Amazing show tonight at Bordello on 1st Street. First, the amazingly funky Casxio - beautiful songs, beautiful band, superb riffs and deep, deep bass. David Byrne meets Daft Punk. And then, the incredibly charismatic Sam Sparro - the reincarnation of Iggy Pop as a funky beast. More later.
Miles motherfucking Davis.
In Montreux - '73 - I believe it's the Pangaea band plus Dave Liebman, and they're playing some version of Gondwana. So heavy...
[nice piece about the music at funkierthanthou - also the young guy with a hat who plays guitar is Reggie Lucas, who went on to produce Madonna's debut album a few years later...]
It was billed as Stax' 50 years anniversary, but basically we came to see Isaac Hayes perform. Angie Stone was there and belted a few, that was cool. Booker T. walked us down memory lane with an infectious rendition of Green Onion. The lukewarm William Bell sang a few tunes, doing a competent impression of David Alan Grier's brother with no soul in Amazon Women on the Moon...
Then, after an intermission, the Black Moses himself walked onto the stage in a big shimmering black and gold boubou. He started his set with Walk On By, sort of tight - although the mix was horrible at first. Then he managed to assassinate I Say a Little Prayer with one of the backing singers, mashing it with By the Time I Get to Phoenix. Yes. He sort of mumbled through the Phoenix chorus while the white chick unwittingly deconstructed Prayer. There was another duet with another one of the singers, but by that time he had kind of lost me (I guess the wine and the wacky tabacchi helped too.) He finished that 20-25 minutes with - what else? - Shaft. But a lackluster, slurred and uninspired Shaft. He stood up and kind of conducted the house band in a very tentative way. Thank god theses guys are the pro-est of pros and could stay in time, in tune and deep in the groove forever.
Then the whole Stax crew reunited and sang Dock of the Bay and that was it. Lights out onstage. Kind of a sorry affair. One of my friends mentioned quite justly that Isaac Hayes had sang all but 5 minutes or so. Although it seems that live performance was never Isaac Hayes strong suit, we felt somewhat disrespected.
[The music, so precise, so produced, is definitely studio music. I was wondering what Isaac Hayes would sound like with just piano, congas and a few vocal overdubs (like, say, Marvin Gaye's I Want You vocal and rhythm outtake on the deluxe re-issued album...Probably, the most awesome performance by Marvin, even tops Anger on Hear, My Dear. 99c of incredible soul on iTunes...)]
The performance could have been a notch better but hey, it was another utopian night in the Hollywood hills. Wine, cheese and good company under the starry skies... This is why I moved to LA (as the song goes...)
ps: oh yeah and that absolute crétin Randy Jackson (of Idol infamy) mc'eed the whole proceedings like a cheery Ronco infomercial, as if trying to oversell the performance, and whip up the crowd - you set it and you fo'get it... This is great and wholesome when applied to all the hilarious implements that come out of Ron Popeil's fertile mind, but for Memphis soul...
Fuckin Genius.
Growing up in Paris I used to listen to a lot of Marvin Gaye. What's Going On in particular. I must have been 10 or 12 when I came across the tape at a music store. I know I must have been that young because the movie White Nights came out in 1985. In the high-concept cold war movie - James Bond meets Nutcracker in Hollywood parlance - there was a passing allusion to What's Going On. In an establishing shot in Gregory Hines character's shabby apartment, one could catch a glimpse of the album's cover, pinned on the grey, dreary, wall. I noticed it right away. I remember thinking that perhaps Marvin Gaye was much more famous and significant than I originally suspected.
The music itself was very intriguing - I kept listening and listening late into the night on my walkman, trying to figure out what exactly was he singing about. Make me wanna holler - what could that mean? The deep bass, the vocal harmonies, the orchestra, the soulful horns, the layers of lyrics. Completely enthralling.
Or Pyongyang Calling. Pyongyang, Pyongyang. Pyongyang woman on the avenue. I love Pyongyang in June, how about you?.. By the Pyongyang Dolls...
Via Salon.com. Apparently, all the bands there were started by the Dear Leader, and he probably wrote and produced all the records too. Not too mention the video clips. Kim Jong Il rocks.
If you grew up in France, you probably know Gilberto's music without knowing that you know it. Back in the 80s, the most popular DJ on NRJ radio used to play the first few bars of 'Palco' as his show's main jingle. Everyday after school one could hear Gilberto's joyful, syncopated intro scat at time index 00:43-01:00. You know, pa pa pa pa-paya pa pa pa pa paya... The song is Palco, on Luar. It is an infectious song about freedom, about Luanda and Bahia, about performing music, about eternal fire, about catharsis.
A few years ago I had the chance to see Gilberto's alter ego, Caetano Veloso, perform in San Francisco. Caetano charms and seduces the audience with his suave moves, his sense of drama, his clear and pure voice. Gilberto on the other hand is all raw charisma. His sheer power of conviction is even more perceptible when he plays solo. He catches the audience by the throat and does not let go, increasing the pressure with every song. When the show finally ends, everyone is left breathless, exhausted, in shock.
That was pretty much the feeling last saturday. We looked at each other in disbelief, wondering about what had just happened to us, what did he just do... It was not some kind of sneaky magic trick. It was neither fleeting nor atmospheric, as some concerts can sometimes be. No. It was powerful. It was wild. It was magnetic. It was freakish. Especially when Gilberto began to channel Bob Marley at the end of the set, singing No Woman No Cry.
It was a poetic tour de force of the first order. He started lightly. After a couple of tunes, he did a mischievous cover of When I'm 64. He was daring and fearless in the way he reinterpreted some of his most beloved songs - Drao, Metafora, Aquele Abraco, Marina, Pela Internet... People often joined and sang along. At times it was very intense.
And then, Gilberto summoned the spirit of Bob Marley and unleashed it on the unsuspecting audience. This is an incredible power to wield. Only the most accomplished performers can actually raise the dead like that, and let themselves be inhabited for the duration of a song. I can only think of one or two artists alive today who can do it - Iggy Pop, Bob Dylan (on a good day). Miles Davis could do it and tease it out of his band, day in and day out (just listen to Zimbabwe, on Pangaea - now that's a truly demented piece).
We got out of it completely spellbound. We made our way through the dark and deserted alleys of the campus (it's Spring break right now). Smells of flowers hung in the cool air. It was very silent. I felt awake, strangely awake, like I had not felt in a long time. It was like falling in love. I felt compelled to do something to keep that feeling from fading away, to carry it forward. So here it is, to my blog, with a renewed sense of purpose and commitment.
Now, for the brainier side of it all. Gilberto Gil is not just a poet and a performer, he is also a musical innovator, an internet pioneer, a prophet of the digital age (as well as Brazil's current Minister of Culture). [more to come]
File under the "Only in LA" rubric : early in the performance Gilberto dedicated Metafora to two of his very dear friends in the audience, Quincy Jones and John Perry Barlow... He also gave a shoutout to Sergio Mendes, who was sitting somewhere in the front. Indeed I saw people rushing Quincy Jones on his way out. I thought I spotted Leon Ware, too.
A funky anecdote : on the frontispice above the stage in Royce auditorium, one can read a very odd (and quite pompous) pronouncement etched in the stone:
"Education is learning to use the tools which the race has found indispensable"Reminded me of who built UCLA. Well-meaning, early 20th Century liberal eugenists. Ugh. America is a harsh place.
This is my personal blog. I use it as a notepad.