In The Christmas Spirit - Booker T & The MG's

Well, ladies and gents, I'm going to be taking a break from Solid Gold Easy Action for a couple weeks, occupied as I am with doing last minute Christmas shopping, eating obscene amounts of home cookin', and driving across America in my noble and never-ending quest for a good time. But just to tide you cats and dogs over until I return, here's a little Christmas present from the inimitable Booker T & The MG's, Stax Records' house band and without a doubt the greatest instrumental soul combo of all time. There ain't much I can write about this album: it's twelve southern-fried Christmas carols, given a soul makeover by Booker T. Jones, Steve Cropper, Al Jackson Jr., and Donald "Duck" Dunn. At the very least, it ought to make those of you in the frozen North feel a bit warmer, and it's a hell of a lot better than a Wyndham Hill Christmas sampler, I can tell you that. See y'all in 2010!

Merry Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/etc!

En' A-Free-Ka - Shafiq Husayn

The development of musical Afrofuturism since the 1950's has seen many trends come and go. Sun Ra created the template with his divisive cosmic jazz experiments. Soul jazz iconoclasts like Alice Coltrane and Archie Shepp kept the spirit alive through the 60's, while George Clinton and Parliament/Funkadelic injected the -ism with a nasty dose of funk in the 70's. The 80's saw the rise of Juan Atkins and his many pseudonyms, which expressed Afrofuturist ideals through the sound of Detroit techno. Meanwhile, in New York City, Afrika Bambaataa pioneered a far-out sound that would influence 90's hip-hop heads like Del Tha Funky Homosapien and DJ Spooky to funkitize sonic galaxies in the spirit of Afrofuturism. Nowadays, we're lucky to be witnessing a new generation of Afrofuturists; a generation that has learned from and drawn from the generations of pioneers that came before them. Producers like Dâm-Funk, Ras G, and Sa-Ra Creative Partners have all created masterpieces that combine aspects of all of their predecessors, from Sun Ra to DJ Spooky. In 2009, Shafiq Husayn, one third of Sa-Ra, has created the ultimate expression of cosmic black consciousness. En' A-Free-Ka is a psychedelic voyage through jazz, soul, funk, techno, hip-hop, science fiction, and mythic poetry. The cover portrays Husayn in a state of serene self-consciousness, sitting like a majestic Ethiopian negus amidst a collection of African objets d'art. The sounds contained within these grooves are no less striking: Husayn is always at the center of his sound, presiding over the rhythm and poetry with effortless grace. Whether he's surrounded himself with blaring saxophones, chirping synthesizers, or clattering tribal percussion, he steers the course of the music with astronomical precision. "Nirvana" glides along over distorted chunks of soul jazz, while "No Moor" hustles over a nursery rhyme-like pattern that barely hides Husayn's righteous anger beneath its shimmery surface. Groovy. I suppose there's not much more I can say to promote this album, except that it feels somehow... triumphant. Yeah, triumphant.

If you knew better, you'd do better... take it from me.

I Can't Stand The Rain - Ann Peebles

It's going to be hard to write a lucid and well thought-out review of this album because, quite frankly, I think it's absolutely perfect. 70's soul never got more grandiose, sultry, or gloriously left-of-center than it did here, thanks in no small part to Willie Mitchell's tight production work. He and his vaunted Hi rhythm section are on top form here: Al Jackson (the greatest drummer of all time, if you ask me) and his deliciously metronomic drumming takes the rhythm into another dimension, while Mitchell's highly unorthodox studio flourishes create a sonic atmosphere that's alternately tense, joyous, threatening, and sweet. And then, of course, there's Ms. Ann Peebles. Ann was never as saleable a talent as Carla Thomas or Jean Knight, and her creaky, mournful voice was ill-suited to showboaty R&B radio hits. But her work here is nothing short of spectacular. "I'm Gonna Tear Your Playhouse Down" was a minor radio hit and continues to be a popular sample source, due in no small part to Ann's fierce vocal performance. "Run, Run, Run" is another up-tempo hit that recalls Willie Mitchell's deliriously awesome work with Al Green. But wait just a second, folks. Allow me to take a deep breath before I try and extol the virtues of this album's title track, one of the greatest conglomerations of sounds ever put to wax, and one of the greatest soulful and artistic expressions ever seen by mankind. Hyperbole? Fuck that. I could listen to this song thirty times a day for the rest of my life and still feel somethin' way down deep in my soul with every damn listen. It's eccentric, majestic, and downright beautiful, from the unsettling string-plucking that introduces the song, to the brilliant and moving instrumental bridge. Goddamn this is a helluva song. Even if you hate R&B music and everything it stands for, do your soul a favor and give Ms. Ann a listen.

I know you've got some sweet memories, but like a window, you ain't got nothin' to say.

Friday At The Hideout: Boss Detroit Garage 1964-67 - Various Artists

They don't call Detroit "Rock City" for nuthin'. Back in the mid 60's, when, for a few brief minutes, the world's eyes turned to Detroit during Motown's heyday, a homegrown garage rock/maximum R&B scene was just beginning to take form. This scene would eventually see the rise of proto-punk legends The Stooges and The MC5, who in turn would watch acts like Bob Seger, Grand Funk Railroad, and Ted Nugent rise to superstardom in the 70's. But before the long, greasy hair, endless riffage, and drunken ribaldry of "Detroit rock", Hideout Records and its accordingly named dance club provided an outlet for southeast Michigan's hep teens to shimmy and shake every weekend. Dave Leone's small garage rock imprint was just one of literally hundreds of its type across the nation, but it's notable for two reasons: the future stars that got started there, and the pure quality of the music released. Unfortunately, none of the tracks cut by Bob Seger for Hideout were included on this compilation due to some legal mumbo-jumbo, but his brand of workin' man's blues is well-represented nonetheless. This comp offers up some serious frat-rock breakdowns from Doug Brown & The Omens, some Kinks-y groovers from The Underdogs, and some poppier psych gems from Four Of Us and The Mushrooms (both featuring a teenage Glen Frey). But the real gems here are the two cuts from The Pleasure Seekers, an all-girl housewreckin' combo starring a sweet young Suzi Quatro. "Never Thought You'd Leave Me" sounds like a girly version of The Dovers, full of plunky bass, jazzy Fender Rhodes piano, and the kind of "California Sun" guitar riff that 60's garage bands just couldn't get enough of. And then there's "What A Way To Die", yet another song to add to the list of tunes that should've made it onto Nuggets but somehow didn't. Sounding like a deranged gutbucket punk version of The Tammys' girl-group classic "Egyptian Shumba", "What A Way To Die" goes straight for the jugular, making Suzi's later glam rock stuff sound tame and bland by comparison. For anyone interested in Detroit's thriving garage rock history, this comp is a killer.

Well I may not live past twenty-one, but what a way to die!

Mazurkas - Alexander Scriabin

Alexander Scriabin is not usually spoken of with the kind of reverence reserved for the other great Russian composers (Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff, Stravinsky, Prokofiev, Mussorgsky), yet he certainly did as much, if not more, than his influences and protégés in expanding the sonic vocabulary of classical music. Scriabin was idiosyncratic to the core. An avowed mystic, he sought to ascend, through music, the spiritual hierarchy described by Helena Blavatsky and the Theosophists, and also composed many works inspired by Nietzsche's theories on the übermensch. Scriabin's most influential works were early experiments in atonality - increasingly eccentric experiments that were met with increasing critical ambivalence as Scriabin became ever more concerned with phenomenal conceptions of reality. His radical penultimate project, appropriately titled Mysterium, was intended to be "a grandiose religious synthesis of all arts which would herald the birth of a new world." Though it remained unfinished at the time of Scriabin's death, he believed that, when completed, Mysterium would bring about Armageddon. Yet for all of his notable wackiness, Scriabin was also a highly gifted lyrical composer. In fact, my personal favorite works of Scriabin's are among his most traditional: his études and mazurkas borrowed heavily from the mellifluous Romanticism of Chopin. This collection brings together all of Scriabin's mazurkas, composed in the early part of his career in the 1880's and 90's. This was the era of Scriabin's greatest critical acclaim; his variations on the mazurka, a form of Polish folk music, are innovative but not radical. However, they certainly do suggest the atonality that would color Scriabin's most incendiary works. I've decided to post Mazurkas because, well, they just sound so damn good. If Scriabin doesn't get the critical props afforded Rachmaninoff or Prokofiev, then perhaps it's time to reexamine our attitudes towards the Russian masters.

A sincere expression of genius.

Calle 13 - Calle 13

Calle 13 is notable for being pretty much the only reggaetón act to get any sort of critical respect, and if the reggaetón tag itself turns you off, have no fear: Calle 13 don't like it either, and in truth, it falls woefully short in describing the diversified brand of hip-hop that Residente and Visitante peddle. That's not to say that Calle 13 doesn't share any common ground with Daddy Yankee, Wisin y Yandel, or any other reggaetón chartbuster; there are plenty of comparable traits shared by Calle 13 and the rest of the reggaetón herd. Cheap, canny (and inexplicably infectious) digital beats, loping, dubby basslines, and rapid-fire rapping en español all contribute to the urban flava of these Puerto Rican step-brothers' debut album, but there's much more to be discovered here than stereotypical ghetto bombast. Unfortunately, I can't say anything about Residente's lyrics - my Spanish is essentially limited to "donde esta la zapateria?" - but if his gift for gab matches Visitante's gift for creating razor-sharp productions out of deceptively simple digital snippets of Latin music, then he's definitely an MC to be reckoned with. Needless to say, Visitante's production really makes this album for me: he lays out a virtual smörgåsbord of each and every type of Latin dance music, all conveniently assembled into one concise package. Cumbia, salsa, bossa nova, Latin jazz, bomba, and tango are all grist to the musical mill for Calle 13 (not to mention reggae, which forms the basis of all reggaetón). And most importantly, the album maintains a freewheeling sense of fun throughout, a vivacious positive energy that's missing from acts like, say, Don Omar. Unorthodox dance tracks like "Atrévete-Te-Te" and "La Hormiga Brava" colorfully display exactly what sets Calle 13 apart from their peers, while hits like "Suave" serve as a funky reminder that Residente and Visitante are always aiming squarely at the dancefloor.

Vamos a mover el cuello a 90°.

African Jazz 'n' Jive - Various Artists

Aside from the occasional "world music" crossover act, African music gets very little attention here in the States. That's not entirely surprising, as African music seldom contains the sort of glossy pop appeal that makes for hit records in the US of A. But what most American consumers don't realize is that since the 1920's, African musical trends have been inextricably bound with those of the United States, particularly the black population. Beginning with the early days of jazz, when Dixieland reverberations were felt around the world, African urban centers, particularly those in Nigeria, Cameroon, and Ghana, responded with their own energetic adaptations of black American music. As time went on, West African musicians began to develop their own permutations of American music that was, in turn, born of traditional African music. The first really noteworthy movement of this type was the "township" jazz craze that dominated radio airwaves from the late 40's to the early 60's and paved the way for the popular "highlife" and Afrobeat styles that became world-famous through the work of Fela Kuti, King Sunny Ade, and others. This compilation focuses on the later days of township jazz, once it was firmly established as Africa's hippest musical force. The casual listener might be surprised at how stylistic close this is to classic American swing and bop. Indeed, only the occasional non-English lyric distinguishes it from early Charlie Parker orlate Duke Ellington. But inventive tracks like Kippie Moeketsi's "Clarinet Kwela" sound wholly unique, while Lemmy "Special" Mabase's "Kwela Blues" has a folksy, amateurish charm that's rare in American jazz from the 50's. Sure, this isn't as dynamic as Fela's Afrobeat or the percussive sounds of jùjú, but for jazz aficionados, it's a pleasant and interesting look at jazz from the heart of the groove.

Something new in Africa!

Music Of El Topo - Shades Of Joy

Alejandro Jodorowsky's El Topo is one of cinema's most delightfully baffling head trips. Half spaghetti western, half delirious peyote-frenzied spirit vision, it truly defies classification. Jodorowsky himself composed the soundtrack, a subtly psychedelic (and surprisingly pleasant) combination of Mexican folk motifs and restrained atonal textures. John Lennon once stated that El Topo was his favorite movie; he enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he released its soundtrack on his own Apple imprint. What we have here is not the soundtrack itself, rather, its an artifact direct from 1970's burgeoning counterculture that somehow manages to make El Topo and its legacy even stranger. Shades Of Joy, a California-based psychedelic rock/jazz group tangentially connected to Jerry Garcia, recorded Music Of El Topo in 1970 as a sort of tribute to the film that doubtlessly provided them with many nights of stoned entertainment. What's puzzling about this album is how unnecessary it seems - a jazz/funk/fusion remake of a soundtrack in which the most prominent instrument is a wooden folk flute? Think I'll pass, thanks. But it's truly to Shades of Joy's credit that this album has held up so well over almost four decades. Quite frankly, it still sounds fuckin' spectacular! Shades Of Joy, led by the multi-talented Martin Fierro, weave around tunes and musical signals and motifs from the film, interspersing the flutes and acoustic guitars of the original soundtrack with furious bouts of jazz-fusion improvisation. The two most dynamic pieces here are also the most satisfying: "The Desert is a Circle" and "Flute in a Quarry" are jazz-funk monsters. "The Desert is a Circle" in particular is a dynamite masterpiece: sample-worthy breakbeats abound, and the band stretches out to its limits, all the while retaining the same pastoral Mexican-esque feel of the film's original tune. "El Topo's Dream" is another hot one, and though it doesn't have the groovy frenetic pulse of the two aforementioned tracks, it turns a simple folksy melody into a heroic march that's psychedelic in its scope. The rest of the tracks are more laid-back, settling into the kind of easygoing funk that was a staple of underground films in this era. For a virtually unknown band to rework such a singular piece of musical art in such an unexpected and colossal way is, to my mind, one of the most underrated accomplishments of the early '70's.

Too much perfection is a mistake.

Orgasm - Cromagnon

Here's a special treat for those of you thoroughly irritated by the whole "new weird America" thing that's goin' on out there in the big ol' world of music. College kids dressing up in crazee clothes and making noise in the name of "freak folk" or whatever is not a new concept, and it seems to me that most of the new crop of freaky bands sound much more restrained than the original LSD/mescaline-tormented masters they wish to emulate. Cromagnon, ladies and gents, is as weird as it ever got. Cromagnon took the inanity of 60's psychedelia to practically unthinkable extremes, and when they were done, simply packed up and went home (The Residents took over soon afterward and kept the freak flame a-burnin'). The roots of Cromagnon lie in bubblegum pop songwriters Austin Grasmere and Brian Elliot's desire to create a truly "psychedelic" album, something that would combine the American acid rock of the era with primitive folk and what they called "cave rock", which essentially amounted to clattering on rocks with sticks. The resulting album is possibly the zaniest freak-out album of all time. Julian Cope wrote of the album, "now, when you stick the needle into the groove that is opener, 'Caledonia', you'll immediately think you're listening to Einstürzende Neubauten gone black metal, then you'll realize you're WRONG and that there was no reference points such as that available in 1968," but Julian Cope is a pretentious loser, and in this case, he appears to be just namedropping. Nah, "Caledonia" doesn't sound like Einstürzende Neubauten or black metal. It sure sounds great though; something like an ancient Scottish funeral march, complete with bagpipes and occult whisperings. It's easily the best and most accessible track to be found here, which speaks volumes about how fucking crazy this album really is. "Ritual Feast of the Libido" sounds like a caveman being tortured, "Organic Sundown" retains all the percussive clatter of a voodoo ritual, "Fantasy" sounds like musique concrète in Hell, and "Crow of the Black Tree" sounds like the kind of underworldly folk that Devendra Banhart wishes we was creative enough to dream up. This is old weird America, and it never got weirder.

Cave rock.

1999 - Cassius

Take yourself back to the tail end of the 1990's, that magical time when a significant portion of the population was convinced that the global infrastructure would collapse come Y2K, and another sizable group was starting to feel the effects of an entire decade's worth of non-stop raving. The naïve futurism of the 90's had reached its fever pitch. Retro style was irritatingly en vogue, but pop culture in general seemed to be pointing towards some vague spacey future. It would only be logical for a decade like the 2000's to follow: a decade in which each successive short-lived cultural trend would hearken back to a dead era. Electronic music's advent in the 90's was one of the most noticeable aspects of a popular culture obsessed with the new, the unknown, the extraterrestrial. Ecstasy-fueled rave and big beat claimed most of the hype, but lurking in the shadows of the dancefloor, waiting for its moment, was "French touch" house music. Nowadays everybody's familiar with French touch: Daft Punk and Justice are the most recognizable names in dance music, while Euro-house megastars like David Guetta and Bob Sinclar have adapted the sound to fit their own populist idiom. But back in 1999, French touch wasn't purely synonymous with everyone's favorite house-wreckin' robots. Two of the pioneers of the sound, Zdar and Boombass, had already been killing crowds with their repetitive, sugary beats for nearly a decade. But when they teamed up to form Cassius, the French touch sound made a conscious transition to the retro-ism of the new millennium. Daft Punk's debut, Homework, referenced acid house and disco with a sly smirk, but the robotic appeal of Guy Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter were always more concerned with invention than adaptation. Cassius, on the other hand, were content to simply rework euphoric underground disco and early electro to charm the late 90's club scene. In this way, they actually suggested dance music's future far more accurately than Daft Punk (Daft Punk themselves would adopt a decidedly retro disco style on all of their following albums). Cassius's 1999 sounds like Studio 54's cocaine glamour transposed to the neon-colored ecstasy chic of the end of the millennium: non-stop four-to-the-floor kick drums, congas, primitive drum machines, and fractured diva-esque vocals abound. It's a real head trip, as none of the tracks here are designed for radio appeal, but rather recall an era that ended around 1978 when dance tracks were designed with only the dancefloor in mind. But dayummm, this record is easily as impressive as Daft Punk, though not quite as immediately appealing. "Foxxy" is a definite highlight, colored with a deliciously wah-wah'ed out guitar lick and the kind of percussion that would make David Mancuso swoon. "Planetz" and "Nulife" are both ace disco-house hits, while an urban electro influence is apparent on the eerie "Crazy Legs", which owes as much to Detroit techno pioneers like Juan Atkins as it does to Giorgio Moroder. Electronic music in the 90's ended with this record.

Cassius in tha house!

Il Grande Silenzio - Ennio Morricone

There's nothing typical about Ennio Morricone. As a composer, he is one of the 20th century's foremost talents. As a film maestro, he's fucking untouchable. Only Bernard Hermann can be said to have had the same degree of influence on film music, and not even he can compete with Ennio Morricone's track record: Maestro Morricone has written and recorded soundtracks for over 500 movies. He is, of course, best known for his work in the "spaghetti western" genre (a genre he bloody well invented, I might add), though only forty of his movies were westerns. The achingly expressive soundtracks accompanying The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly and Once Upon A Time In The West remain cornerstones of 20th century inventiveness, but it's Il Grande Silenzio that, in my opinion, stands up as Morricone's most magnificent spaghetti western recording. Sergio Corbucci's uncompromising film is about as atypical within the western genre as Morricone's work is within his chosen field: French dramatic actor Jean-Louis Trintignant stars, although he does not speak a single line throughout the entire movie. Meanwhile, a ferocious Klaus Kinski wreaks havoc on a small town in Utah during a cataclysmic blizzard. The film's finale is about as harrowing as anything in cinematic history, due in no small part to Morricone's tense, atmospheric score. What makes the maestro's recordings for Il Grande Silenzio so much more powerful than, say, The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly, is its avoidance of spaghetti western clichés (clichés Morricone admittedly invented). There aren't any cod-Native American chants here, no down-tuned Spanish guitars, and no ominous whistling. Instead, a sparse orchestra of bells, acoustic guitars, and cellos evoke the film's melancholic, wintry landscape. "Il Grande Silenzio (Restless)" is one of the finest songs in Morricone's entire canon, as much folk rock as it is grand symphonic poetry. "Prima Che Volino I Corvi" and "Immobile" are both eerie and tense as hell, providing the perfect stylistic foil to Klaus Kinski's (as always) deranged performance. And if you're looking for that vintage Morricone sound, "Voci Nel Deserto" ought to do it for you: the maestro's inimitable muse Edda Dell'Orso provides yet another magnificent wordless vocal performance that's church-like in its beauty. Unbelievably well-done.

The Old West is finished.

The Black Gladiator - Bo Diddley

One has to wonder what was going through Bo Diddley's head in the late 60's, when he took it upon himself to reinvent the "Bo Diddley beat" for an audience of white hippies. Bo wasn't the only one, however; Muddy Waters went "psychedelic" for his Electric Mud and After The Rain albums, and Howlin' Wolf's This Is Howlin' Wolf's New Album ("He doesn't like it. He didn't like his electric guitar at first either.") sounded like a faceless white acid rock group trying to groom the blues' biggest personality for a crowd of fairweather freaks. These albums, along with Bo's The Black Gladiator, are almost universally regarded as heinous travesties, and considered by many critics to be among the worst albums ever made. Here is where I have to step in and ask you whether you really give two shits about a critic's opinion anyway, because fuck, man, these albums are 100% killer, and Bo's is the best of the bunch. I suppose The Black Gladiator does sound like shit if you approach it from a blues purist's standpoint, which I most certainly don't. Think of this as the marvelous missing link between funky soul and garage rock: it ain't quite James Brown, Stax-Volt, The Rolling Stones, or Quicksilver Messenger Service (although it sounds a little bit like all of those), and it sho' ain't vintage Ellas Otha Bates (there's barely an echo of "Who Do You Love" to be heard here). But it jives, shucks, grooves, and ultimately rocks much harder than most of the "heavy" blues bands that had started popping up around the time the album was recorded. Nothing here deserves to be spoken about with the same reverence as "I'm a Man" or "Mona", but "Black Soul" and "Funky Fly" vamp on into funky eternity, "I Don't Like You" crackles and burns like a deranged, acid-fried version of Lowell Fulson's "Tramp", and "You, Bo Diddley" successfully updates the timeless "shave and a haircut, two bits" pattern that made Bo's career for the peace/love/dope generation. Hot buttered blues, indeed.

I got a new thang, they call black soul!

Agilok & Blubbo - The Inner Space

The German krautrock group Can is one of the greatest musical ensembles to grace our planet with its presence (forgive me for gushing), and though they reached the summit of rhythmic psychedelic awesomeness in the early 70's, their embryonic mid to late 60's releases are full of the type of acid-fried Teutonic rock craziness that made bands like Amon Düül II and Guru Guru such anarchic thrills in their times. Can devotees will already be well aware of Czukay, Karoli, Schmidt, and Liebezeit's early work with Malcolm Mooney on Monster Movie and Soundtracks (one of the most underrated platters of the 60's, in my opinion), and have probably even heard the unearthed treasures of Delay 68, issued as a compilation in 1981. However, only seriously hardcore krautrock acolytes will be aware of the existence of "Kamera Song", a trippy pop ditty auf deutsch released as a single under the moniker The Inner Space. The Inner Space was comprised of Can's core group (prior to both the Mooney and Damo Suzuki eras) and sounded exactly like what it was: a primitive, tense incarnation of what would later become one of the most innovative groups of all time. "Kamera Song", featuring vocals from actress Rosemarie Heinikel, was one of only two single releases from The Inner Space's soundtrack recordings for Agilok & Blubbo, a whacked-out pseudo-revolutionary political satire that barely saw the light of day in conservative late 60's West Germany. The rest of the soundtrack is as eccentric and groovy as "Kamera Song", though it lacks the twitchy funk that made Can such an art-rock powerhouse in the 70's. The title track is, along with "Kamera Song", an obvious highlight, hinting at a form of spacey jazz-pop that Can would not dabble in for nearly another decade. Jawohl!

Komm hier, komm ganz nah, komm hier, Kamera.