of social progress, it's tempting to spend all day standing on the porch yelling "FUCK!" Or we can roll up our sleeves and try to do something, anything, to try and stem the tide -- registering voters, organizing, making our voices heard on issues that matter. Or, if you're someone like Jim Colegrove, making music that reflects the tenor of the times.

Consequently, the songs on Pistol Grip Wallet have the surreal air of a communique from Spectre, Alabama (the town that time forgot in Tim Burton's Big Fish), with Colegrove and West grinning sickly through their (and our) horror. On "Picky Asshole," the persnickety protagonist bitches about broken egg yolks and his wife's choice of shoes over a bumpa-chicka rockabilly blues. "Before They Shot Kids" is disconcerting -- what seems like a slice of tuneful nostalgia at first (imagine Richard Manuel singing Brian Wilson) is undercut by the recurring title refrain.

"There Stands the Tower" sounds for all the world like Ralph Stanley playing the part of a sociopathic narcissist (so familiar after two years and change of "stable genius" that it gave me chills). The bluegrass Everyman's lament "Getalong Paul" traces the hapless protagonist's odyssey from retail working stiff to cannon fodder and back. But "Spread Your Little Thing Out," a catalog of sexual predation, was the moment when I started to question my enjoyment of this finely wrought entertainment. Recommended for roots music fans (are there such?) who aren't put off by the shiver behind the laugh.