Secret Society

It was so exotic, but just one pogo stick

This story wreaks utter havok with my preconceived whiteboy notions of authenticity and taste:

With a student body that is 71 percent Hispanic and 27 percent black, Public School 59 does not seem an obvious home for a thriving Irish dance troupe. And when Caroline Duggan first arrived from Dublin at age 23 to try her hand as a New York City public school music teacher, it wasn’t. Many of her students had never heard of Ireland. Why, they wanted to know, did she talk funny?

Then, to stave off homesickness, Ms. Duggan hung a “Riverdance” poster in her fifth-floor classroom, and one thing led to another. The children pointed to a long-haired dancer on the poster and asked if it was her. No, she laughed, but I could show you a few steps. The impromptu lesson grew into a wildly popular after-school program and, for the first time last year, a trip to Ireland that still inspires dreamy looks among those lucky enough to go.

[…]

For years, Ana Sotomayor, 47, had tried to teach her son, Angel Perez, 11, the salsa moves she had learned growing up in Puerto Rico. For years, she recalled, he had shrugged her off, saying he didn’t like it and couldn’t do it.

But there Angel was, center stage, hands on his hips and baggy jeans flapping as he began a routine with a short solo.

“Every time I see him in a show I cry, because I’m very proud of him,” Ms. Sotomayor said. “He’s very shy, but then when I see him dance I see another Angel, very secure in what he’s doing. He’s very different.”

Who but the rankest scoundrel, the most heartless bastard, could snark on this? If you've seen Mad Hot Ballroom (or, like, ever set foot in a public school in the Bronx), you know how transformative these kinds of extracurriculars can be. And it's easy to imagine how Ireland might seem exotic and mysterious and appealing to kids who have had the good fortune to not have been mercilessly subjected to all manner of pseudo-Celtic kitsch for all their waking lives. And yeah, I'm sure all that high-stepping and kicking is awfully fun.

But sweet Christ, does it really have to be, you know, Riverdance?

Ach, forget I said that. It is what it is. Erin Go Braugh, aight?

Can you not see that this is the path I am destined to take?

Matthew Guerrieri is a fucking genius.

4 core element foundations imperative

Dan Smith Will Make You His Bitch Teach You Guitar - Davie Kaufmann takes a lesson with NYC's hardest-working flyer-poster.

(Yes it's old, but I only just stumbled on it now.)

UPDATE: Of course there is a Dan Smith Will Teach You blog.

UPDATE 2: The Boston Dan Smith is James Berry, although he has been known to kick it up a notch. I think someone needs to set these guys up in a guitar duel. Or possibly a flyering duel.

Like I'm blowin' on a sax, blowin' my gats

A few weeks ago, "inspired" by a Supertramp video they saw on YouTube, Do The Math asked the semi-rhetorical question: "Whoops--is rock saxophone ever good?"

Before we answer, let us survey the landscape. Throughout the 1980's, every rock song played on the radio was required to have a sax solo. To those of you who are too young to have reached musical consciousness during the eighties, this probably sounds like the kind of urban legend your camp counsellors used to terrify you with, but I swear, it's absolutely true. For a remedial education, I highly recommend this site, which not only collects audio of some of the most egregiously bad eighties sax solos, but spells out exactly what went wrong in each case. There are even helpful pictograms for each musical violation, presumably so that even rock saxophone players can follow along.

Now, you all know how much I hate to perpetuate the self-serving myth that jazz-trained players are automatically better musicians than rock guys, but holy frijole are these saxophone solos bad. And yes, many jazz saxophonists have contributed middling-to-embarrassing solos to rock tracks, but I swear, the tenor player on "Hungry Eyes" is hors concours.

However, the question remains -- "Whoops--is rock saxophone ever good?"

By way of answer, the Secret Society blog proudly presents:

THE TOP 4 MOST TOLERABLE ROCK SAX SOLOS OF ALL TIME

4. Maceo Parker on Living Colour's "Elvis is Dead"
Okay, this is admittedly not Maceo at his blistering best, but his prodigious R&B/soul/funk discography is ineligible -- remember, we're talking about rock here. So while Maceo's note choices in this outing aren't necessarily inspired, his reliably killing time feel and crisp articulation put this solo solidly in the coveted "tolerable" category. I'll also cop to including this partly for sentimental reasons -- this solo was my first exposure to Maceo's playing.

3. Clarence Clemons on Bruce Springsteen's "Jungleland"
A controversial choice, I know -- a lot of people are turned off by Clarence's full-frontal assault. But even skeptics will usually admit that his playing is perfectly attuned to Springsteen's Spectoresque approach to this record. And seriously, if you're not down with Bruce's over-the-top romanticism in the first place, then Clarence's sax playing ought to be the least of your concerns. On the other hand, if you do buy in to Springsteen's concept here -- blissfully anthemic songs of escape, with lyrics that make it clear that any chance at actual escape is doomed -- then it's hard to beat Clarence's epic solo turn here. Part of what's so appealing about this solo is that it isn't just riffing over a static vamp or looping progression -- the solo section actually goes somewhere. That first drawn-out note heralds the arrival of the rhapsodic stop-time interlude, snakes into the wistfully soulful half-time groove, and eventually winds down into the simple piano chords that set up Bruce's vocal re-entry. Not flashy, but a coherent and heartfelt solo that, for once, actually helps tell the story of the song.

2. Ronnie Ross on Lou Reed's "Walk On The Wild Side"
The perfect coda to Lou Reed's famously laconic portrait of the transvestite hookers in Andy Warhol's entourage. Ronnie's solo sounds every bit as conversational (and as detachedly prurient) as Lou's vocals, and that moment where it unexpectedly emerges from those harmonized "doo, doo-doo's" is positively blissful. Ronnie's jazzy approach is a natural fit for the acoustic bass+brushes in the rhythm section, and, in this case at least, the fade-out doesn't feel like a cop-out -- short and sweet are the order of the day, here. Also, according to this post, Ronnie Ross was David Bowie's old sax teacher, and Bowie (who produced the record) was responsible for recruiting Ross to play on this track. Some blame this solo for making rock sax solos permissible in the first place.

1. Dana Colley on Morphine's "Buena"
It's cases like these what forced people to invent the phrase "the exception that proves the rule." Dana is pretty much the only sax player in rock history to be a fundamental part of his band's sound. Of course, it helps that he's totally killing, and that Mark Sandman somehow knew how to write songs that made this improbably bottom-heavy lineup sound like the most natural thing in the world. All of Dana's solos with Morphine are well above "tolerable," but this one is stunning. I still vividly remember the first time I heard this track -- I don't think I blinked once during the entire tune. Morphine were a fucking great band.

Feel free to add your own nominees in comments. I deliberately excluded some famous rock/pop solos by jazz musicians -- Phil Woods on "Just The Way You Are," Wayne Shorter on "Aja," Branford Marsalis on "Fortress Around Your Heart" -- because in order for a solo to be tolerable, the actual song needs to be tolerable, too.

What is the sound of one head butting?

Song of the summer: "Coup de Boule":

But I can't help bein' confused

John Moe's Pop-Song Correspodences at McSweeney's are indeed great. Stereogum linked to his latest -- Notes on "Sweet Child O' Mine," as Delivered to Axl Rose by His Editor -- but I think the best is still "Marvin Gaye Explains What He Heard Through The Grapevine":

Baby,

By now you've returned home to discover all my clothing, housewares, and other worldly possessions gone forever. And also me. But you've found this note and are reading it. You are probably surprised to find me not here (or "there" in my case, because at the moment I am not where you and the note both are). You are surprised, I bet, because you didn't think I knew about your plans to break up with me. How, you're thinking, did Marvin learn of my plans to make him blue?

I'll tell you how: I talked to the grapes.

Read the rest.

Even better than the real thing

The music blogosphere has seen some brilliant parodies recently. Do The Math tipped us to Average Homeboy (a BBQ Clothes creation) and Hans Groiner Plays Monk (could this be who set Jack Reilly off this time?), and now Stereogum brings word of a hilariously surreal video set to the latest Coldplay single, "The Hardest Part."

This is perhaps the most elaborate satire yet. The merry pranksters behind this video are dead ringers for Chris Martin & co., and it appears they have even managed to hack the band's official website so that it links to their parodic video.

At least, that's the only reasonable explanation I can think of for this.

Like a horse that never left the post

Mwanji, in reaction to this piece in Rifftides, says the lyrics in the Great American Songbook are overrated. I agree wholeheartedly.

Don't get me wrong. I say this with love. At its best, the Great American Songbook is a wonderful document of a sophisticated and elegant time in American popular culture. When the melody, harmony, and lyrics are expertly combined, it's like a perfectly blended, bracingly cold classic cocktail. Those who know me know I'm not one to turn down a vigorously stirred martini. And sure, even when the ingredients are a little off, a good singer can make you forgive a lot.

But let's face it. Not only is the range of acceptable song subjects in the GAS incredibly narrow and formulaic compared to the post-Dylan musical landscape, the emotional range of the lyrics is -- with a few glorious exceptions -- similarly constrained. And all too often the lyrics are stilted, lazy, or just straight-out cringe-worthy.

In fact, I think it's horribly unfair that this poll [via jds] includes nothing from the GAS. (It's also a few dozen shy of the purported 100 songs, but we'll let that slide for now.)

So, let's have our own contest: what are the worst standards lyrics of all time? And no fair using post-facto lyrics written to jazz heads like "Inner Urge" or other such abominations -- it has to be lyrics approved by the composer. So, "Satin Doll" is eligible, but the Manhattan Transfer vocalise rendition of Coleman Hawkins's solo on "Body and Soul" is not. Also, it's better if it's songs that people actually sing, still.

Let me start things off with some classic terrible lyrics, starting with the one referenced in this post's title:

Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most
Lyric: Fran Landesman

All afternoon, those birds twitter twit,
I know the tune, "This is love, this is it."

This whole tune is incredibly painful.

-----

Days Of Wine And Roses
Lyric: Johnny Mercer

Through the meadowland toward a closing door,
A door marked "Nevermore,"
That wasn't there before

Okay, let me get this straight. This door you speak of... it's in the middle of the meadowland?

-----

I've Got A Crush On You
Lyric: Ira Gershwin

Could you coo, could you care
For a cunning cottage we could share?
The world will pardon my mush
'Cause I've got a crush, my baby, on you.

Sorry Ira, but oy... there's cute, and then there's that.

-----

It's De-lovely
Lyric: Cole Porter

No citation needed beyond the title. "De-lovely"? Arwgh... (See also: "'S Wonderful")

-----

Lover, Come Back To Me
Lyric: Oscar Hammerstein

The sky was blue
And high above
The moon was new
And so was love

Oscar Hammerstein is the most overrated lyricist of all time.

-----

Teach Me Tonight
Lyric: Sammy Cahn

The sky's a blackboard high above you
If a shooting star goes by,
I'll use that star to write "I love you,"
A thousand times across the sky.

The sky's a what now? Yes, I understand it's part of the conceit of the song, but still...

-----

You And The Night And The Music
Lyric: Howard Dietz

Until the pale light of dawning and daylight
Our hearts will be throbbing guitars

I have got to get me one of them throbbing guitars.

-----

Nominate your favorite bad standards lyrics in comments!

From the Ritz to the rubble

Because nothing's funnier than MySpace injokes.

No, seriously. Go watch.

Sliding out the other

Recommended: the Oddmusic gallery of rare instruments -- includes audio.

Bamboo saxophones
Chrysalis (!)
Didjibodhrán
Fire organ
Rumitone
Skatar
Theremin cello

more...

[via Jon Wikan]

Because it's classy

Alex Ross brings word of a soon-to-become essential new service -- Burnt Toast's Operagrams. Want to make a booty call but afraid of ruining your chances with an inadvertant faux pas? Or perhaps you lack the courage to break off a bad relationship face-to-face, but can't bear the thought of leaving a "Dear John" letter either? Leave the drama in your life to the experts -- opera singers.

May the Jazz Gods forgive me...

... but I'm compelled to post a link to this video of Herbie Hancock performing "Rockit" live at the 1984 Grammys.

Via Do The Math.

What's the difference between a symphony orchestra and a bull?

Well, according to this, an orchestra has me at the back:

... and the asshole at the front.

Via Alex Ross and Steve Smith, both apparently closet oboists.

A Brief History of Cookie Monster Metal

At OpinionJournal, of all places.

But while the vocals in early death metal are low, raspy and aggressive, not unlike the vocals by, say, Lemmy Kilmister of Motörhead, that extreme degree of Cookieness is missing.

To be a true Cookie Monster vocal, said Mr. Conner, who signed some of the subgenre's biggest bands, including Sepultura and Fear Factory, "it's got to be really, really guttural. It should sound like they're gargling glass."

Via jwz.

UPDATE: Via this jwz commenter: Cookie Mongoloid.

 

Speaking of The Bad Plus

Their Big List of band/author connections is up.

Sting = John Le Carre?

The Bad Plus are sponsoring a fun time-waster over at their blog, Do The Math. The idea is to pair a band with a corresponding author. They start us off with 61 of their own examples, including the perplexing one listed in this post's title. Others include:

The Clash--Hunter S. Thompson
Elvis Costello--William Shakespeare
The Eagles--Tom Wolfe
Hall and Oates--Nick Hornby [ouch]
Jewel--Danielle Steele [double ouch]
Stephen Malkmus--Thomas Pynchon
Bruce Springsteen--Norman Mailer
Tom Waits--Charles Bukowski
Wilco--Mark Twain
The Who--Ian Fleming
Yes--H.P. Lovecraft

Click here to read the rest. You can contribute your own suggestions via email to the Bad Plus, or for instant gratification, in the comments here. (Remember -- comments are what makes blogging blogging.)

My contributions:

The Arcade Fire - Mordecai Richler
Godspeed You Black Emperor - David Foster Wallace
Beck - Michael Chabon
Yo La Tengo - Jonathan Lethem
Bright Eyes - Jonathan Safran Foer

Evil Ways

Via Rachel Maddow -- who, by the way, has hands-down the best show on Air America, and if you aren't subscribed to her podcast yet [link requires iTunes], then the terrorists have already won -- I learned of this tasty news mcnugget:

LEADING guitarist Carlos Santana sacked his personal assistant of 16 years for not being spiritual enough, a court has been told.

An action filed in the US courts by Bruce Kuhlman against Santana says the musician's wife, Deborah, ordered him to seek counselling from a guru called Dr Dan to improve "his consciousness or awareness level, which would bring him closer to God and make him a better worker".

Santana, 58, a Mexican-born guitarist best known for top-10 hits including Black Magic Woman, has previously claimed an angel named Metatron was responsible for his comeback, which earned him eight Grammys in 2000.

On his first visit to Dr Dan, Mr Kuhlman, 59, says his "enlightenment/consciousness level" was calibrated and found to be low.

[Link added.]

Dr. Dan is, incidentally, not just a guru, he's also a chiropractor.