Merrill’s Transcontinental Dream

For the past couple of months I’ve been listening quite a bit to the second album by Tune-Yards, called WHOKILL. I was not familiar with the band (essentially the work of the one-woman sonic/songwriting/performing phenomenon known as Merrill Garbus, with support from bassist Nate Brenner and a small variety of others) until numerous references to the new, breakthrough release, kept crossing my radar. Tune-Yards gained major traction this spring with buzz-worthy performances at music festivals such SXSW and Pitchfork.

Why? A few listens make it clear: Garbus’ quirky combination of Afro-pop, jazz and folk is delivered with a hint of punk DIY and hip-hop spunk, adding up to one of the most original albums I’ve heard in years.

It’s not always easy listening. True to the punk and hip-hop shades of the palette, it has a hint of discomfort and agitas. Mostly, though it’s incredibly inventive, especially given that its built upon Merrill’s powerful, soulful singing, propulsive rhythmic loops and ukelele run through various sonic effects. (It ain’t your uncle’s uke, that’s for sure; or even Amanda Palmer’s, Eddie Vedder’s or whoever else has joined the uke parade in recent years, either). No, in fact, most of the time you wouldn’t guess it’s a ukelele at all.

Throw in some bass guitar and a bit of sax or marimba here and there and that’s the whole of it. But it adds up to a lot – at times even creating a wonderful cacophony, as on the opening track, “My Country.”

Merrill, a 30-something New England native now based in Oakland, Calif., has a fascinating background, which I first heard about back in May in one of the always-interesting Sound Opinion podcasts. (Highly recommended, listen to it here.) She tells some wonderful stories in an endearingly humble, yet confident way. Her explanation of how she came up with her band’s name is magically cinematic.

Not long after hearing that podcast, I caught the video of her in-studio performance on KCRW’s “Morning Become Eclectic.” (Watch it here.) I was hooked. But it wasn’t until I bought WHOKILL and listened to it repeatedly in the ensuing weeks that the full power of this performer hit me.

Since then, the Eno-meets-Marley vibe and catchy choruses of “Bizness” have made the song a bonafide hit, drawing yet more attention to the album. Like most of the songs, it’s built around Garbus’ multi-tracked vocals, sweet-and-sour inflections and occasional vocal asides dropped in here and there. She gets maximum effect out of so many of these little embellishments. Overall, it’s a superb balance of raw and refined, simple and nuanced.

“Gangsta” is another popular cut off the CD and a good example of that. It’s powerful but spare percussion and horn interjections percolate beneath multi-layered vocals that recall Petra Haden’s amazing all a cappella renditions of full albums such as The Who Sell Out.

Yet, part of what’s wonderful about WHOKILL is that right on the heels of the hip urbanity of a song like “Gangsta,” Garbus follows it with a sweetly melodic power-pop song like “Powa” (though a careful listen to the lyrics reveals far from innocent fare). Of course, after that, it’s back to the rockin’ riot of, well, “RiotRiot.”

Another of my fave tracks on WHOKILL is the whimisical “You Yes You,” with it’s bouncing bass line, jaunty electrified uke strumming and picking and Merrill’s scat-like singing and layered choruses. Who’d have thought a uke could sound like Pete Townshend’s Rickenbacker circa 1966?

All in all, not only does Merrill Garbus make some really interesting music with Tune-Yards, she has something to say, too. I’m intrigued enough to be checking her out when she comes to town in next month.

Beatles vs. Stones

It’s the “Coke or Pepsi?” question of rock: The Beatles or The Rolling Stones?

Most of us have an immediate, visceral response: a gut reaction based on one band striking an inner chord in a way that the other just doesn’t.

For me, it’s The Stones. Always has been, though as I’ve grown older, the question prompts a bit more pause and pondering. But as much as I love The Beatles, the bluesy grit, funky grooves and maximum riffage of Keith & Co. wins out over the pop songcraft, progressive artistry and sonic experimentalism of The Beatles.

Of course, it is a bit of an apples-and-oranges consideration from today’s vantage point (as opposed to weighing the two choices in, say, 1968 or ’69). The Stones have been an active enterprise for nigh on a half-century. The Beatles body of work represents a mere decade. What they did in that brief period of time is unparalleled. On the other hand, The Stones longevity (or at least The Glimmer Twins’) is unmatched in rock music, even if they’ve had an orchestra’s worth of players pass through the ranks.

But, as Mick said during his band’s ill-fated December 1969 visit to a Northern California racetrack,. “Why must we fight?” So, in the spirit of detente between the two camps:

Here’s a fun mashup: “Sympathy for the Devil” meets “With a Little Help From My Friends.”

RIP, Bill Morrissey

Mourning the passing of one of the great American folk singer/songwriters of the generation lodged between legends like Bob Dylan and young bucks like M. Ward and Sam Beam.

Photo circa 2005 from BillMorrissey.net by Herve Oudet

Last night I learned that New England folksinger Bill Morrissey died a few days ago in a hotel room in Georgia. Only 59 years old, the Grammy-nominated folksinger reportedly succumbed to heart failure, but he left a legacy of potent, straight-from-the-heart-through-the-bottle-and-spit-out-with-a-laugh songs of life, love, hope and regret. Real lives, real people.

I was fortunate enough to interview Bill in 1989, when – riding the success of his Standing Eight LP, he was on the cusp of making the jump from the local coffeehouses and bars he’d been playing for nearly two decades to the small theaters and halls he was able to command for a few years during his commercial peak. Shortly after our talk, I saw him alone in front of a crowded room of 40 or so people at a church basement coffeehouse in Burlington, Mass. A few years later, I was in the balcony of Cary Hall in nearby (but really worlds away) Lexington, watching him front a full band that featured fiddle player extraordinaire Johnny Cunningham (previously of Silly Wizard and The Raindogs). It was haunting and transcendent.

I have no way of knowing, but I bet Bill and Johnny made quite a pair, sharing an ample and wry sense of humor as they did. Now, I bet they're both joking like naughty smart-asses behind the angels’ backs in a far corner of Heaven.

Our interview was a lengthy phone conversation. Bill was cooking dinner at home in New Hampshire when I called. He kindly put the skillet aside and proceeded to talk enthusiastically and at length, not so much about himself, but about his love for music and songcraft, as well as the current folk music milieu and his place in it – or not, as the case may have been.

“I don’t want to just play for the terminally hip,” he said, seeking to separate himself from the “precious folk music” with which he was sometimes reluctantly cast.

His music was anything but precious. It was melancholic, haunting, drink-drenched, narratively nuanced, or witty and clever. He was equally adept and at ease with it all, and this wide range of themes lived comfortably side by side in his repertoire.

We shared our enthusiasm for Bob Dylan and he was eloquent in his defense of the Old Bard’s singing voice, punching holes in the typical criticisms. Having a unique singing voice himself, perhaps he was attuned to the under-recognized value of such an attribute, noting that despite his raspy oddities, Zimmy “still hit the right notes.”

“This is no b.s. kind of music,” he said of his kind of folk. “You get up there and tell a story. ... You don’t have to be loud to make a point.”

There are depressingly few video clips of Bill Morrissey on YouTube.

This is a good tune and one I’d consider including even it wasn’t

nearly the only choice. Wish I could find “She’s That Kind of Mystery”

or “Everybody Warned Me.”

Bill’s deep, rich-toned, never-overly-busy, finger-picking and his speak-sing vocals – often punctuated with a raspy growl – were fitting conduits for his lyrical tales of romantic misconnects, proud-but-worn-down working people and hardscrabble life in forgotten old mill towns. Morrissey literary leanings transcended well-penned lyrics in the late 1990s, when he published a novel, Edson, about a New England folkisnger (not autobiographical, he assured, explaining that he just wanted a context that he knew well).

And while he played acoustic folk music throughout his career – he recruited talented friends – Suzanne Vega, Patty Larkin, Shawn Colvin, John Gorka and later Dave Alvin – to add powerful nuance and embellishment to his trademark sound. He also dabbled in the primal folk blues of Robert Johnson, Mississippi John Hurt and others as his career progressed.

“I was never good enough to copy others,” he said back in 1989, already reflecting on many years on the road and a quiver full of his own compositions. He was sounding a familiar refrain of those who truly forge their own path. But, today, there’s little doubt that he was good enough to set a course that will inspire other true troubadours for years to come.

Whether it was humor or heartbreak – and he was adept at both – Bill seemed to do what he did because it was important, vital, genuine and timeless.

FURTHER:
• Here is a nice tribute from New Hampshire Public Radio’s website. Bill Morrissey was a long-time (albeit on and off) resident of New Hampshire, and his early music is deeply routed in the people, history and environs of the Granite State.

• Bill’s obituary in yesterday’s Boston Globe.

• He left a rich legacy of recordings. I highly recommend checking out any of them, but my favorites remain: Standing Eight (1989), Inside (1992) and his eponymous debut, Bill Morrissey (1984), all on Philo/Rounder.

B Sharp in B Flat

My musically savvy teenager forwarded me this link, which seems to be getting some viral attention these days.

It’s quite amazing what you can do by simply mixing a dozen or so unrelated meandering melodies on different instruments that are all in the same key; in this case, B flat. Not only does dropping instruments in and out of the mix – simply by clicking on or off the respective YouTube videos collected on the page – create a unique listening experience, but every time you do so it’s different, based on the instruments selected and the timing of when each is started and stopped within the overall sequence of the “song.” And it always seems to sound reasonably good, now matter how you mix it up.

Check out the “In Bb Experience” for yourself right here.

Pakistani Jazz Jam

I learned about the Sachal Orchestra on Public Radio International’s The World program on the way home tonight and was quite stunned at how good, accessible and appealing this unknown ensemble of struggling Pakistani musicians is – to me and, apparently, many others. Their new release has quietly become a digital download sensation on iTunes.

Despite this video being a cover of a well-known Dave Brubeck tune, it doesn’t sound remotely jazz-ish to me. No matter though, it’s awesome! And, frankly I’m a bigger world, blues and classical music fan, which this has more in common with, than I am a jazz fan. It certainly conjures up memories of Robert Plant and Jimmy Page’s 1995 world tour which featured a traditional Middle Eastern orchestra, The Egyptian Pharoahs, from Cairo.



The percussionist is a finger-frenzied maniac, while the sitar sounds like what Jimi Hendrix might’ve played had he really learned the instrument a la George Harrison. And those violins given it a majestic flourish. I love this! I’ll be joining the legions downloading it for sure.

It’s nice for us Westerns to get a taste of some the rich and vibrant artistic culture from this part of the world, especially in juxtaposition to the debacle and dysfunction of our usual reference points.