marksaleski.com

Memorial Day. The day dedicated to U.S. citizens who lost their lives during their military service.My dad was his usual understated self on this holiday, often sporting one of those poppies handed out by the American Legion. He was a WW2 veteran, surviving the Battle of The Bulge. He lost some friends there, but never talked about it much. His observance never went beyond the flower display and maybe a little flag attached to his car antenna. I suppose some memories are better left in the Ardennes.

This weekend is also the “official” beginning of summer. People will load up their vehicles and take to the roads. Me, I like to stay home. Maybe toss something on the grill (Dad always liked me to make him a burnt hot dog)…have a cold one or two. As I get older and less political (I hesitate to to use the word “apolitical” but I’m getting very close), the start of summer has moved to the front of my attention. As usual, this has everything to do with memories.

It would be nice if all of the memories were positive but that isn’t the case. Two years ago at this time my mom was very sick and had about a month to go. I would love it if that memory didn’t cloud the transition into summer. On the other hand, I don’t want to wish myself into my later years, with a failing memory. Swapping a more positive reflection of early summer with a mind that makes me forget to zip my fly? Maybe that’s a trade I don’t want to make.

Ah, but after that it’s all uphill. Family cookouts. Potato salad. Nights at the drive inn (and those danged mosquitoes). Hot weekends after college, with food cooking on one of those cheapo hibachi grills, all of us in the pool. Endless beers and wine coolers. Somehow, Springsteen’s Born In The U.S.A. became attached to all of this. “Glory Days,” in particular, brings me right back to that time. This record is often cited as the fans’ least favorite. I guess I can understand that. Heck, it’s not my favorite either. But for some reason, there’s a whole lot of memory glue in it. The more I listen, the more stuff I remember.

The title track has been involved in a certain amount of controversy over the years, mostly due to people misunderstanding its meaning. More than a few thought it was a flag-waver kind of thing. When the true meaning came forth, Springsteen was branded by some as anti-American. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more American than the act of voicing your opinion. That includes Glenn Beck’s recently denouncement of the song. (Some people want to think that Beck is crazy. Naw, he’s just an attention-whore, weeping & spewing all the way to the bank.)

A more recently-acquired summer association is of a huge American flag that is draped over the front of a local farm house. By “huge,” I mean that it covers the entire side of the house, all the way up to the roof. It goes up this weekend and will remain there until the 4th of July. I drive by the house every morning on the way to work and it’s quite a sight. I’ve just finished reading Garrison Keilor’s Lake Wobegon Days. That house would have easily fit into that small town cast of people and places: an old house, some broken-down outbuildings, a collection of tractors, and the big ‘ole flag.

So let the summer begin. I give you this video of Bruce and Miami Steve, hamming it up and having a good ‘ole time. That’s what I’ll be doing this weekend. Maybe I’ll even cook myself a burnt hot dog.

---

First published as The Friday Morning Listen: Bruce Springsteen - Born In The U.S.A. on Blogcritics.org

Hey! What’s that smell? Why, I’m glad you asked. It’s the jar of cabbage that’s fermenting over on the shelf in the pantry. How did it get there? That’s a very simple story.

A few Sunday morning’s ago, I was doing the usual thing, which was to sit around, drink coffee, and catch up on my reading. That morning it was the glorious Sun magazine. A very interesting interview with underground food evangelist Sandor Katz (a.k.a. the fermentation fetishist) got me to thinking that it’d be fun to try to make my own sauerkraut. (This comes as something of a relief to TheWife™, as I’d been threatening to make my own mozarella for years. For some reason, she fears cheesemaking in the home more than the sauerkraut thing. She owns more foodie books than a person rightly needs, and yet MKF Fisher and fear of homemade cheese exist under one roof!)

I found Katz’s attitude about food to be quite inspiring. He makes some great points about fermentation as relates to our current thinking about bacteria, namely, that it’s all bad. People have fear of the unknown on these issues, despite the fact that many popular foods come out of various fermentation processes: beer, yogurt, bread, cheese, soy sauce, vinegar. The attitudes are widespread though: I mentioned to some co-workers that I was thinking about making sauerkraut and all the eyebrows went up. Even after explaining that the fementation’s acidity makes it perfectly safe, the eyebrows remained in their suspect positions. I guess food is safe only when it comes from the grocery store.

The heck with that. I wanted my own sauerkraut!

I followed Katz’s very simple instructions. Starting with shredded white and purple cabbage, shredded carrots, and rough-chopped garlic cloves, I added some sea salt and then began to squeeze. This kneading process gets the vegetables to release their water. After five minutes or so, the mixture was wet enough to pack into a mason jar. The key here is to make sure that there’s enough juice to completely cover the cabbage. I found a nice dessert glass that fit into the top of the jar to act as a weight. Then, it was off to the pantry shelf. The happy bubbles of fermentation commenced just a few hours later.

In both his written material and videos, Katz is vague about the things like the amount of salt and how much time should pass until the kraut is “ready.” I suspect this is because there are so many variables involved, from the rates of fermentation (partially driven by temperature) to the fact that “ready” is a subjective concept here. I intend to wait a week before the first taste test. It’s going to be a long week, because the aroma (which is so far closer to kimchi than traditional sauerkraut) is driving me crazy.That’s right, it’s not a “smell”…it’s aroma. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

---

First published as Hey! What’s That smell? My Adventure with Sauerkraut on Blogcritics.org

Keith Jarrett and Charlie Haden hadn’t played together in over 30 years before getting together in Jarrett’s studio to work on these duets. The two men went their respective ways in the late 1970’s. In the interim, there has been a lot of music-making. What’s particularly amazing about the just-released Jasmine is not that the players put their own essence on display (to great effect), but that it’s all so intimate, as if those decades had never passed.

There are many jazz duet records out there, though the ones that rise to the top have more going for them than proficiently-executed chord changes and in the pocket soloing. What makes the difference is often an intangible and subtle blending of experience, passion, and the ability to listen. Here I’m thinking of records like Bill Evans & Jim Hall - Undercurrent, Ron Carter & Jim Hall - Alone Together, and Chick Corea & Gary Burton’s Live in Zurich. The performances extend far beyond the musical material, floating the spirit of the song (and the song’s many pasts) in the air.

Charlie Haden sensed this during the recording process. His comment, “…and the music, it was like it was just being born,” provides a nearly perfect description. Nearly perfect, because the music and your own experience with it are what truly counts.

So how to describe the interplay of Jarrett and Haden? Though both men can take the music in an “out” direction, this was obviously not the time. Jarrett seems truly inspired by the roll that Haden takes on as bass player. Pat Metheny often describes Charlie as having “his own thing,” and he’s certainly right about that. Never one to be flashy, he is also prone to stepping away from being the timekeeper/watcher of the harmonic structure, venturing off into melodic flights that only imply the underlying structure. That’s what makes the interactions between Jarrett and Haden so delicious.

To use just one example (because seriously, there are hundreds on this album), Kern & Hammerstein’s “Don’t Ever Leave Me” ends with Jarrett surrounding Haden’s fragment of the theme with a series of full, gorgeous chords. To my ears, this was the pivotal point of the collection. It felt like it had more weight than all the others, Jarrett and Haden saying “Here, this is what we’re about.”

In the liner notes, Jarrett states that both art and listening are dying in our world, with intimacy being shattered by things that push us apart. I know where he’s coming from. It is my hope that pieces of art such as Jasmine can rise above mere nostalgia, to not just create a buffer against “progress” but to begin to heal the wounds opened by the unforeseen effects of the inevitable move forward.

---

First published as Music Review: Keith Jarrett & Charlie Haden - Jasmine on Blogcritics.org

My introduction to Ronnie James Dio came not with Black Sabbath’s Heaven And Hell but with Rainbow’s On Stage. Yeah, I’m sure I had heard other things sung by Ronnie at that point (because radio hadn’t yet taken the last train to suckville), but the sheer power of Ronnie launching into “Kill The King” after the brief explosion of “Over The Rainbow”? It was something alright. Something I had never heard before.

Not long after Ozzy took his leave, Sabbath brought Dio into the fold and produced the classic Heaven And Hell. The record’s brilliance was undeniable, and I played the hell out of it for years to come. As much as I love the original Sabbath lineup (and the first handful of Black Sabbath records are among the best the metal genre has produced), there was something almost alchemical about the combination of Tony Iommi’s giant guitar chords and Dio’s huge vocals.

And that was the funny thing. Ronnie James Dio’s vocals were huge, even if his body was not. It was quite a spectacle to witness the man singing, with all of that sound coming out of that little body.

I was lucky enough to see Black Sabbath on the Heaven And Hell tour. Me and my buddy Tyler saw them at the Bangor Auditorium. It never said it in the paper the next day but I’m pretty sure that the auditorium’s structure had been altered by the sound pressure levels. The music was heavy and brutal. Dio’s voice was every bit up to the task. That was the thing about Dio. He didn’t just scream. He could actually sing — at all levels, from delicate phrasing to otherworldly growl.

Dio’s death came as a huge surprise to me. I didn’t even know he had been ill. The weird thing is that just a few days before his passing, I stumbled onto an interesting fact. Obviously, I knew about Sabbath, Rainbow, and Elf. I did not know about Ronnie Dio & the Prophets…or Ronnie & the Red Caps. That’s right. Before Dio made moves toward being the best metal singer of all time, he was into doo-wop! So I was up late one night, watching an interview on YouTube with Blue Oyster Cult’s Eric Bloom. Bloom was friends with Ronnie back in the day and knew all about these doo-wop groups. He also said, with a big grin on his face, that Ronnie didn’t like to talk about it. Yeah, I bet!

Anyway, it was a sad day in the world of rock when Ronnie James Dio left the earth. His was a unique voice and I’ll always miss it.

---

---

First published as The Friday Morning Listen: Black Sabbath - Heaven And Hell on Blogcritics.org

Volume 8 in the Smithsonian Folkways series on the music of Central Asia pairs the Kronos Quartent with Afghan rubâb virtuoso Homayun Sakhi and Azerbaijani father-daughter singing dui Alim & Fargana Qasimov. The results of the collaborations are almost too good to be believed.

The stories of how the compositions were put together are fascinating. In the case of Quasimov, the vocalist arranged five Azerbaijani songs, adding sections for improvised vocals and instrumentals. Kronos arranger Jacob Garchik then took the constructions further, scoring the songs for the quartet and adding short intermezzos (think of them as musical connective tissue). For the title track “Rangin Kaman (Rainbow),” Sakhi composed on his own instrument, and then wrote and stored the string parts into a Casio synthesizer. Veteran Kronos arranger Stephen Prutsman wrote out the entire piece in traditional Western notation. The Casio synth being the link between the old and new worlds…talk about East meets West!

The music was obviously not “done” at this point. If you view the accompanying DVD, there is a short documentary that shows the music taking shape. It’s very interesting to see the Kronos quartet, who are in my mind musically fearless, struggle with the rhythmic oddities introduced by both Quasimov and Sakhi. It was also inspiring to see the music come together, especially since the common language was indeed music and not the spoken English word.

Sakhi’s “Rainbow” is over 28 minutes of pure unfolding wonderment. Accompanied by both frame drum and tablas, the quartet and rubâb seem made for each other. Sakhi’s composition weaves single lines, quartet call & response, serial melodic development (a kind of world music “round”), and rhythmic interplay that fools the ear into thinking these musicians have known each other for decades. Quite a trick.

As impressed as I was with Homayun Sakhi, it was the vocals of Alim Qasimov that totally blew me away. Woah, can that man (and his daughter) sing! The scales and micro-tonalities employed in that region of the world make the music seem very exotic. More than that, Qausimov sings with a frightening amount of power and athleticism. It was great to see the quartet rise to the occasion. The looks of pure satisfaction on their faces told the story.

Even if your curiosity about music from this area of the world is low, I would bet that the documentary material will impress. I was only vaguely familiar with the rubâb (of course, now I want one) and had never heard Qasimov sing. Both of them stretched my listening horizons and made me hungry for more.
It was obvious that the musicians were affected in a similar way. That’s when you just know something special happened.

---

First published as Music CD/DVD Review: Kronos Quartet - Music of Central Asia Vol. 8 on Blogcritics.org

Most people think of the mandolin as being a rootsy, countrified kind of instrument. Surely there is no denying the rich history of the bluegrass side of the mandolin. Yessir, Bill Monroe was the king, but that does not mean that the mandolin can’t move ahead (or back, as we shall see). For example, check out the fabulous blues talents of Gerry Hundt. Chicago blues from the mandolin? Hell, yes!

It’s important to remember that the mandolin has a past as well, related to instruments such as the lute and the oud, and actually going quite a bit farther back than that.

This is why the music presented by Mike Marshall and Caterina Lichtenberg should not come as a surprise. Lichtenberg is a classical phenom and Marshall can do it all. He played in the early years of David Grisman’s great quintet, and has gone on to collaborate with names such as Michael Manring, Mark O’Connor, Tony Rice, and Stephane Grappelli. The program contains music from the classical tradition to music from Venezuala and Bulgaria. There are also a pair of compositions written my Marshall.

As an opening piece, you really can’t go wrong with a little J.S. Bach. The intertwined lines from “Violin Sonata III in C major” are just stunning, partly because of the virtuosity involved and partly because the musicians manage to retain a certain warmth despite the fretboard athletics.

This duo uses their apparent musical chemistry to their advantage on all of the selections here. Marshall’s “The Cat, The Mouse and The Chicken” is a perfect example. Arpeggios come in close and then veer off in different directions, making subtle modifications to the central theme. The composition reminds my ears of a mandolin duo meditation on Copeland. The other original selection here is “Dec. 29th,” a searching piece that brings Satie to mind.

For sheer fun, the Bulgarian traditional song “Gankino” is terrific. I’ve never heard the original so I’ve got no frame of reference but it does sound like the pair have added modern twists here and there. In any event, the crystalline lines and jaunty rhythm work are not to be missed.

Perhaps the biggest discover for me was the music of Jose Antonio Zambrano. “Suite Venezolana” is just gorgeous. The interplay during the faster passages is breathtaking (particularly on “Fiesta Criolla”), and the sense of intimacy painted by “Tonada” is laden with emotion.

So yes, the mandolin is intimately connected to American roots music, but Mike Marshall and Caterina Lichtenberg show us that (as a friend of mine likes to say) it’s a big ‘ole world out there.

---

First published as Music Review: Mike Marshall and Caterina Lichtenberg on Blogcritics.org

It’s funny how things that used to be a big part of your life can vanish and yet you remember them with astonishing clarity. No, I’m not talking about ex-girlfriends, wives, or cars (too much emotional baggage there…attached to all three), but this: places. Special places. For me, it was the lunch counter at Woolworth’s. Upon entry, the aroma of popcorn overwhelmed your senses, though not quite enough to forget the fact that the world’s best hamburger was waiting for you at the back of the store.

World’s best hamburger? Heck, I don’t know. It seemed so at the time. Your parents argued over the menu while you got to spin yourself dizzy on that red vinyl-covered stool. Add a vanilla shake to the burger and it was kid heaven.

---

The other day a friend of mine was talking about how she is able to remember and record more of her dreams if she immediately starts writing upon waking. I was skeptical. My dreams tend to either scare the living beegeezuz out of me or else just vaporize on contact. But I put a pad & pencil beside the bed just to see what might happen.

The first morning. Nothing. There was a vague mist of something about manila envelopes but it took most of the day to make even that small detail permanent. Second morning. Absolutely nothing. I don’t have a lot of patience but weirdness and art can’t be forced.

Third morning. Jackpot. I had been walking through town with my dad. Apparently, we were on our way to go duckpin bowling (dream logic: we were already wearing our bowling shoes) but had to stop off at Woolworth’s for some lunch beforehand. We ordered the usual, though dad had a coffee instead of the vanilla shake. It was perfect, right down to that last ketchup-soaked French fry. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, taking care to not get anything on my palm because those duckpin balls were already hard enough for my little third-grader hands to deal with.

We take a right out of Woolworth’s, up one block and then right onto Grove St. The bowling alley is up on the second floor. The guy behind the desk gives us the sheet and a small pencil. A few practice tosses and we’re ready.

The problem is that William S. Burroughs is not ready. He’s less interested in letting us get to the point of the afternoon than in expounding on his knowledge of the history of duckpin bowling. The guy is dressed is a gray suite, fedora, and is holding a tattered book in one hand. Me and Dad were both raised to be polite so instead of turning away and facing our lane, we sit there and listen to him going on about pin size, the relationship to “standard” pins, the long backstory of the pinspotting machines, various ball-return setups, and the finer points of the use of dead wood.

It’s all quite interesting but the the lecture is going on and on….

Finally, Burroughs stops talking and places his book on the colored plastic seat next to him. He reaches to his right and pinches the top of a bright red cloth that’s covering up what looks like a bird cage. He lifts the cloth to reveal a large bell jar. Inside the jar is what looks like a small replica of the Woolworth’s lunch counter. Behind the counter are four musicians, surrounded by their tiny instruments: violins, guitars, horns of various types, a piano, a glockenspiel, and a pump organ.

Burroughs lifts the bell jar and the group begins to play. It’s old music. It’s mostly comfortable, though it does tend to make me nervous every so often. The little band seems to sense my discomfort. They stop playing for a minute. After a short conference the clarinet player raises his eyebrows and holds up a finger as if to say “OK, how about this, little boy?” They launch into a fast-paced tune called “Hotel Aurora.” Somehow I know the song’s name without anybody announcing it. It reminds me of the songs that get played at those Polish weddings we go to.

The song ends and Burroughs replaces both the jar and the red cloth. He heads off to the bathroom. We bowl.

I wake up and think that either that pad is magic, or that maybe I should continue listening to Tom Waits before going to bed.

---

First published as Music Review: Tin Hat - Foreign Legion on Blogcritics.org

Over that past few decades, the consolidation of radio and record label ownership has had an “interesting” effect on record releases — they have become quite a bit more homogeneous, much like the companies that help to produce them. Labels picked up bands whose music was easy to categorize, and easy to market to their target audiences. It’s a sad thing, with most releases having no diversity of sound from start to finish. If you want an example for comparison purposes, think of a band like Led Zeppelin, who could offer up Celtic-tinged folk, hard rock, psychedelia, and reggae — and make it all seem quite organic.

None of this is to say that there haven’t been recent counterexamples of the trend. Artists like The Flaming Lips, Radiohead, Devendra Banhart (especially on What Will We Be), Wilco, and The Dirty Projectors have a penchant for taking the music in several directions at once.

To that list I have to add Everest. On Approach has been in my heavy rotation for the past week or so as my ears have tried to make sense of it all. The diversity is evident: there are tunes that rock hard (”I’ve Had This Feeling Before”, “House Of 9’s”), moments of quiet introspection (”Unfortunate Sea,” a song what will get stuck in your head), soaring anthems (”Catalyst,” “Tall Buildings”), and more roots-oriented fare such as “The Rush” and “East Illinois.” It makes perfect sense that the record comes out on Neil Young’s Vapor label.

It’s not just the menu of styles that Everest deals in, but the palette of employed sounds and situations. The crushing chords and aggressive lines of “I’ve Had This Feeling Before” step aside, revealing a simple rhythm riff and chiming octave pairs from a piano. It’s a moment of relief that makes the next explosion all the more powerful. “Dots” is accented by flutes, strings, shifty chord changes, and even a smidge of 50’s-era backing vocals. It’s exactly the kind of wide-ranging construction I’m thinking about when I say that the industry has pushed its “product” into such narrow categories.

On Approach is that rare album that traffics in several musical styles while still managing to produce a cohesive statement. Let’s hope that this trend continues, both from Everest and the rest of the rock community. This feels like one big step away from “product,” and I thank them for that.

---

First published as Music Review: Everest - On Approach on Blogcritics.org

I will probably lose a few “reviewer cred” points when I admit that I don’t own any Black Keys records. I’m not really sure why this is, since the whole filthy & rootsy garage blues thing is right up my alley. In my defense, a step was taken to remedy the situation when I purchased Dan Auerbach’s solo album Keep It Hid. The funny thing is that I bought it because I became totally enamoured of the song “When The Night Comes” after listening to an interview with Auerbach. It was probably the least Black Keys-like tune out there, but it was my point of entry.

And now? Now I’m totally enamoured of The Black Keys. This is how it works with the ears. They’re fickle. You listen to something on a Friday and get nothing. Two months later, a snippet of a song hits you upside the head and you’re willing to bust the budget on everything the band has put out. I’m there.

OK, so I’ve been reading that Brothers is somehow “slicker” than previous releases. It’s might be, just a little, but it’s not like these guys have gone all Steely Dan on us (and I love Steely Dan so fans, just chill, will ya?!) or anything. Yeah, Danger Mouse produced “Tighten Up” but the song still has that deep vibe you’ve come to expect. I suspect that much of that juice comes from Mark Neill, who had his fingers in the Auerbach record and who has a thing for analog recording techniques.

The hilights are many, all of ‘em dripping with in-your-face sonics that manage to completely sidestep that modern dead-from-compression thing. “Howlin’ For You” is a stomper that rises above its Gary Glitter (I’m not kidding) opening. “Sinister Kid,” with its shout-along chorus, is a kind of Black Keys gospel. Slick? Right. So slick you can hear the buzz of Auerbach’s amplifier. I suppose you could say that some of the tunes have shaded just a smidge over to the soul side, but is that a bad thing? Give the closing track “These Days” a listen. It’s a kindred spirit to Auerbach’s “When The Night Comes,” and it’s a powerful statement.

All of which brings me to the silly notion that The Black Keys have “sold out.” This was the recent fan reaction to the news that the band was providing a song to the upcoming Twilight film. Look kids, I think the vampire movie thing is useless too. But let’s avoid these tired old indie reactions to fame. Give this new record several listens. There is no selling out going on. What you hear is the sound of maturation. It happens to everybody. Deal with it.

---

First published as Music Review: The Black Keys - Brothers on Blogcritics.org

There’s nothing like having dinner outdoors in the spring. The young couple sitting next to us looked like they were having a great time. Heck, everybody was having a great time. It was warm, the beer was tasty and the sky was blue. What’s not to like?