Relive the past - visit our Flashes From The Archives Of Oblivion.

Will I see you in September or lose you to a summer love? Hopefully, you've had a great summer and are ready to hit the books once again. As Fall trickles into our subconscious, no matter how hard we try to push it away, here are a few albums that I've been enjoying lately.

Black Sun Ensemble - Starlight (Camera Obscura)
www.cameraobscura.com.au

From the ten-minute opener, an Eastern-flavored, mind altering, raga instro entitled "Jewel of The Seven Stars," complete with congas, banjo and Jesus Acedo's sitar-like, Eye of Horus guitar, it's clear this Arizona ensemble's eighth album (shortened from the previously announced Starlight and Starbright title - see the Live at KXCI disk for details) will be as enticing and instrumentally challenging as their first (also (re)issued on Camera Obscura). Previous BSE releases have risen and fallen on the listener's enjoyment/tolerance of Acedo's jaw-dropping fretwork, and once again, fans will be amazed while novices may fall asleep. Few guitarists today can match his intricate, lightning fast journey up and down the scales, while his band wails away behind him, thankfully staying out of the way. Unfortunately, BSE has been unable to replicate the irreplaceable vocal stylings of original vocalist Odin Helgison (Acedo's attempts on last year's Hymn To The Master were weak at best and Starlight's trade-offs between bassist Eric Johnson and Joseph Graves may, with one notable exception be even worse), so it is the amazing instrumentals that will appeal to most listeners.

The jazzy "Loki's Monstrous Brood" (a revisit to Hymn To The Master's "Loki's Monster's Brood," and missing the surf guitar twang Acedo added on the Live at KXCI version) is the finest Crimson knockoff in years, complete with the infamous note-for-note, syncopated Fripp/Bruford solo a la "Larks' Tongue in Aspic" (drummer Otto Terrorist's fills are to be commended throughout), and the trilogy of "The Lycian" (perhaps a reference to Acedo's book of poetry, "The Lyceum"?), "Tralaine" and "Mascara Moon" a half hour into the set may be the finest 15 minute stretch of instrumentals one is likely to encounter this year.

We spoke of the one agreeable vocal track on the album and that would be the should-be-a-hit-single, "Sun Beam Angel." The floating melody is matched by Johnson's finest vocal effort and Acedo's restrained, yet fluid guitar lines. Easily the signature track on the album, this may be the BSE's most memorable performance since "Beneath the Sapphire Sky" (from Lambent Flame) first attracted me to the band nearly 15 years ago. Hopefully, it will do the same for a new generation of listeners.

Following a nearly decade-long, self-imposed exile (during which Acedo spent two years in a mental institution recovering from schizophrenia accelerated through substance abuse), BSE's second collection of new material in as many years improves upon the previous, and is an encouraging signal that they, like Acedo have successfully conquered the road to recovery. As the new lineup begins to gel (and, hopefully, with a better vocalist), future endeavors from this leading light in the much-maligned neo-psychedelic movement will be eagerly anticipated.

Cerberus Shoal - Chaiming the Knoblessone (North East Indie)
www.northeastindie.com

This nonconformist hippie commune from Maine return from a three-year layoff with their seventh full-length. With half the band responsible for their previous outing, the 2xCD Mr. Boy Dog (i.e., the Tarpigh dudes) returning to their own warped musical sensibilities, the revolving-door lineup has settled into the same sextet that brought us "Garden Fly, Drip Eye" in 2001. However, as scatterbrained as the two tracks on that CD single were, they don't even begin to scratch the surface of the (non)musical juggernaut of nonsequitors, scream-of-conscious (sic) psychotic babblings and carnival-barker pseudo-philosophy that awaits those adventurous souls that are willing to give this one a try. From the undefinable title (having interviewed the band for the current issue (#33) of British music journal Ptolemaic Terrascope, I'd bet they'd say something like, "It means whatever you want it to mean…dude") to the credit for pants (on opener, "Apatrides") to the announcement that the record coincides with some event known as Estrella (apparently some federal Department of Education program to introduce migrant farmworker students to technological advancements, although it may not have anything to do with that at all), this is unlike any previous release in the CB canon. In fact, this is quite unlike anything that ANYONE has previously unleashed on an unsuspecting public.

The seven lengthy tracks (five top the 11:00 mark) of experimentally weird skronk begin with "Apatrides," which sneaks in so stealthily, it's a full minute before you realise there's someone else in the room with you. Slowly evolving into a collection of percussives, bells, chimes, woodwinds, blocks and haunting wordless vocals that sound like a Zen call to morning prayers. The collective's true colors begin to show during the middle eight (minutes, that is) whereupon the cacophonous collection of syncopated B-52s-ish vocals relate the tale of the French refugees basically wandering the oceans, unable to land (at least that's what a quick internet search revealed. But since all the sites were in French, I'm probably oversimplifying the story.) Since the band long ago tossed traditional song structures to the winds, our story comes to a screeching halt for several minutes of contemplative sound fx with woodwind and various brass accompaniments, before the disembodied (disemboweled?) voices return for some closing remarks. Next, "Mrs. Shakespear Torso" adds accordian and backwards, wordless vocals to the mix, courtesy Erin Davidson and Colleen Kinsella. Somewhere in there, the not-especially-helpful printed lyrics remind us we are in the dreamstate, so all bets are off when trying to decipher the goings-on. Before we bump into Gulpilil and his Uncle Charley (cf. Peter Weir(d)'s The Last Wave), our confused reveries are disrupted by a Spanish guitar, which strolls in to transition us into "Sole of Foot of Man," the album's most visual track. The chanting, half spoken/half sung lyrics and funereal dirge as performed by a group of completely mad, medieval minstrals over a sleepy, Floydian, floating finale brings the opening suite to a lazy, laid back conclusion as it segues into the intermission track, "A Paranoid Home Companion," before we flip the record over for the other three-song suite on side B.

Complete with ghosts in the machine, gremlins in your speakers and sci-fi sound effects in your head, it's ultimately a silly interrogation of a 21st century HAL-like computerized voice, which quickly degenerates into a heavy-handed soapbox sermon proselytizing "why can't we all get along" philosophies and mumbo-jumbo about zeks and clim cloms and alienation (even copping The Prisoner's "I am a free man" rantings) and couching everything in some gobblydygook about some secret pamphlet entitled "If You Are Thirsty, Put Your Brain Into the Fire," whose secret message espouses "freedom through tiny spaces!" And this goes on for seven minutes, no less.

Eventually, the loonies get off the bus and we are subjected to what sounds like an ode to self-flaggelation: "Ouch: Sinti, Roma, Ziguener, The Names of Gypsy." Delivered in a monotonic stupour, it begins to dawn on me that this may just be a concept album about the industrialization and de-humanization of humanity as performed by inmates who have taken over the asylum under the direction of the Marquis De Sade (or Trent Reznor in the guise of Captain Beefheart).

Part Residents, part Firesign Theater, part metallic K.O for the Einsturzende Neubauten fanatics and completely insane, this is the weirdest, fucked-up carnival ride you'll ever take and is not the place for the curious to start exploring the Cerberus Shoal discography (I'd personally suggest Homb.) In fact, this isn't really a musical album at all, rather the soundtrack to a stage performance of a 21st century "Dante's Inferno." At once jawdroppingly weird and pretentiously preachy, it's definitely not for the weak of stomach and is recommended to anyone interested in exploring the inner workings of a disturbed cult who gather together to worship the chance meetings of sewing machines and umbrellas on dissecting tables.

Byard Lancaster - It's Not Up To Us [Reissue] (Water)
www.buyrunt.com

Lancaster, who recently turned 61, originally recorded this, his debut album, for the Vortex label back in 1966. The extensive liner notes (by Tim Plowman), attractive, 12-page glossy booklet and meticulous remastering make this reissue a thing of beauty to hold (and hear). Lancaster's playful, Pied Piper flutework on the title track delivers an infectious, lightweight melody that's perfect for a walk around the block or a jog through the park; while those of us who remember the fear and trepidation of the final days of summer just before Labor Day as you reticently accept the foregone conclusion that sun and fun are over and it's back to the books and studies, will especially appreciate the forlorn melancholia dripping from Lancaster's flute on "Last Summer." And while it's probably not the version Jessica Walter had in mind when she phoned up DJ Clint Eastwood with the request to "Play 'Misty' For Me," Lancaster's take on the old Errol Garner classic demonstrates his improvisational skills as his alto sax envelops the rudiments of the melody line with fills, trills, thrills and spills right up to the shockingly strangulated three-note conclusion.

Guitarist Sonny Sharrock's "John's Children" (a tribute to Coltrane, not Marc Bolan's pre-T.Rex psych band who were making their debut recordings around the same time) presents the lineup (including Jerome Hunter, bass and particularly Eric Gravvat on drums) with the opportunity to really stretch out. By the middle of the piece, Sharrock's guitar has taken on an almost raga-like quality which, complimented by Keno Speller's congas and Lancaster's syncopated puntuation marks on his alto sax results in, perhaps, the album's closest contact with the burgeoning psychedelia developing within the rock idiom. Although unacknowledged, a young Roger McGuinn may have found some inspiration here for his masterful 12-string workout on "Eight Miles High."

Lancaster's flute on his own composition, "Mr. A.A." ventures into Celtic folk territory and on more than one occasion I found myself drifting back to the early Donovan catalogue, particularly "There Is A Mountain" or any of the childlike fairy tales on the Gift From A Flower To A Garden collection. I also had to check the track listing to confirm my suspicions that Lancaster really was covering "Over The Rainbow," although, even more so than on "Misty," he merely uses the familiar melody line as a springboard for a phantasmagorical display of his improvisational talents. As with Hendrix' interpretation of the "Star Spangled Banner" at Woodstock, the song is there…yet it's not REALLY there…it almost becomes a completely new composition.

And while Lancaster's presence is practically non-existent on the nine-minute closer, "Satan," it's what we've encountered beforehand, from his lilting, melodic flute and occasional forays into folk and rock, to his more-than-competant, yet never ostentatious improvs that results in an album of essentially jazz recordings that will also appeal to non-jazz afficianados like myself.

Eugene McDaniels - Outlaw [Reissue] (Water)
[Address above]

The Water imprint (by way of Runt, Atlantic and Rhino) have also repackaged McDaniels' initial foray into socially conscious rock and soul anthems (originally issued on Atlantic in 1970) with the same glossy booklet, definitive liner notes (courtesy label head and Mushroom mainstay Patrick O'Hearn Thomas) and crystalline sound as the Lancaster release. From the first line of the opening (title) track, "She's a nigger in jeans…," it's clear McDaniels (rechristened "the Left Rev. McD," is not in the same headspace that brought us his previous claims to fame via his early '60s hits, "A Hundred Feet of Clay" and "Tower of Strength" or his future, sultry soul composition, "Feel Like Making Love" that Roberta Flack took all the way to numer one in 1974. Here, we discover a vital entry in the early development of the multi-racial, peace, love and harmony rock, funk and soul movement that conquered the airwaves in the late '60s/early '70s via the likes of Sly & The Family Stone, Chambers Brothers, and War, along with key releases from James Brown, the Isleys, Parliament/Funkadelic, Chariman of the Board, et. al.

The title track actually refers to women who don't wear wedding rings or bras - an outsider who, God forbid, thinks for herself…your basic "hippie chick"! It's all delivered in a trashy snarl that closely approximates Mick Jagger singing Dylan's "She Belongs To Me," whose lyrics are closely miMICKed at one point. In a perfect world, "Welfare City" would have been a hit single blasting from every AM station that was making one-hit wonders out of contemporary tracks like "Give Me Just A Little More Time," "Smiling Faces (Sometimes)," and "Express Yourself." Unfortunately, its vivid description of everyday life in and around the Bowery and Washington Square Park areas of NYCs Greenwich Village coupled with repeated invitations to "smoke a joint" probably had program directors running for their Sly Stone and War records, which, although not too dissimilar, were probably less threatening (and more dance-oriented) to their predominently white audiences. Interestingly, War would deliver the same message (minus the drug references) on the title track of their chart-topping smash "The World Is A Ghetto," which would go on to become one of the biggest selling albums of 1973, a full three years after the McDaniels' track.

In "Silent Majority," McDaniels' liberal political agenda is couched in a humanistic plea to America's heartland to at least CONSIDER the Pledge of Allegiance's call for "liberty and justice for all," and his soapbox sermons continue in "Love Letter To America," wherein he tries to change the system from within by chastising Americans for failing to fulfill the promises our forefathers outlined in such radical documents as the Constitution and Declaration of Independence. As with Buffy Sainte-Marie's similarly scathing shame-on-yous "My Country 'Tis of Thy People You're Dying" and "Soldier Blue," it's required listening for ALL Americans. And speaking of Buffy, the "Native American question" or "Indian problem" is addressed with equal concern, pity and shame in "Unspoken Dreams of Light," which McD delivers as a showtune, bellowing the lyrics as a progenitor to the hip-hop rap style so prevalent today.

Not everything is successful: I forgot "Sagittarius Red" before it even ended; "Cherrystones" sounds more like a cross between a bedtime story and a sermon on the mount (although the twin guitar attack of Hugh McCracken and Eric Weissberg on the latter is almost enough to recommend it); and "Reverend Lee" is a slow, bluesy, gospel-tinged tale that doesn't bear repeating - even though McD's proselytizing does occasionally echo Jagger's similar forays into Fairytale Land via "The Spider & The Fly," "Midnight Rambler," "Monkeyman," etc. Nevertheless, Outlaw is as historically important as it is timelessly entertaining, and is recommended to more than just the "Love, Peace & Happiness" spouting '60s hippie burnouts and political refugees.

Rollerball - Real Hair (Silber)
www.silbermedia.com

This Portland, Oregon sectet's ninth album (and first for Silber) begins with a page out of Godspeed You Black Emperor's songbook with a majesterial, yet mournful brass introduction courtesy Madame DeLeon (trumpet) and Amanda Mason Wiles (sax). "Girls Hugging Trees" then builds on that motif to a rolicking, carnivale finale. "66 Deadhead Spies" is as ominous as its title suggests, as DeLeaon and Mae Starr's freightened, quivering vocals weave around Starr's syncopated piano lines and appropriately spooky synths (Gilles), loops (DeLeon) and samples (producer Randall Dunn). What exactly these 66 Deadheads are spying on is unclear, but the musical shaggy-dog journey is a fun listen nevertheless!

The circus-like atmosphere continues on "Starling," where the album's scary/funny boundaries are pushed over the limit with wild singing (typical lyric: "I forgot the taste of cold sanitized steel") over a jolly-good-time hoedown. The cacophonous "Mike's Hind" will bring a smile to all you V. Majestic fans out there - a band whose devil-may-care attitude and kitsch-en sync-opated approach often results in bringing everything, including trumpets, saxes, accordions, clarinets, synths, samples and tape loops to the party and who, along with The Residents, is the obvious point of reference here.

"Hecho En" is where the album starts to lose me, as the remainder of the disk piles one layer of musical schizophrenia on top of the other. This one begins as a straight pop song, morphs into a wild accordion-led polka, and flitters out in a hazy maze of synths, loops, sound effects, and distorted voices; "Spine Delay" is nothing more than shouting, bellowing, pseudo-rap nonsense and Chinese firedrill atmospherics, which are too maniacally over-the-top to make much sense, including a Residents-on-'ludes slow-motion chorus and Gilles' ferocious drumming which threatens to bury the whole enchilada in a barrage of hailstones.

By the time we reach "Bara," all melody and song structure has been vacated to the four winds ,and it's time for every man, woman, and child that isn't a Residents, Einsturzende Neubauten, V. Majestic, and Olivia Tremor Control fanatic to abandon ship (and all hope of getting a good night's sleep). Quirky, avant garde, and surreal, Real Hair is certainly an acquired taste that often makes Beefheart sound like Moz(he)art, and you may want to sample before you buy. Best appreciated by fans of the above, as well as the more outré artists on the Silber roster such as Origama Arktika, Clang Quartet, Rivulets, Kobi and Max Soren.

Wellwater Conspiracy - Wellwater Conspiracy (Transdreamer)
www.megaforcerecords.com

The fourth album from this revolving lineup of Seattle superstars centered around ex-Pearl Jam/Soundgarden drummer, Matt Cameron and ex-Monster Magnet guitarist John Paul McBain (keyboardist Glenn Slater once again moonlights from The Walkabouts) is yet another collection of bland, by-the-numbers corporate rock. There's vestiges of Mothers of Invention wackiness on "Night Sky," yet most tracks are designed to be radio friendly, with the opening trio clocking in around 2:30. "Dragonwyk" is a nicely packaged, three-minute pop song with all the solos in the right places and the rhythm section following each other like a moth to a flame. "Sea Minor"'s oblique song structure and syncopated rhythms (not to mention groaningly punny title) may appeal to old Todd Rundgren fans, and finds the band headed in a proggy direction they may want to reconsider - think of Yes when it was run by The Buggles (i.e., Drama).

The funky, bluesy instro "Rebirth" finds Cameron comfortably and adequately switching to guitar, but a superfluous cover of Speedy Keene's "Something In The Air" (complete with Slater's cheezy keyboard break) illustrates the head Conspiracists haven't learned from Tom Petty's mistake to leave well enough alone. Finally, McBain's power riff posturing on "Sullen Glacier" quickly deteriorates into total bombast, springboarding from recycled Tony Iommi licks to nearly attain what Woody Allen referred to as "heaviosity."

Ultimately, there's not a single track that I would return to, proving the right personnel is everything and this pair's best years are probably behind them and can be best appreciated on their previous projects' discographies.

[ Home ] [ Flashes From The Archives Of Oblivion ]