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I’m thinking that this will be short, because I still feel like part of my brain has been removed. At around 11AM yesterday, I developed a migraine. This is a very rare occurence for me, but brings back memories of my teens and on into my thirties, when I had one or two per week. When I reached my mid-thirties, the headaches vanished (so did my first marriage, though the two things are probably not related, no matter how amusing the idea is).

My symptoms, aside from the actual pain (which I perceive as being both dull and sharp), usually involve light sensitivity, nausea, slowed reaction time, warped perception (which I’ve discovered has a name: derealization), and partial memory loss. I’d never heard of derealization before but one part of the definition fits me perfectly: perceiving that objects are unreal or cartoon-like. Some of this came on very strongly on the (brutal) drive home, when the trucks I would pass seemed like they did not did not belong on the highway. They were no longer trucks, but floating metal boxes. It was all sort of dreamlike.

So I made the (very bad) decision to try to make it through a lunch meeting, hoping that food might calm things down. Unfortunately, the nausea had taken over by then, turning the act of eating a couple of slices of pizza into pure torture. The food did not help, and I spent an hour or so after the meeting worrying about things like why I was sweating and unscheduled trips to the men’s room. I decided to bail at 2, when the letters in the document I was attempting to read started moving around on the page.

Migraines put me into a kind of fugue state, in which it seems like I can and do function, but remember only bits and pieces of my actions. The drive home, about an hour, seemed like half a day. When I got home, Stepson #2 happened to be visiting so he helped me pop the air conditioner into the bedroom window. I cranked that sucker up and collapsed onto the bed. For two hours I was gone.

When I woke up, the migraine was gone, replaced by a sense of calm. Shaky calm. As usual, I only had a vague memory of driving home. As the pseudo-fugue subsided, a bunch of seemingly random thoughts emerged: Wow, they were right, the boss’s daughter is incredibly good-looking…can I hold this pizza down? the sun is burning a hole into my brain, floating boxes, old woman sweat/young women glisten, the shiny beast of thought…

The last two items are actually lyrics from the Captain Beefheart song “Dirty Blue Gene.” Apparently, I was listening to Neon Meate Dream Of A Octafish on the way home. I’ll have to listen again this morning because I don’t really remember it.

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First published as The Friday Morning Listen: Neon Meate Dream of a Octafish - A Tribute to Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band on Blogcritics.org

It’s amazing to look back at the Golden Age of Spain (9th to 15th century) with modern eyes. In this era, the idea of multiculturalism has become loaded with political import (both good and bad), making it tough to accept the idea of so many diverse cultures working together as anything more than an aberration.

On Provenance, cellist Maya Beiser’s goal was to work with the spirit of that age, bringing it into the 21st century. It seems like such an enormous task, the most obvious reason is the history of the area in the intervening years, with hate and war driving the cultural subelements apart. But with compositions emanating from Israel, Armenia, Iran, Turkey, Andalusia, and Morocco by way of England, Beieser shows us that music can have power over ignorance.

“I Was There” opens the program in fine fashion. Kayhan Kalhor, a Kurd from Northern Iran, composed the song using a melody from the legendary Persian Kurdish musician/poet/singer Ziryab. The song sets the tone for the album as Beiser spends ten minutes weaving in and around a pedal tone before Bassam Saba joins in on the oud. The pair remains in this slowly evolving and mystical environment for a few more minutes until two percussionists materialize, pushing the tempo and energy level up several notches. The multiple textures and shifting rhythms seem to reveal more and more detail on repeated listens.

Beiser then settles back into “Memories,” a piece for solo cello written by Armenian composer Djivan Gasparian. It is truly and entrancing selection of music, with Beiser’s cello playing out the melody over a constant drone.

What’s so inspiring about Provenance (the simple beauty of the music aside) is seeing and hearing the results of threads (intentional and accidental) that can run through cultures. The gorgeous and intense suite “Mar De Leche,” written by Israeli composer Tamar Muskal, draws on themes originating with the Sephardic Jews of Spain and the related language of Ladino. The haunting “Only Breath,” another piece for interwoven cello, has roots in both Andalusia and Turkey. Composer Douglas J. Cuomo states that he was inspired by “the stillness and sounds of the countryside of Andalusia.” Also at play was his experience in a village in Turkey, where he heard the Sufi call to prayer coming simultaneously from several different minarets. The title comes from the Rumi poem of the same name. Cuomo ties that in beautifully by saying that the composition evokes those two experiences while seeming to be “not composed of elements at all,” as is related by Rumi’s text.

Provenance ends with an explosion of multiculturalism: a multi-tracked cello and drums (thank you Jerry Marotta) version of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir.” Here we have East-meets-West, rock music-meets-the ancient. It draws a squiggly line through Morocco, England, the Mississippi delta, and back. Not only does Beiser have big ears, but a big heart as well.

This record provides more than ample evidence that there is power in our collective pasts. It’s too bad that we forget this, because the music never does.

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First published as Music Review: Maya Beiser - Provenance on Blogcritics.org

So the World Cup has been going on and I have been ignoring it. In fact, I’ve been having some fun ignoring it by tweeting occasionally that I’m #NotWatching #WorldCup.

This has not been my attempt to be snotty, assert my supposed superiority, or anything like that. In truth, I don’t follow any sports at all, so it’s kind of fun to crack wise when something “big” is going on. There were plenty of opportunities last night during the NBA finals but I decided to ignore it. Seriously, I’m not trying to spoil anybody’s fun. Hey, I used to be a fan, so I know what it’s all about.

In fact, one of the cools things about sports is how they can draw people together. For all of the crap going on in the world (And hey, hasn’t there always been crap going on?!), I still find it inspiring so see people set aside their differences for a few hours. It makes me think that maybe politicians here in the U.S. should be required to set up and participate in some sort of team sport. If the teams were not split up by party, but were instead composed of a mix from both sides, maybe a semblance of humanity would return to their interactions (Yeah, I know. I’m such a dreamer).

For the past month or so, I’ve been listening to a recording by cellist Maya Beiser. Her inspiration for the music was Medieval Spain. The Golden Age. As hard as it is for me to imagine the two sides of Congress working together on anything, it’s really hard to grok the idea of the harmonious and incredibly productive existence of Jews, Christians, and Muslims.

But then I walk through the cafeteria at work and somebody has attached their laptop to the projector and they’re watching a World Cup game on the pull-down screen on the wall. There are only three guys in the room, one from Russia, one from England, the third from Pakistan. As much as I don’t care about the actual sporting event, the temporary drawing together of strangers has a certain “rightness” to it. To me, the sport is secondary. Too bad we can’t harness this kind positive energy and apply it to some of this world’s big problems. Yeah, I know. I’m such a dreamer.

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First published as The Friday Morning Listen: Maya Beiser - Provenance on Blogcritics.org

I’m not one to quote Wikipedia, but this time around it makes perfect sense: “Smooth jazz is a sub-genre of jazz which is heavily influenced by R&B, funk, rock, and pop music styles (separately, or, in any combination).” This is an interesting definition because it highlights the point of contention: is smooth jazz actually jazz?

For the most part, the question has never really bothered me all that much. Oh sure, I used to be in the SmoothJazzHatersClub™, but after a while I realized that I was wasting my energy. It’s no great affront to the universe if somebody thinks that instrumental pop music is jazz. Besides, there was all of that music coming out of the CTI label, “real” jazz musicians who were smoothing off the edges. Hey, if people were interested in some background music with a positive vibe, what was the harm? It’s not like they were hurting anyone by picking George Benson over Thelonious Monk.

I do remember when I bought my copy of Grover Washington Jr’s Live at the Bijou. My jazz snobbery hadn’t even been formed yet, and all I knew is that the album was a lot of fun. Heck, I’m pretty sure that I wasn’t even aware of the concept of smooth jazz at the time. I’m pretty sure the album sat on the shelf not too far away from Chuck Mangione’s Feels So Good.

Grover Live was recorded back in 1997, not long after Soulful Strut was released. Recorded at the Paramount Center for the Arts in Peekskill, New York, the sound is is indeed very live, with a lot of room in the mix. Grover’s saxophone playing is wide-ranging and full of emotion. On top of that, his band was just killer, with funk-a-licious drums, muscular bass, and soul-drenched keyboards. This music isn’t so much influenced by funk as actually steeped in it.

In addition to “Soulful Strut,” the record is just chocked full of Grover signatures tunes including “Just The Two Of Us,” “Winelight,” and “Mr. Magic.” My favorite is the ultra-funky take on Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five.” Damnation, but his band could funk out!

But…is it jazz or smooth jazz? Maybe Wikipedia has the answer. Me? I’ll just be content to let the funk flow — a bittersweet reminder that Washington’s life was cut short all too soon.

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First published as Music Review: Grover Washington Jr. - Grover Live on Blogcritics.org

You don’t have to go too far back before the concept of “community” morphs into something completely different from current ideas. Much of this can be attributed to the Internet, as both social networking engine and as digital media conduit. It has transformed much of what we used to think of as shopping, marketing, and advertising.

It’s not that simple though. There are so many more entertainment options available today (than say, the late 1970’s) that music no longer holds the same piece of the pie it did back then. Part of me is saddened by this. Is it just nostalgia that makes me think lovingly of my friends sitting around listening to the latest Bad Company album? No, it’s not. Sure, the friendship was nice, but it was more than that — we were bonding not just as friends, but as a group of fans, a community of sorts.

I’m sure that this kind of thing still exists today, but it doesn’t feel like it. People are off in their own little worlds, pulling data down from the Web, loading iPods from iTunes, snugging up those ear buds. It feels like musical communities are a thing of the past.

…unless you look at Brooklyn, New York.

The list of artists coming out of Brooklyn over the past handful of years is pretty impressive: Battles, The Dirty Projectors, The Strokes, Grizzly Bear, Animal Collective, The National. My list of Brooklyn artists deserving of wider exposure includes both The Ramblers (recently reviewed here) and singer/guitarist Shwa Losben.

Good Times, Good Times finds a confident Losben reveling in several sub-genres of pop music that had my ears thinking of artists such as Guster and Ben Folds. Melody is king here, and Losben finds many ways to accentuate it. “Treat The Disease” uses a sparse arrangement in the verses (bass, drums, and piano) to put the melody and Losben’s voice in sharp relief. This gives added weight to the chorus, particularly when the electric guitar and trumpet kick in. “Sandy Don’t Worry” employs the same sort of arc, and explodes with both guitars and emotion as the sad story unfolds. Contrasts work well here too, as the opening “Trainwreck” uses some bouncy music to color in the details of a not-so-conservative girl’s adventures.

But let’s not get the wrong idea here, as there are indeed some good times. Lot’s of ‘em. There’s the anthemic “Independence Day,” a coming of age celebration, “Penultimate Dance,” about the importance of action at last call, and my favorite: “Brooklyn Girls.” Heck, I’ve never been to Brooklyn, but there’s something both comforting and hilarious about “Brooklyn girls drink Pabst Blue Ribbon.” It’s a righteous country-stomp that’ll stick right where maybe you don’t want it to.

I haven’t read it yet, but I’m looking forward to Steve Almond’s Rock And Roll Will Save Your Life. His assertion that music has always been America’s saving grace supports my thoughts on musical communities: that, social and technological movements aside, people will always want to get together to celebrate these joyously-wiggling air molecules. Good times? Hell yeah.

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First published as Music Review: Shwa Losben - Good Times, Good Times on Blogcritics.org

Ok, so…three rock musician walk into a barn…

What? You’ve never heard that joke? Yeah, me neither. It just sorta came to me yesterday while I was watching It Might Get Loud. This film, a documentary of sorts featuring Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack White, is a must see for the rock fan. Heck, you can even hate Led Zeppelin, U2, and The White Stripes, and still get something out of the movie. Seriously.

The film provides individual histories of each guitarist, told in a non-linear fashion. Eventually, the three stars meet in a summit of sorts, with the discussions and righteous guitar playing taking place in a temporary sound state set up in a barn. The documentary portions don’t really provide much in the way of new information, but I’m sure that that wasn’t the point. Yes, I’m familiar with the history of U2, but that doesn’t the diminish the fun of seeing The Edge mess around with his insane effects setup. It was also entertaining to see Page revisit Headley Grange, where Led Zeppelin IV was recorded. And watching Jack White make some blasphemous noise out of a hastily-constructed single-string “guitar thing”? Not just for guitar geeks such as myself.

It was fascinating to see areas of commonality illuminated between these guitarists, since they come from three different generations. It’s tempting to try and pin each man’s sound and career arc to their early interests. That does work to a certain extent — Page’s folk leanings can be seen as directly related to skiffle, but that’s not the whole story. The big intersection, one that is really more general, is that they all love music. Sure, this seems like something of a platitude, but it’s the truth: a truth that can seem surprising if we tend to take a more cynical outlook on stardom.

There’s a scene with Jimmy Page at home, flipping through a bunch of old records before finding a 45 of Link Wray’s “Rumble.” The look on Page’s face, as Wray cranks up the vibrating intensity, is one of pure joys. Very cool to see a real guitar hero playing air guitar to his own hero. The best Jack White moment comes with no guitar involved at all. He’s sitting there listening to a record of Son House singing “Grinnin’ In Your Face,” after which he proclaims that it is still his favorite song. A very genuine moment. And people might think that The Edge is nothing more than a pedestrian guitar playing hiding behind a pile of effects units, but it’s clear that what the man has always tried to do is to produce the sounds that he hears in his head. I totally dug watching the looks pass across his face as he listened to tapes pulled from a box of old U2 demos.

And what do generations two and three think about Mr. Page? The answer came when Jimmy tore into the opening riff to “Whole Lotta Love.” Two ecstatic grins spread across the faces of the other guitarists. They just couldn’t help themselves. It was yet another example underscoring just how much these guys are into the music. Are they all rock stars? Yes, but they’re fans too.

The film ends with the trio working out and then performing a version of “The Weight.” Really great stuff. It made me want to go plug in and make some noise. I’m such a guitar geek.

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First published as The Friday Morning Listen: Jimmy Page & The Black Crowes - Live At The Greek on Blogcritics.org

A little over two weeks ago, I began an experiment with fermented food. After reading an interview with “fermentation fetishist” Sandor Katz, I decided to try my hand at making my own sauerkraut.

When I told this to people, the reactions I received confirmed what Katz had said in the interview — that people are generally freaked out about microbes. Despite the long tradition of fermented foods, it seems that a large percentage of the population (Yes, my sample size was way too small and I am therefore generalizing like crazy here) thinks that food is only safe if it comes in a nice package, packed at a giant warehouse full of stainless steel tables and workers wearing hair nets and rubber gloves.

I was not discouraged. The kraut was relatively easy to put together and has been living (Yes! Living!!) peacefully on a shelf in our pantry. I took a look yesterday morning and the lovely pink color forced the decision: tomorrow would be the day.

I removed the towel from the top of the jar, took out the “weight” (a desert glass), and observed the bloom of mold. I was ready for this, as both Katz and Alton Brown say that this is normal. I skimmed it off, removed one piece of cabbage that had escaped from under the glass, and dumped the jar’s contents into a strainer. After a quick rinse, the kraut was poured into the glass bowl seen in the photo. Look at that color! Katz was right. Adding red cabbage to the mixture will cause everything to turn pink.

Ah, but what about the taste? I swear, this is the best sauerkraut I have ever eaten. It’s tangy with just the right amount of bite. Best of all, it’s very crunchy. We loved it immediately…and cooked up a batch of hot dogs as the first “test.” Go ahead and make fun of us, because we made soy dogs. Still, the mixture of hot dog, ketchup, and kraut was heavenly. We’re convinced. The real fermentation krock will be on order soon.The remainder of the kraut was placed into another jar and was sent off to the refrigerator, to be launched onto the kielbasa that will arrive later in the week. Mmmmmm……

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First published as Hey! What’s That Smell? My Adventure with Sauerkraut, Part 2 on Blogcritics.org

A couple of nights ago, I watched a nearly hour-long interview with Alex Lifeson and Geddy Lee of Rush. Their relationship and history is a rare one in rock music. Heck, it’s rare in any creative endeavor. Longtime friends, they met before high school. Who else can we put in that category? Jagger/Richards is one. Lennon and McCartney certainly would have been. Maybe the U2 fellas?

While watching the interview, I was struck with how down to earth the guys are. They actually got into that a little bit, the fact that they purposely avoided most of the trappings of rock stardom, feeling that the attachment to a certainly level of celebrity can be one factor in the dissolution of a band. The other big reason they’re still together is a simple one: they like each other. Friendships over the long term are tricky things to maintain, especially in situations where creative activities are forced to be “work.”

In a way, Rush got lucky. Things were looking bleak after Caress Of Steel, and there was record label pressure for something more commercial. The guys decided to be true to themselves and follow their own instincts. Instead of an album with a 3 1/2 minute, radio-ready single, they came out with 2112. The “luck” I speak of is the fact that the label left them alone after that, figuring that they knew what they were doing. Not many bands obtain that kind of freedom. Not many bands are around long enough to get there.

Longevity has become an extremely rare thing in the rock world. Record label near-sightedness and ghetto-ized & consolidated radio have held risk-taking at arms length. At least, that used to be the story.

These days, bands rely less on major labels and more on their own energy to attain their goals. Yeah, we’re not completely sure where it’s headed, but I’m heartened by the fact that interesting music drops into my lap nearly every week (Strangely, a lot of it comes from Brooklyn. What’s in the water over there?), almost none of it has involvement from the majors. It feels like a new era is here, where artists can do what they do best, without having to deal with pressure from some dude in a suit.

Rush is getting ready to go out on their “Time Machine” tour. After that, they’ll be hitting the studio to complete Clockwork Angels, to be released in 2011. It’s great to see a band hang around for so long, still doing vital work. Here’s hoping that this new era of unshackled creativity produces similarly great results down the road.

Let’s talk about it. 40 years from now.

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First published as The Friday Morning Listen: Rush - Caravan on Blogcritics.org