FTW, 12.30.2021

End of the year is upon us, and not a lot has changed. Climate chickens coming home to roost, new twists to a pandemic that shows no signs of abating, and looming threats to democracy, and a society in denial to all of the above give life a persistent sense of dread. As I wrote at the beginning of the year, in such a world, writing about music seems silly. But my new mantra is "We do what we can, when we can." Since May, I've been a Democratic precinct chair -- who'd claim to be one who wasn't, in Texas? -- figuring that even with my diminished physical capacity, anything you can do to push the arc of history in the correct direction is better than nothing. And I write about music because, as I've previously stated, it's like a nervous habit with me, and it pleases me to pull people's coats (the few who read this stuff) to stuff I care about. So, a few things that have made my year tol'able in 2021:

Pyroclastic Records: The label run by estimable Canadian pianist Kris Davis has become one of my trademarks of quality for jazz and experimental sounds, many of them produced by David Breskin. This year's crop included Cave of Winds, the great record I've been waiting for from saxophonist Tony Malaby; Searching for the Disappeared Hour, a duo of pianist Silvie Courvoisier and guitarist Mary Halvorson; 60 x Sixty, online-only miniatures from my favorite keyboard artist of the moment, Craig Taborn; and Path of Seven Colors, drummer Ches Smith's exploration of Haitian Vodou music. I'm looking forward to hearing Smith's quartet with Bill Frisell, Mat Maneri, and Taborn next year.

Nick Didkovsky: My favorite guitarist of the moment, the Brooklyn-based veteran of Doctor Nerve and Fred Frith's Guitar Quartet started the year with the release of Eris 136199's Peculiar Velocities (improv trio with guitarist Han-earl Park and saxophonist Catherine Sikora). He followed it up with CHORD IV, the latest (and best, IMO) edition of his ongoing exploration of heavy guitar texture (in tandem with Tom Marsan); Screaming into the Yawning Vacuum of Victory, Beefheartian duets with his former Frith Quartet bandmate Mark Howell; and a reissue of Now I Do This, Didkovsky's highly experimental debut solo recording from 1982. (Full disclosure: Nick also facilitated my purchase of a Harmony Silvertone 1478, my perpetual "axe that got away," and I've spent many hours since this summer rediscovering its sonic oddities. Evidence below.)

Wadada Leo Smith: Since retiring from academia, the eminent trumpeter-composer has continued the outpouring of creativity that began with 2012's Ten Freedom Summers. Much of this output has been documented by the Finnish TUM label, whose releases this year included Wadada's Love Sonnet for Billie Holiday (trio with Vijay Iyer and Jack DeJohnette), Chicago Symphonies (with his Great Lakes Quartet: Henry Threadgill, John Lindberg, and DeJohnette, with a ringer in for Threadgill on the last disc), Sacred Ceremonies (duets and trio with the late Milford Graves and Bill Laswell), and Trumpet (self-explanatory). Next year's release schedule includes String Quartets No. 1-12 and Emerald Duets (with Pheeroan akLaff, Han Bennink, Andrew Cyrille, and DeJohnette). Not bad for a cat who just turned 80!

Smog Veil: The end of 2021 brought news of the demise of one of my favorite indie labels, whose sterling documentation of the '70s Northern Ohio rock underground included blues (Mr. Stress, the Schwartz-Fox Blues Crusade), experimental music (Hy Maya, Robert Bensick Band, Allen Ravenstine), and my release of the millennium so far, the long awaited Peter Laughner box (which activated folk-blues pleasure centers, as well as proto-punk ones). [ADDENDUM: The plucky label also released crucial latter-day sides by Buckeyes X___X, Chris Butler/Ralph Carney, and Harvey Gold.] It's a pity that their final release, Jimmy Ley's No Excuses, No Regrets, was digital-only; Jimmy's treasured memorabilia and Nick Blakey's always excellent liner notes deserved better. Adios.

King Crimson: The repertory version of the prog rock monsters, which was wish-fulfilling when I saw them in Dallas in 2017, made its "completion tour" in 2021, visiting the US and Japan for what will evidently be the last time. While I missed their Fort Worth stop because of Covid, reading evil genius Robert Fripp's online musings has been one of the things that made social media, with all its flaws, a worthwhile diversion for me. (Plus his teatime vids with his wife are a hoot. Toyah seems to have affected Robert in the same way Laurie affected Uncle Lou, bless them all.) I hope he writes a book. Having found the band dynamic that he'd always sought in this final lineup, Fripp saw fit to call it complete rather than trying to drag it out until the moment passed. He now says he's getting his affairs in order, an age-appropriate activity for a septuagenarian. 

Speaking of which, the latest Covid spike, fueled by Omicron but who knows really (we'll hopefully know more by the end of next month), is taking its toll. Eleven people I know have tested positive in the last week, and regardless what the national Democratic party says, I'm postponing the canvassing I was planning to do this week. Because I didn't meet my wife till late, and I'm a greedy bastard. Stay safe and well, and here's hoping against hope for a better 2022 -- when I may, against all odds, be writing again for publication. Film, as they say, at 11.