Things we like: Matthew Shipp, Carnage Asada

In a month full of free floating anxiety over political churn, now leavened with hope, it's been good to have Matthew Shipp's The Data to live with. A double CD of solo piano improvisations and a capstone to Shipp's body of work for the French label RogueArt, The Data is an impressive late-career statement from a master improvising composer whom I'll confess I still think of as "David S. Ware's piano player," although his career as an artist in his own right now spans five decades. I blame my ignorance on the fact that some of his most productive periods coincided with moments when I was preoccupied with other things. Time, energy, and attention are finite; my loss. So now I'm playing catch-up, aided by my buddy Mike Webber's generous loan of Clifford Allen's thin 2023 study Singularity Codex: Matthew Shipp on RogueArt, published by the label. 

I remember enjoying Allen's scrawl in Signal To Noise (RIP), and in this, his first book, he does a good job of putting Shipp's work for RogueArt in the context of his entire career, starting with the '80s Lower East Side NYC axis that coalesced around Jemeel Moondoc (a name I recall from my NMDS catalogs) and Cecil Taylor, and the artist's interest in spirituality, mysticism, and poetry. (It makes sense that a creative person's work should reflect all of their concerns.) Most valuable are interviews with Shipp's collaborators William Parker, Rob Brown, Whit Dickey, and Joe Morris, as well as Yuko Otomo -- partner of the late poet Steve Dalachinsky, a friend and influence of Shipp's -- label boss Michel Dorbon, and recording engineer Jim Clouse. Then Allen gives a rundown on each of Shipp's RogueArt albums, including the as-yet unreleased Sonic Lust (which finds Shipp and longtime collaborator, tenor saxophonist Ivo Perelman, in a quartet with Mark Helias and Tom Rainey).

Now I'm looking forward to hearing that recording, as well as one that Shipp teased in a recent Facebook post that will add Perelman to the pianist's long-running trio with Michael Bisio and Newman Taylor Baker. There's a lot of Shipp to hear: solo, trio, with Perelman, with his String Trio (William Parker and Mat Maneri), in one-off collabs with icons like Marshall Allen, Roscoe Mitchell, and Nicole Mitchell, among others. Shipp's a towering figure in the jazz piano continuum, still doing world historical work. Dig him now.

Carnage Asada is an L.A. punk band, formed in 1993, that included Dave Travis's electrified cello in their instrumental mix from the get-go, backing George Murillo's gruff-voiced poetics and street life narratives. Hardly your typical punkeroos, but then again, SoCal punk has long had an interface with poetry and jazz, best exemplified by the Minutemen and especially Saccharine Trust (whose guitarist Joe Baiza I saw open for free jazz eminence Peter Brotzmann in 2019). Over the years, Carnage Asada lineups have  included ex-Black Flag frontman-guitarist Dez Cadena, Desert Rock godfather Mario Lalli, and Joe Baiza himself. Intermittently active since the early Aughts, with a couple of unreleased albums in the can, Carnage Asada regrouped for a 25th anniversary blow-out in 2018. 

The band's current lineup teams original members Murillo, Travis, and bassist David O. Jones (who engineered their new album with his son Sebastian Jones) with drummer Steve Reed and ex-Bellrays guitarist Tony Fate. That new full-length, Head on a Platter, their first since 1999's Permanent Trails, contains a dozen tracks of distilled fury that cement the band's legacy and show Murillo to be a perceptive observer of the passing scene -- thankfully recorded and mixed for maximum audibility here, as he roars into his band's maelstrom of sound. The singer says the album's title refers to the normalization of violent images in today's society. The music is suitably hard-edged and rhythmically insistent, with riffs that groove like Stooges-meets-Hawkwind, and touches of psychedelia in the jams that flesh out the stories. 

"Chinese Lady Aluminum Foil," the band's post-pandemic single, conjures a hallucinatory vision of Requiem for a Dream-level psychosis, while its B-side, "Little Fat Princess," makes a convincing argument for not having children that has nothing to do with climate apocalypse. The title track gets a boost from some Latin percussion that propels it forward with a deceptive lightness. "Psychedelic Experiment" describes an encounter with an urban brujo and the resultant psychic journey. "Germs Reborn" tips its hat to the L.A. punk originators, while "Come On Baby" starts out sounding like a Ted Nugent "Stranglehold" burlesque, before morphing into a Beefheartian maze of non-repeating riffs. 

"Norteno" and "Septiembre," both sung in Spanish (with trumpeter Dan Clucas adding mariachi spice to the former), exist at the intersection of Chicano and punk culture -- similar to the one inhabited by Tejano punks Pinata Protest -- while "Two Brothers from East L.A." is a bittersweet recounting of a barrio kid's perilous existence. "Blood of Thorns" takes us all the way to the precipice of despair and back -- if just barely. Murillo sings like he's lived all of these songs, and the music behind him is every bit as gritty and real. No streaming or preorder link so far, but presumably such will appear by the August 23 release date. As my "lapsed" Catholic wife says, "We live in hope because to live in despair would be a sin." Amen.

Denton, 7.17.2024

This has not been a month for writing. The stack of record reviews I intended to write will have to wait, as the whole month, starting the weekend of the 4th, political news has been a series of gut punches and triple combinations. It seems frivolous to be scribbling about music at an historical moment like this one. But, you can't be a gloomy depressive all the time, so last Sunday I toddled up to li'l d to sit on a writer's panel at KUZU-FM's Revolution Record Convention, during which I found a place to divest all of our VHS tapes (Rubber Gloves), and was invited to read at a Recycled Books event on the 25th. I'll be the sacrificial local opener with touring poets Darryl Gussin (Razorcake editor), James Norman, and Walker Rose. How fortunate am I. 

And last night was Molten Plains, and it has been my custom to write a report on each installment of our region's most consistently engaging experimental music showcase, so I am honor bound to do so now, even as a participant-observer. For last night was an Improv Lotto, where 15 musicians were teamed up in ad hoc ensembles and played 10-30 minute sets without preparation. Molten Plains co-curator Ernesto Monteil invited me via Facebook message from Venezuela, where he's visiting family, and I surely could not refuse (although I hadn't played out since Stoogeaphilia folded the tent in 2019 and hadn't done improv since Terry Horn moved to China around the same time). 

At the appointed hour, Ernesto's co-curator Sarah Ruth Alexander, assisted by Aaron Gonzalez, drew names from a hat for a quartet, a duo, and three trios. Then the bands set up, played, and tore down in the sequence they were picked, assisted by sound tech extraordinaire Aubrey Seaton. Due to the unique circumstances, I didn't manage to shoot any photos after the first set, and my buddy Mike Webber obligingly took pics of the one set I couldn't have photographed.

The first set featured Molten Plains veterans Rachel Weaver and Sarah Jay on electronics and treated vocals, Fort Worth guitar eminence Frank Cervantez (Suiciety/Sub Oslo/Wire Nest), and multi-instrumentalist Stefanie Lazcano (Pearl Earl). Weaver and Jay established the hypnotic foundation for the music, Cervantez listened attentively and wove his way in and around their groove and electronic artifacts, and Lazcano was the MVP of the set, switching between wooden flute, fuzz bass, and didgeridoo to provide the terrain features on the soundscape.

The trio that followed was set up on the floor to put them closer to the legless piano that usually resides in the Rubber Room. Princess Haultaine III began the set with a surprising, Cecil Taylor-esque assault that was surprisingly musical. Haultaine's a self-taught and unbridled pianist, but their aggressively energetic performance was also highly expressive. Percussionist Miguel Espinel (Monte Espina, Oil Spill, Bog) is a mainstay of Molten Plains events, and he provided his usual carefully considered statements. The tough job went to guitarist Will Kapinos (Jet Screamer, Dim Locator), fresh from playing a reunion show with the Baptist Generals. How would he integrate his sounds with the non-idiomatic improv? Kapinos took his time, then entered with some sparse dissonance and used a lot of space along with his arsenal of effects to explore some of the same sonic terrain as Randy Hansen in the Apocalypse Now soundtrack and Jeff Beck in his obscure but great soundtrack for the Aussie TV show Frankie's House. When Haultaine and Espinel swapped instruments, things careened into free jazz territory before reaching a satisfying resolution. My favorite set of the night.

Next up was a duo which teamed another pair of Molten Plains vets: cellist Kourtney Newton (Sounds Modern, Bitches Set Traps) and electronic musician Randall Minick (Python Potions). Newton's a virtuoso who uses every part of the cello to generate sounds, melodically and rhythmically, using arco, pizzicato, and percussive attacks. She gives the lie to the trope that classically trained musicians can't improvise. Minick is ever attuned to the requirements of the moment, and modulated his volume to match the acoustic instrument. Gradually, the two developed a spirited dialogue that included deep groove elements and Newton's use of a musical saw. An intriguing example of spontaneous composition in action.

The next trio featured another interesting combination of elements: Polly Pawgette (Bobo, Sybil) on voice, electronics, and electric clarinet, Katie Kidd (Bog) on amplified fuel drum (shades of early Scott Asheton!) and effects, and Austinite Lacey Lewis (Heavy Stars, The Sophies) on vibraphone. Pawgette established the sound bed and occasionally took flight on clarinet, Kidd added a raw industrial edge not often heard in this venue, and Lewis furnished the melodic thread that provided continuity to the others' explorations. 

Now comes the part I've been dreading (not really). I was in the trio that closed the evening, with Molten Plains mainstay Aaron Gonzalez (Akkolyte, Yells At Eels) on standup bass and vocals and Julio A. Sanchez (Heavy Baby Sea Slugs) on guitar. I'd played with Aaron once before, in Kamandi at 6th Street Live in Fort Worth, was it really 18 years ago? -- a gig I remember mainly for the hail of broken drumsticks from Clay Stinnett and Darren Miller, and the animalistic noises a guy standing right in front of the stage was making. On this occasion, Aaron muted his normally extreme extroversion, and (bless him) kept it simple for the rock guys. Julio, having opted for the house Twin rather than the direct box he originally planned to use, came out guns blazing, and I immediately discerned my role in this scenario: be the drummer. (When in doubt, play rhythm guitar!) I also rendered props to days gone by with a little RF interference action using a couple of portable electric fans -- thanks for the idea, T. Horn! -- and did a mini-feedback meltdown a la the li'l Stooge band playing "Little Doll" to end a set. When it was over, Aaron asked, "How long was that?" I said I figured ten minutes. Later, my buddy Mike told me it was about 20. Listen, I have come unstuck in time...

Now, Back to silence back to minus with the purple sky behind us / In these metal ways.