The Golden Palominos - 'Visions of Excess' (Celluloid)

Were the Golden Palominos a 'supergroup'? Cause they weren't really a group, were they? Just one guy, Anton Fier, and a bunch of famous friends making songs together. But the lineup is quite impressive - it looks more impressive to me now than it did when I bought this for $1 many years ago, no doubt due to the presence of Michael Stipe, cause, see, I was a big R.E.M. fan during my early teenage years. This sounds a lot better now than back then, too, maybe because I've made my peace with big mid-eighties drum production (and Fier, the svengali here, is a drummer after all and there's unnecessary digital programming on about half of this). The song selection is pretty decent too; the highlight of the whole record is the cover of 'Animal Speaks' by 15-60-75 (y'know -- the Numbers Band!) which is the best Numbers song anyway, and gets a pretty good treatment with a snarling John Lydon. The core band (Fier, Bill Laswell and Jody Harris) is only accentuated with organist Bernie Worrell here, and they somehow bring a manic pulsing punk feel to the song, stripping out its more R&B elements. The songs on Visions of Excess are grouped by singer, weirdly - all three of the Stipe tunes are put in front, maybe to try to capitalise on his marketability. 'Omaha', the Moby Grape cover, is even catchier than the original, and has Henry Kaiser playing this searing drone guitar throughout the whole thing, which sometimes loops into a weird reverse delay. It's such a great song, and the Palominos know that just because they have serious avant-garde cred they don't need to deconstruct every song. The original tunes are pretty solid; the two of them which are Stipe-sung are driving mid-tempo songs, the kind of songs I always imagined when I hear the term 'modern rock'; 'Clustering Train' sounds a little bit like 'King of Birds' from R.E.M.'s Document, though this pre-dates it. Jack Bruce sings on the rather long 'Silver Bullet' but it's probably the weakest track on the album. Syd Straw takes over for two tracks (and does backing vocals on others); 'Buenos Aires', which features Carla Bley on the organ, is really great - Straw's Southern twang breathes life into the song, which keeps rising and falling organically. Fier's drumming is really overpowering throughout this record - partly it's the sound of the times, but probably more because he's the leader of the band and the drummer so he's gonna mix himself up. I can't help but wonder what 'Buenos Aires' would sound like with a more loose, folksy feel. 'Only One Party' closes it out, a Beefheartian dirge with Arto Lindsay yelping and the guitar recorded so it sounds kinda lo-fi, or at least distant. It's a pretty cool track actually, though it somehow feels incongruous with the rest of the album, even though it's already a pretty divergent affair. And that's it for the Golden Palominos though if I ever resurrect the 7" blog, I also have the 7" of 'Omaha'. No grand conclusions to draw here. I wonder what their other albums are like? The first one is maybe worth checking out as Fred Frith is on it. But then again, some of these guest musicians make such minor contributions that they might as well have been session people; does Chris Stamey's keyboards on 'Omaha' really sound distinctly like Chris Stamey playing? Is he even known as a keyboard player? But I'm quibbling; this ain't a bad record, and one that is simultaneously a product of it's time and also doesn't really sound like anything else.

Kevin Coyne/Dagmar Krause - 'Babble' (Virgin)

I file this under C-for-Coyne because he wrote all of the songs, and Dagmar is "just" the female perspective vocally, but she sure adds a lot to this, a forgotten masterpiece in my opinion. Babble is a concept album about a relationship falling apart, set in the late 60s. The main theme is communication, but there's a lot of brutal honesty in these songs. It's not something for everyone, nor would I classify this among the greatest downer breakup albums like Mountain Goats' Sweden or Smog's Doctor Came at Dawn. Instead it's a restrained, folk-rock song cycle that tries repeatedly to find hope and strength in failure, but offers no answers. Instead of being duets, the songs are often led by one or the other, though they do come together at points. The opening two cuts are pretty incredible - the male 'Are You Deceiving Me?' and then Dagmar's 'Come Down Here'. These two songs, with lyrics that are actually pretty sparse, are drenched in fear and insecurity and explore a middle-aged emotional territory that few artists ever touch. The vocal performances are stellar, of course, and you would think these two actually had a relationship (though I doubt that). The music is generally folky-blues in that Kevin Coyne style, most rambunctious in 'Stand Up' (which is also probably the weakest, most out-of-place tune lyrically) though 'Sweetheart' could totally be an Art Bears track with it's doom organ and vocal hysterics. 'Shaking Hands with the Sun' is almost a misstep, equating the relationship with Hitler and Mussolini, but that type of extreme simile can work if one is grounded in a similar emotional quagmire. The closing lyric of "it doesn't burn" is repeated in a way that conflicts with the upbeat tune; and then 'My Minds Joined Forces' comes out of it which is the most sarcastic, almost twee mirage of the album. But I gravitate towards brutal, raw honesty which you get in 'I Really Love You' and the Kevin Ayers-like 'Sun Shines Down on Me'. 'I Confess' is the guilt song, and it has the same gentle cadence of Marjory Razor Blade's most successful strummers. This avoids becoming a musical light-opera deal by being fairly untied to the "concept album" format, and having loose, open lyrics that can resonate to anyone, outside of a narrative. The last two tracks are repetitive duets, the first "It really doesn't matter' and the "We know who we are" - both the song titles and only lyrics. It's a trance of resolution, but I can't say that the album ends hopefully; just in an air of resignation.

Don Cherry - 'Complete Communion' (Blue Note)

If you've ever needed evidence of why record geeks often prefer mono pressings of things, listen here. This record sounds so unbelieveably good, that I have trouble believing it's almost 45 years old. This particular pressing is in mint fuckin' condition as well, so I'm always a bit hesitant to actually, y'know, play the thing. But just like I one day learned to accept that it's okay to lose brain cells, I learned to enjoy Complete Communion -- completely! This is Cherry's first solo LP for Blue Note, one of a trilogy (of which I am missing the middle entry, my fave, Symphony for Improvisers). The band is Cherry, Gato Barbieri, Henry Grimes and Ed Blackwell, and it's divided into two four-piece suites, 'Complete Communion' and 'Elephantasy', all penned by Cherry. 'Complete Communion' is an incredibly advanced subversion of jazz melodies. It's an iconic tune, one of the few from the avant canon that I can actually hum unprompted; yet throughout all four of its segments, whenever you feel the harmony about to hit, either Cherry or Gato ducks away from it, and goes to some weird minor second interval, just for a second. It's a series of marginal disruptions, but Grimes and Blackwell roll through everything with such a peppy momentum that you never really settle in it. The tune is a great one too, sprinkled with vaguely Iberian spice (perhaps this was written specifically for Gato?) and a lot of range in its monaural glory. We don't need separate channels for the cornet and sax, because these guys have a great way of responding to each other and establishing a complementary relationship, even though they mirror melody lines more than a few times. I can really hear how influential Cherry was on Don Ayler, because he has this way of playing a line that feels like he's mumbling it, out of the side of his mouth (yet through the cornet mouthpiece). It's those casual gestures that keep me coming back to music. Blue Note's high quality studio no doubt contributes to the 'classic' status of these records, because some of the 70s records don't have the same clarity that this does. Blackwell's cymbals in particular manage to sit just perfectly in the mix. Grimes is maybe the least obvious element, though halfway through 'Elephantasy' he gets a nice bowed string solo which folds back into the group before outstaying its welcome. 'Elephantasy' in general is a more fluid, exploratory piece. It's tempo shifts sometimes suggests the space of the lounge, and at other times, a menagerie. I actually find it a bit less exotic than 'Complete Communion' though maybe the title is supposed to suggest adventures in India. Of course. we're still a few albums away from Cherry's complete communion with the pulse of the earth, if such a thing is to be believed -- there's still a solid footing in post-bop free-jazz, which is a nice anchor. Total righteousness all around.

John Cale - 'Paris 1919' (Reprise)

Classic time! Paris 1919 is without a doubt my favourite John Cale solo work, and my particular copy is decrepit and moldy, with visible ringwear on the cover and a cut corner, indicating a promo bin/discount from some point in its timeline. This suits the record perfectly, for while there are some grand, bold arrangements here (if viewed as a rock album -- if viewed as orchestral pop, it sounds tiny), it's also self-consciously a product out of time, a displaced object bathed in sentimental memories and old dust-rust. The photos of Cale in his impecable white suit all bear the "last known photograph" effect, a compromise on his purity. And likewise, the sound is filled out with organs and the molasses of lower-mids. Listen to 'The Endless Plain of Fortune' if you don't believe me - it's a tune that trudges along, pushing forward through it's own cellos and violas, unable to reach the end. There's not much looking back to the strum-und-drang of the Velvet Underground on Paris 1919, or even the piano pounding ofChurch of Anthrax. When 'Macbeth' enhances the energy at the end of side 1, it still fits within this cohesive framework of the whole, and it's just a blast of fun, turning rowdy and cacophonous at the end. But dark clouds are pretty much absent here, though I would hesitate to call this an upbeat LP. When you have a tune as traditionally beautiful as 'Andalucia', you can't really see this as anything particularly challenging or avant-garde. Cale's singing voice is perfect for this material - supported by sliding guitars and organ textures, there's a buoyancy to his baritone bleatings. The fact that most memorable lines are delivered slowly, extending over several phrasings or chord changes, make Paris 1919 feel like a record of proud statements. 'Nothing ever frightens me more than religion at my door,' but this is an assessment of life at whatever age he was in 1973, built on Cale's not-forgotten past and sketched out through observations ('Half Past France'). And the title track, baroque and vulnerable, which I first heard when I was 14 and thought "This is like classical music, only like rock, and good too!". For a tune about longing, loss and ghosts, it's bouncy and bright, and the essence of what I thought "Europe" was before I ever got here. And then 'Graham Greene', where the Welsh accent gets a bit out of control, and Cale audaciously rhymes 'holding umbrellas/catching novellas' -- well, what a tune! I've listened to these songs back-to-back for so long that the feel like natural counterparts, even though they're pretty extremely different. This looks forward to Fear - another great album, but a lesser work - but you can have a second chance. 'Antartica Starts Here' is a nice closer of the (too-short) second side, with confident bass guitar and mechanical Wurlitzer supporting Cale's raspy poem. This is the weirdest falsetto singing I've ever heard, going for secrecy instead of heights, but it swells up when needed and marks a point of closure. Whispers linger on after the stylus spins out, and maybe I keep coming back to this, over and over, because I like secret communication.

Buttecounty Free Music Society - 'Induced Musical Spasticity (1984-2009)' (no label)

When this came out, of course I had never heard of BUFMS -- I mean, LAFMS, sure, and that was clearly the inspirational model for these weirdos, who seemed to gravitate around Chico, CA in the late 80s. One can only think that they would have taken over the world if only they lived in a bigger city. I saw this 4LP set with additional CD, packaged in a lovely box, and thought 'this looks like fun', and I got a good deal from the man at the psychedelic music store in Athens, so that was that. But then actually listening to it, well, it's a surprising mess of sound inside, and its a collage of many different artists who are all really different configurations of the same core people (OF COURSE!): Ambivalent Dosage, Ziplok, Hypnagogic Jerk, Bren't Lewiis Ensemble, Unlikely Modernists, 28th Day, the Conduits ... it appears that this scene put out 5 tapes, 4 by the Bren't Lewiis Ensemble and one compilation called Everything's DooDoo (which is represented here in its entirety, I think). The 8 vinyl sides of this box are sequenced in a curious fashion, more thematically than chronologically. Side A comes out of the gate with a brash, aggressive outsider sound, containing five tracks based around tape manipulations, repeating/skipped speech, and decidedly non-musical instrumental pluckings. Richard Streeter's 'Cookies Shaped Like Kites (edit)' is a particular highlight, sounding like a mentally retarded take on Robert Ashley. (and that's saying somethin'!) So if you're thinking these guys were purely in the realm of sound-art tape fuckery, it's understandable. But then side B upsets that, beginning with 28th Day's 'Let Go', a new wave tune with spindly guitars, dour vocals, and all the things we loved about the early 80s. Dilwhip's track is more along the same lines - hints of early R.E.M., the db's, Rain Parade -- of course far less polished and amateurish, but still a stab at rock music. The rest of the side starts to devolve that - Bren't Lewiis's 'Sakura Sakura' is an ethnic-derived sketch that could exist on a Jeweled Antler compilaton, and Hypnagogic Jerk's guitar/keys excursion is pretty nice in both sound and aesthetic. Side C continues the realisation that BUFMS were just as much into avant-rock sounds as the outer limits. And that's okay, cause I like R.E.M. AND Pierre Schaeffer! There's an earlier 28th Day track here, significantly more primitive, and without Barbara Manning (who I believe later made a few indie-folk records for Matador, and was in SF Seals). Right when I was starting to think that the BUFMS kids seemed miles removed from 'punk', Walking Jock's sneering 'Seven Year Itch' comes in the middle of side C. It answers the question "Were these guys going to see Black Flag shows during all of this?" and sounds a bit like Dag Nasty. Lots of fun. The Conduits take it back into the outer realm, with their Walkman-quality Ash Ra Tempel impersonation, and Hallucinatory Companion are a cute meandering instrumental that touches on the Young Marble Giants minimal approach. Side D takes things into the out-and-out goofy realm. It starts off with a manic melée of cheap keyboards appropriately named 'Carnival of Headache', by the cleverly named Experimental Artists. The narration reminds me of Jello Biafra, and it feeds into 'What's Your Beef?' by Lawrence Crane and John Young. This continues the atmosphere of fighting toys, but with sense of tug and push that is probably the most musically amazing moment on this set, so far. And right when it gets good, they stick a Monty Python cover in the middle. 'The Lumberjack Song', as performed by Tops Inc. is actually kinda amazing, with buzzsaw guitar and lush, layered yet tuneless singing. It's a vast improvement over the original, and I wonder if Pete Beck (the man behind Tops Inc) was in fact fifteen years old, doing this in his bedroom. The Hypnagogic Jerk track on side A is rehashed here only with brasher keyboards, followed by another Hallucinatory Companion tune. Rory Lyons completes the shift back from avant-rock to outer-limits explorations with a reverb-laden keyboard track that drifts away like magic, echoing bells. We're halfway there! Side E starts with Conduits again, doing a beautiful minimal harmonica and thumping electronics duet. Sidney Afrika does a deconstructed Steve Miller Band cover called 'fly like an algae' (get it??) that comes from some radio session, and the other highlight of Side E -- actually a highlight of the whole set -- is Ziplok's live performance, a pounding yet lush industrial guitar and drum machine set. It was performed under a blanket yet it sounds huge and ever-expanding. The next 2.5 sides are entirely a showcase for the Bren't Lewiis Ensemble, with F's side-long 'Goat Embryo (Covered With Glue)' being the epic kitchen-sink sound exploration. It proceeds slowly, always sounding like 2 or 3 people at a time despite having 14 people listed in the credits (including such musicians as Musclebutt, Joan of Art and Gnarlos). There's moments of the Futura-sound for sure - bending clanking sounds, moans and groans, and space-age warble. There's some spoken pause-button edit tape parts akin to side A, and some deep cosmic jamming, though it never stays focused long enough. There's also some poorly played string instruments (a favourite sound of mine) and it's such a collage that it could be 100 short tracks instead of one big piece. The next side (G, if yer followin') is Bren't Lewiis's 'Industrial Barbeque' event. It's a live recording which means consistent fidelity, but that fidelity is 'average'. There's more moaning, plinking, and scattered, burning foliage. Lots of echo from the room, yet we get a sense of how these weirdos existed as a live act. The fact that all of this was going on in Butte County, not exactly a place known as a metropolis of the bizarre, and in the midst of the Reagan 80s as well -- well, it's astounding. The tape collage on the previous side is a bit more dynamic, but it's nice that both sides of this group, clearly central to the BUFMS "scene", are represented. And Side H shows us yet another facet of Bren't Lewiis Ensemble - that of the goofball country n' western band, singing 'Plastic Jesus' . Next is Unlikely Modernists, a meandering bunch of tin-whistle and bongo hippies, Leaving the City MEV-style, but with some cartoon voices shouting in the mix. Now, we're almost through a four-LP box set, packed with a diverse array of "out" sounds, and to me, this Unlikely Modernists cut is the first "stereotypical weird music" track. That's not to say that I don't like it, but it at least fulfills some stereotypes. Bren't Lewiis gives us one last example from their ouvre (represented most reasonably, since they were 80% of the released cassette output back in the day) -- this one is heavy on the tape edits, with some recorder slowdown and other such grot. And finally, the whole she-bang ends with the Marques, a similar cut to the one that opened side A. A cyclical, mesmerising document of the soundworld of a few miscreants in a forgotten corner of rural California, sure. But a question has to be asked -- does this need to be heard? I enjoy all sides of this box set (though I have yet to get all the way through the bonus CD, which is a lengthy series of radio plays) but I tend to love things that are slipshod and miscellaneous. Can we call these recordings visionary, when no one heard them, and they influenced nobody? I don't actually care to have such debates, so I don't know why I bring it up. Despite whatever level of importance you might want to tack onto this set, these recordings hearken back to a time when creative energy found more innovative and isolated ways to express itself. Yeah, I mean this was pre-Internet, as was most music discussed on these pages, but more specifically they type of social interactions were completely impossible so these artists had only each other. And that type of tunnel vision can produce amazing things. Some of those amazing things are on these eight LP sides, and it's a real treasure to have them presented in such a grandiose manner.

Anthony Braxton - 'Five Pieces 1975' (Arista)

Despite the smokiness of the cover image, this is a record of clear skies and full-steam ahead sailboat ventures. The whiteness of the rhythm section (Holland and Altschul) doesn't hold back the groove, and despite Braxton's usual cryptic symbology in his titles (defended somewhat in the liner notes), the tone is really set by the opening track, 'You Stepped Out of a Dream' (penned by Macio Herb Brown). This is an upbeat record, with a loud, crisp recording quality that brings out Kenny Wheeler's trumpet and flugelhorn, and lets Braxton show off his sharp turns and warm sonorities. This is some of the most straightforward Braxtonisms I've encountered, which is pretty funny since it comes sandwiched between the Derek Bailey duets and the third-stream explorations of Creative Orchestra Music 1976. Maybe this shoulda been called Five Easy Pieces 1975 though maybe the makers of that film would have sued. If you're thinking about countercultural matters put them aside; this is a record that really strikes the balance between accessibility and new composition. Side two in particular ends with a very edgy, nervous bassline from Mr. Holland; the brass trumpet feels like fingernails on a chalkboard at times, but it's driven ahead almost like a Neu! track. Toe-tappin', hip-slappin', yeah all those things - I dig it, it's my pick of the LP for sure - and it's certainly a brighter spot than we've heard in awhile here. This of course recalls the Circle band on ECM which is just so so good, except minus Chick Corea and with Wheeler -- but it's similar how that Wayne Shorter tune sets the tone of that, and this also opens with a 'standard'. The Circle record is a bit more exploratory, but it's not like Braxton has anything to prove by this point. No murky clouds here - it's sunbeams, not icicles.

Band - 'Music From Big Pink' (Capitol)

So, the canon rears its head. It took me awhile to really get into the Band, cause I always found them "too earthy" back in those dark years where I was more interested in listening to, I dunno, Harriet the Spy -- instead of Big Pink, a record acclaimed by just about everyone in history as being an all-time classic. Of course that's not reason enough to worship it; there's nothing more annoying than the blind recitation of critic pablum and when I finally did start to dig the Band it was through a genuine 'sinking in' of their work into my brainblood. I wonder how much Greil Marcus has to do with all of this, though. I mean, he wrote Invisible Republic and ever since the mythology has been in place. You know, Dylan and the Band, holed up in upstate New York and redefining American music, etc. etc. Except weren't the Band actually Canadian? I could wikipedia that to be sure, but I guess it doesn't matter since Neil is a 'nuck too and he gets a free pass for writing some of the most 'American' music ever ('Out on the Weekend', 'Thrasher', anyone?). To be honest it was almost exactly one year ago that I started to really click with Basement Tapes, meaning the officially released double LP first and not the "real" or "genuine" basement tapes. And hey, raise a glass to the bootleggers cause they deserve to use those titles -- the officially-released Basement Tapes are kind of a fucking joke since the Band went back and faked a bunch of it to raise their stature in history. Of course I think Dylan was probably fine with that, smirking at the muddy mess, figuring if you're gonna release the damn things finally (cause it was about 9 years later, right?) you might as well be half-assed about it. So yeah, about a year ago I was driving around in a car for a few weeks and I only had a few CDs, two of which were Basement Tapes (which will be henceforth referred to without a preceding article to distinguish from the bootlegs). And goddamit, I finally fell in love with it, maybe cause I was visiting the US at the time or maybe because my time had finally come. And I've subsequently checked Invisible Republic out of the library and pushed my way through the whole turgid thing and started digging through the actual basement tapes through many online bootlegs (the best of which I've found is the 4CD set A Tree with Roots), and fuck me, maybe I'm starting to believe it a bit. Which means that Music from Big Pink, which I've always liked more than the self-titled one, has started to really grow on me. I think the earliest Band is my favorite since a few Basement Tapes songs that didn't make it to Big Pink are some of the best ones: 'Bessie Smith', 'Katie's Been Gone'. But I think this is a deservedly great album and I will have to cast my lot with this version of 'Tears of Rage' - even though Dylan wrote the fucking thing, Manuel squeezes every bit of life out of those weird, cryptic lyrics and by the end I actually feel physically drained by it. It's hard to hear all the ghosts of old weird America to the level that the Marcus book would make you expect (and 'The Weight' feels just like classic rock radio/beer commercial music to me) but there's definitely cracks in the woodwork. These young Hawks were definitely going for something and you can hear a lot of pain inside 'Caledonia Mission' ;; 'Long Black Veil' sure doesn't hurt either. But maybe we should blame this album for inventing roots rock and thus the Black Crowes, the H.O.R.D.E. festival, Blues Traveler, etc.? My jury's still out on which version of 'This Wheel's on Fire' is my favorite; ditto for 'I Shall Be Released'. I guess three Dylan compositions was about par for this time (Unhalfbricking?) but these guys get more claim to it since they obviously had the close relationship with him that everyone else dreamt of. My copy of this is beat to shit, with scratches and surface noise galore, and I think that's the only way I want to hear it. I spun a CD reissue that tacked on a 'Katie's Been Gone' demo but it was just too clean for me. Do you think the basement was clean?