No-Man's Schoolyard Ghosts: Lush Electro-Pop And More From Porcupine Tree's Steven Wilson

Music Review: No-Man - Schoolyard Ghosts

One thing you discover rather quickly about Porcupine Tree's Steven Wilson is that man, is this guy prolific.

It was at about this time last year that I was introduced to Porcupine Tree's music, courtesy first of the British progressive rock band's album Fear Of A Blank Planet. Intrigued to say the least, I began checking out some of the band's earlier material. Once hooked, I soon discovered that they had a rather large back catalog (particularly when you consider their near unknown status in America), and that acquiring all of the albums would be a sometimes difficult, and even more expensive task.

Over the months it took, the task would however prove well worth the time, trouble, and money spent. PT's resident creative mastermind -- guitarist/vocalist/songwriter Steven Wilson -- is to my mind at least, one of the truly great talents in music right now. Yet he remains nonetheless sadly undiscovered for the most part.

Still, it didn't end there.

It seemed that Wilson had a number of side projects to consider as well. In addition to the expected solo releases, these included the ambient Bass Communion recordings, and at least two other bands, Blackfield and No-Man.

So one year after discovering PT and Wilson, right now I've been working on catching up on his work with No-Man.

Fortunately I've had some help this time around from my friends at Blogcritics (thanx, Pico!). But in diving head first into the various -- and varied -- musical horizons of Wilson, one thing has remained remarkably consistent. As prolific as Wilson is, on each of his different projects the artist shows yet another newly discovered side of the full breadth of his artistic vision.

No-Man is no exception. Essentially a duo consisting of Wilson and vocalist Tim Bowness, No-Man's sound is often as light and airy (well, at least most of the time) as Porcupine Tree's can be dense and heavy. Many of Wilson's songs with No-Man also have a lush, romantic quality about them -- none moreso than the gorgeous "Days In The Trees," from the album Lovesights - An Entertainment.

At the same time, No-Man's musical palette is by no means constricted by romantic pop.
One of the weirder, yet most gorgeous-sounding moments on that same album comes on one of its shortest tracks, called "Reich." On this track, a teenage girl quite innocently recites her memory of what would appear to be the loss of her virginity, backed by a simple chord progression played on electric piano. It comes off as beautifully haunting, not unlike some sort of dark Victorian tale of tragic romance.

Elsewhere in No-Man's work, you'll find elements of everything from willowy pop to avant-jazz woven within a framework of what could best be categorized as electro-pop.

No-Man stick to this sound for the most part on the just released (in the U.K. anyway) Schoolyard Ghosts. Simply put, this is a beautiful album. But it's also one where they continue to stretch out, and expand things musically.

On one of this album's focal points, the twelve-minute "Truenorth," flutes, xylophones, and a gentle-sounding acoustic guitar float in and out of an orchestral arrangement that is quite simply gorgeous. Bowness invokes the simple understated lyrics, "you survive yourself," behind a light arrangement of piano and swelling strings. The mood then shifts, as Bowness sings of a "sweet surrender to the night," and a choir begins to rise. The guitar takes on a darker tone, the drums take a turn towards the tribal, and the strings turn to angelic voices. It is one of this album's many striking uses of counterpoint, with equally striking shades of both darkness and light.

On "Pigeon Drummer," Wilson cranks the guitar up some though, as the song begins with a blast of prog-rock anchored in the sort of time changes that come straight from the playbook of Red-era King Crimson. Shifting abruptly from light keys, church bells, and soft, electronically treated vocals to these sort of loud, frenetic blasts of sound, the effect is actually quite startling. And also, quite brilliant. Porcupine Tree (and occasional King Crimson) drummer Gavin Harrison more than fills the Bill Bruford role here.

Of course the romantic pop is here as well. "Wherever There Is Light" features a particularly lush arrangement where the strings rise straight up to heaven, as an english recorder and steel guitar plays alongside the gentle refrain "wherever there is light, she follows." The presumably mellotron-generated strings allow for an equally soothing ebb and flow on "Song On The Surf," washing themselves gorgeously over Bowness' vocals and Wilson's layered guitars. The effect is like waves on a beach.

Seriously, you can easily get lost in this album.

And then you have "Mixtaped." At about eight minutes, another of the album's standout tracks. In stark contrast to some of the more romantic tracks, the immediate feeling here is one of longing, melancholy, and regret. I'm still not exactly sure what the lyrics are about, outside of references to how the "mixtapes came and went" and how "you'd kill for that feeling again." Anyway, there's still no mistaking the intent of the droning, reverb-drenched guitar and the lazy, dirge-like shuffling of the slow jazz beat.

Schoolyard Ghosts is at present available only in the U.K., but can be ordered right now online. There are also reports of a U.S. release (check Amazon) coming on June 10. The U.K. version comes in a nice double-disc package, that includes a 5.1 mix for those of you with high-end DVD equipment.

For those of you who do, the investment would be well worth it.

On Birdland And My Ongoing Schoolboy Crush On Patti Smith

Besides the fact that this is a long memorial day weekend, here in Seattle we are also celebrating SIFF, which is an abbreviated way of saying that the annual Seattle International Film Festival is upon us. What does any of this have to do with Patti Smith you ask?

Well, SIFF's opening night featured the world premiere of a film called Battle In Seattle, which is a dramatization about the 1999 WTO riots here. The film was directed by Stuart Townsend and stars his girlfriend Charlize Theron among other notables. This got me to thinking about one of the many Patti Smith shows I've seen over the years, one that took place at about the same time as the riots over the World Trade Organization's conference here.

Never one to downplay her political leanings, Patti used the stage as something of a pulpit at this show, railing against oppression in government, urging the audience to boycott MTV, and in general proclaiming her solidarity with her WTO protesting comrades.

It was classic Patti Smith. In fact, Patti probably could've written a hell of a soundtrack to Battle In Seattle.

From the very first time I heard Patti Smith's brilliant debut album Horses, I instantly fell in love with her. Most of my friends thought I had gone completely nuts as I raved about this album, citing then common complaints about her voice, and the hair under her armpits. But for me, there was simply no denying the beauty of her more often spoken than really sang words, or the hypnotic draw of her stark minimal sound.

The song from Horses that most grabbed me was "Birdland."

I had absolutely no idea what the words were about at the time -- only that her delivery of them had this strangely sacred, yet equally dark and profane beauty about it. Set against a quiet piano, Patti Smith recites the words in a soft, plaintive and almost childlike voice, that builds for the song's nine or so minutes to a thundering crescendo of screeching guitars and feedback. In this particular song, the cadence was everything:

"His father died and left him a little farm in New England.
All the long black funeral cars left the scene
And the boy was just standing there alone
Looking at the shiny red tractor
Him and his daddy used to sit inside
And circle the blue fields and grease the night.
It was if someone had spread butter on all the fine points of the stars
'Cause when he looked up they started to slip.
Then he put his head in the crux of his arm
And he started to drift, drift to the belly of a ship,
Let the ship slide open, and he went inside of it
And saw his daddy 'hind the control board streamin' beads of light,
He saw his daddy 'hind the control board,
And he was very different tonight
'Cause he was not human, he was not human."

As I said, I had no idea at the time what the words were about, except for the fact that despite its title, I was pretty sure it wasn't about Charlie Parker. What draws you in here is simply the dark, descriptive beauty of those words and Patti's brilliant delivery of them. Like I said, it's all about the cadence.

"And then the little boy's face lit up with such naked joy
That the sun burned around his lids and his eyes were like two suns,
White lids, white opals, seeing everything just a little bit too clearly
And he looked around and there was no black ship in sight,
No black funeral cars, nothing except for him the raven
And fell on his knees and looked up and cried out,
“No, daddy, don't leave me here alone,
Take me up, daddy, to the belly of your ship,
Let the ship slide open and I'll go inside of it
Where you're not human, you are not human.”

"Birdland" remains my favorite Patti Smith song to this day, and one of my all-time favorite pieces of music by just about any artist period. But it was only several years later, that I figured out what the song may have been actually about. It would seem to be about any number of things, but chief amongst them would be life, birth, death, and apparently some sort of UFO abduction (you tell me what else all that stuff about white opals and being carried up into a ship is supposed to mean).

Horses is an album that only years later would become truly appreciated for the masterpiece that it is. With that album, Patti Smith reset the bar for the role of women in rock, earning her eventual way into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame, and influencing everyone from Chrissie Hynde to P.J. Harvey along the way.

She then made three others in quick sucession, before disapearing for a number of years to become a happily married woman (to punk pioneer Fred "Sonic" Smith, who later died).

The sadly underrated Radio Ethiopia features some of her most off the wall, abstract poetry including the beautifully haunting, yet profane "Pissing In A River." Easter is generally acknowledged as her commercial breakthrough, bringing her an actual hit single in the Springsteen penned "Because The Night." The Todd Rundgren produced Wave is regarded by many to be a disapointment, although it does contain one of her best, most often covered songs, "Dancing Barefoot." These four albums -- from Horses to Wave -- are still thought by most to represent her best, most seminal work.

Patti Smith's output since making her "comeback" in the nineties has been spotty at best, although albums like Gone Again and Trampin' certainly have their moments.

Last year's album Twelve, consisting of cover versions of songs by everyone from the Stones to Nirvana was also surprisingly good. Playing songs by other people not only gave Patti's band -- especially longtime guitarist Lenny Kaye -- a chance to show their muscle (particularly onstage during the tour supporting the album), it also displayed Patti Smith's unique voice in a newly powerful way. Her phrasing on the cover of "Gimme Shelter" is amazing, and the way she reinvents Kurt Cobain's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" is simply something else.

Speaking of live shows, Patti Smith and her band haven't lost a step there either. I doubt that I'll ever be as completely floored as I was when I saw Patti Smith for the first time in 1978 though. Perched behind a huge pulpit, and reading -- actually make that screaming -- the words "I don't fuck with the past, but I fuck plenty with the future" from the great "Rock And Roll Nigger," Patti came across as a poetic punk sort of goddess to this impressionable twenty something year old.

This was truly the stuff that schoolboy crushes were made of. I honestly thought I could die and marry her at that moment. Ten years later, I would even carry on an intense relationship with a girlfriend who bore an uncanny resemblance to Patti Smith. Even so, that concert remains one of the most amazing and memorable that I've ever seen.

I've also had occasion to meet Patti Smith twice. The first time was back in the seventies. I was hanging out at the backstage door of a Blue Oyster Cult show, when she emerged with B.O.C.'s Alan Lanier, who she was dating at the time. My most lasting memory of that meeting was when she shook my hand. She seemed very shy about it for one thing. But her hand was quite possibly the boniest that I've ever shook. We're talking skeleton here.

Last year, I also met Patti Smith right on the street in Seattle, a few hours before her concert at the Showbox. I again shook her hand, and it was just as boney as I'd remembered. She was also just as self-effacingly sweet. As she then continued down the street, it suddenly dawned on me that I should have asked her to play "Birdland."



Of all the times I've seen Patti Smith in concert, I've never once seen her perform my all-time favorite song by her. She didn't play it that night either, which had me kicking myself because of the missed opportunity.

Maybe next time.

All I know is that Patti Smith has aged, and continues to do so with a grace rarely found in rock and roll. And that some schoolboy crushes simply refuse to die.

Springsteen & The E Street Band's Ultimate Set List: Two Classic Albums, One Small Venue

Music Review: Bruce Springsteen And The E Street Band - Live At Count Basie Theatre, Red Bank NJ, 05/07/08 (Bootleg)

Don't ask me how these things make their way to the Internet, but thank God they do. And in this case, they made it to cyberspace in both audio and video. Ah, the wonders of technology...

As anyone who has seen Bruce Springsteen And The E Street Band on the current world tour for the Magic album already knows, right now these guys are turning in some of the best shows of their career. The concerts since returning to the States from Europe earlier this year have in particular been nothing short of spectacular. Watching the setlists change from night to night has also been something of a die-hard Springsteen fan's wet dream.

But if you want to talk about a dream setlist, I personally can't imagine anything could possibly top seeing Springsteen and the band run through the entire Born To Run and Darkness On The Edge Of Town albums in a single night. Every song. In their original order. In 2008. In a small, intimate theater setting.

Couldn't happen, right?

Well, in fact it did happen just a few weeks back, on May 7 at the Count Basie Theater in Red Bank, New Jersey. And if you happened to have an extra couple thousand dollars lying around (not to mention travel costs for those fans who aren't natives), and had fast enough fingers to beat the rest of the crazies with bucks trying to score a ticket, then you too could've witnessed this historic night.

When I first heard about this setlist, I nearly cried that I missed it.

But I like I said, thank God these things have a way of finding their way onto the Internet. Now, since Blogcritics doesn't condone bootlegging, I'm not going to tell you where to find this amazing show. But for those of you who have ever downloaded a concert, I'll just say that a quick check of the usual places could yield you sweet pay dirt.

The concert was a benefit for the Count Basie Theater itself, and ended up raising a cool $3 million dollars to help renovate the historic building. After an introduction by NBC's Brian Williams, Springsteen took the stage and let the crowd in on the secret that they would first play Darkness in its entirety, followed by a break, and then they would do all of Born To Run. This was followed by a collective, ecstatic gasp from the crowd.

From there, the band launched into a false start of "Badlands," prompting Bruce to comment that they "fucked up," and that he knew "there was a reason we've never done this before." After the false start though, the E Street Band gathered itself and proceeded to burn through the two classic albums.

Many of these songs are already performed live regularly of course, notably "Badlands," "Born To Run," and "Promised Land." Even "Prove It All Night" began showing up again somewhat regularly on the last leg of the American tour, where Nils Lofgren's scorching harmonics during the guitar solo have been a highlight, and are no less so here.

But hearing the rarely played songs from Darkness is still quite a treat. Bruce still hits those howls during "Something In The Night" effortlessly all these years later, and on "Streets of Fire," the vocals take on almost a plea-like quality even while the E Street Band rocks it as hard as ever. Hearing "Factory," in its original album arrangement was also a pleasant surprise.

The Born To Run material comes across equally strong, especially the segue of "Born To Run" into "Shes The One." On "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out," the E Street Band is expanded to include a full horn section, including usual Jersey suspects like trombonist La Bamba. And of course, there is nothing quite like hearing "Meeting Across The River" and "Jungleland" back to back as they were originally conceived.

The encores are also a lot of fun, as the by now over-the-top crowd is treated to the rarely played Darkness outtake "So Young And In Love," "Rosalita," and "Kitty's Back" complete with that expanded horn section. I just wish I could've been there.

If you are able to find this recording on the net, be advised that the audio is a little spotty in places, but generally not bad as far as audience-made recordings go. The crowd is also irritatingly loud at times, like when the girl screams out for "Streets Of Fire," after the song has already started.

Below are some video highlights, captured by someone on YouTube going only by the name of Madeline Maddog.

This video montage captures quite a few of the highlights, including the false start to "Badlands" and Nils' great solo on "Prove It All Night." The video also jumps around from song to song quite a bit -- but nobody expects the whole show start to finish, right? The quality is likewise variable, with lots of places where the image is either obscured by crowd members, or a bit blurry. But it is also remarkably clear much of the time, and certainly captures the energy of the evening.

If you are unable to find this for yourself on the net, I also wouldn't worry too much. With the 30th anniversary edition of Darkness On The Edge Of Town coming up this fall, I have a very strong hunch that pro-shot footage may see the light of day on a DVD as part of that expected deluxe boxed set.

In the meantime, enjoy. And thank you Madeline Maddog, wherever you are.

Romeo And Juliet Beatles Style: Across The Universe Is Still A Tearjerker

DVD Review: Across The Universe

I missed this movie during its original run in theatres, mainly because I just couldn't drum up any interest among the beer swilling group of buddies that I run with. Probably a good thing too. Because once I finally sat down to watch this at home, I have to admit that I found myself choking back the tears during a few scenes.

Rule of thumb number one when it comes to the beer swilling buddies: never let them see you cry.

I actually found myself a bit surprised at how much I liked this film though. I've never been big on musicals, and when it comes to the Beatles I can also be a bit of a purist. Besides, the whole Beatles music put to a song and dance thing was already tried once with Cirque de Soleil's production of the Love record, right?

Anyway prejudices going in aside, I am happy to report that not only did Across The Universe win me over, it also had me reaching for the Kleenex box more than a few times. Basically a Romeo and Juliet sort of tragic love fable set to Beatles music during the turbulence of the sixties, the film centers on the relationships which develop among a group of characters who come together in a sort of communal living arrangement at a New York City apartment house.

Chief among these are Jude, a British transplant who comes to America originally to seek out the father who abandoned him as a child, and Lucy, who seems to be your basic smalltown all-American sort of girl from a fine, upstanding Christian family. When Lucy's boyfriend dies in Vietnam, it opens up several questions about who she actually is, and a romance soon develops with Jude, who has already become fast friends with her more rebellious brother Max (played with great gusto by Joe Anderson).

Eventually, they all find themselves living together in a New York apartment/commune that is owned by a Janis Joplin-like singer named Sadie. At this point, a number of subplots begin to develop with peripheral characters like Sadie's lover, a Hendrix-like guitarist named Jo-Jo, and a confused waif-like character named Prudence.

The storyline involving Sadie and Jo-Jo works for the most part, as one of this movie's two truly evil characters -- a shady record industry guy -- lures Sadie away from her life playing gigs at the neighborhood Cafe Huh (cleverly modeled after the Cafe Wha where Dylan got his start) for a shot at solo stardom. Meanwhile, as Lucy becomes more involved in the antiwar movement, she comes under the spell of an Abbie Hoffman rabble rouser type who has his own ulterior motives centering somewhere around Lucy's pants (and yes, you guessed right -- he's the other evil guy).

This eventually leads to a showdown with Jude, which ends up getting him deported back to Liverpool -- which is about the point I was reaching for the tissue box. Right before that though, the film takes an odd, psychedelic sort of left turn which is probably the only weak point here, as the whole gang gets on a Magical Mystery Tour sort of bus with Bono (cast here in a cameo role as Dr. Robert).

Together they all go out to meet Prudence (remember her?) who has apparently joined up with a circus show headed up by Mr. Kite, and taken on a presumably lesbian lover in Rita. This storyline is then dropped just as suddenly as it was first introduced. Well, at least until everybody gets back together at the end for a Let It Be style rooftop concert.

I liked this movie a lot more than I expected I would.

The choreographed dance scenes have just the right amount of psychedelic touch to give this an air of sixties authenticity, and the historical references to the times are pretty much dead on. The ensemble cast which is made up of largely unknown actors also does a tremendous job here, particularly Jim Sturgess as the idealistic lad from Liverpool Jude, and Dana Fuchs who really belts it out as the Joplin-esque Sadie.

The double disc edition also includes loads of great extras, including a missing scene set to the song "And I Love Her," as well as the usual director's commentaries and featurettes.

Again, just make sure that tissue box is nearby.

The Rockologist Discovers A Great New Record Label

As you can imagine, one of the perks -- and one of the pains, if I'm to be one hundred percent honest about it -- of writing about music for a site like Blogcritics, is all of the free music you get.

I get so much of it these days that I am now in fact on a first name basis with my UPS man.

But again, in the spirit of that same aforementioned honesty that I mentioned above, I have to tell you that about 99% of it goes into that netherhole that I like to refer to as "the pile."

I'm equally sure I'm not alone there either.

As a guy who did some years as a (part time, at least) A&R guy for a few record labels -- in addition to being a music journalist -- I am in fact quite confident that there are similar "piles" in record company offices and writer's desks across the land. They are filled with hopeful, but nameless CDs by bands with names by artists like "The John Roberts Band" and "Mudcrutch" (oh wait, Tom Petty used to be in that one, didn't he?).

My point here being -- and here is a word to the wise for all you developing bands out there -- if you want to get noticed, then do something to get, well noticed.

The flip side to all of the nameless, faceless music we journalists, A&R guys, and the like get in our mailbox every day, is that every now and then something comes along that really grabs our attention.

Such was the case earlier today when I received this huge box in the mail from a label called Beta-lactam Ring Records.

Wading my way through this rather immense box of music from the label -- and even after listening to a fair amount of it tonight -- I'm still not sure that I can offer an informed opinion of what these guys are all about.

But what I can tell you is that it damn sure got my attention. And at least so far, I like it.

The best I can tell from listening to the box of CDs I got from this label tonight is that these guys seem to specialize in progressive avant ambient noise. Reading through the bio material, it also becomes clear that there is some sort of a connection to the Legendary Pink Dots.

I have never heard of any of the artists here -- they have names like Ariel Kalma, The Silverman, and what appears to be their flagship artist, Nurse With Wound (who warrants this beautiful boxed set with a book of incredible photographs).

I don't understand all of it. But at least so far, I like it.

But who gives a shit so far anyway, right?

Except, that the way these albums were sent to me completely speaks otherwise. Each CD comes in a beautifully packaged, environmentally correct cardboard case that opens out to reveal gorgeous artwork that simply demands you take the music contained within seriously. As for the CDs themselves? They are each wrapped in a cellophane covering that harkens back to the seventies sort of thing you found with "serious music" labels like ECM.

Like I said, this got my attention.

The thing is that this label's releases all share a sort of packaged uniformity that absolutely screams that this is something important. And the boxed set by Nurse With Wound was something else entirely. This shit was so damned beautiful, there was no way it was going into the pile next to the Dogshit Blues Band from Podunk, Arkansas.

What can I say here?

Like most guys, I'm an admittedly visual animal. I guess I like my music -- at least that which I haven't actually heard yet -- much like I like my women. I want them all to look beautiful. Which probably explains why at fifty-something years of age I am still single. But that's fodder for another entire article.

The point is, this is obviously a boutique sort of label in an age where such labels have all but disappeared. They have the right idea about how to get the attention of writers, A&R guys at a label and the like, who could make a difference too. You just don't see this type of stuff anymore from artists and bands.

But it used to be somewhat commonplace. In the seventies I can remember several record labels who used to instantly communicate what they were all about when I saw their albums in the record shop before I ever heard a single note.

I think I already mentioned ECM. That label's releases were always characterized by their stark, usually white, album jackets baring an equally stark image. In the case of Pat Metheny or Terje Rypdal it might have been a nature scene. In the case of pianist Keith Jarrett it may have been something as basic as the keys on a piano.

And then there was Virgin (and it's sister label Caroline). Before this label became the multi-national conglomerate it is today, it was characterized first by it's logo -- a semi naked hippie chick lying crosslegged -- and then by it's glossy fold-out album jackets featuring ambient synthesizer music by artists like Tangerine Dream.

The whole package here simply screamed out it's importance. Walking into a record shop, you simply couldn't ignore it.

Later on, punk labels also picked up on this.

Stiff Records in particular had this down to a science. They already had some great, marketable artists like Nick Lowe and Ian Dury. But when they put together the whole Live Stiffs concept, they made you at least curious enough to check out somebody like Wreckless Eric.

More importantly, they made the record consuming public -- or at least that small, but taste-making segment of it -- buy into the idea that the label itself might be as important as the artists themselves.

When grunge came along in Seattle, SubPop Records was another label that figured this out. Pick any random SubPop release from the early nineties -- be it from Soundgarden, Nirvana, or Mudhoney -- and you will likely find that black and white photograph on the cover of a chaotic live club scene with the lead singer's hair flailing about wildly. It totally communicates what lies within -- and again it does so before you have heard a note, sending a message that this is some important shit. A secret you could be let in on, simply by buying one of these records.

So I've got a way to go with what I hear so far from Beta-lactam Ring Records. But I will tell you this. I like what I hear so far. And they have definitely got my attention.

The Rockologist: The Politics Of Dancing Rocking

When you get to be my age, you find yourself doing more and more reminiscing about the good old days. I never understood this when my parents did it back when I was growing up. I mean, what little I knew of their generation was things like the Depression and the war, and what possibly could have been "good" about those old days, right?

But like a lot of folks my age, I find myself yearning for those younger, more innocent times -- which for me, means the seventies, and especially the sixties. This is particularly true when it comes to music.

Now, before you go leveling the charges of "old fart" and the like, I'm not one of those folks who gave up on music after Woodstock was over, and Hendrix or even Kurt Cobain were dead and gone. Nor am I one of what I like to call those old "Steve Miller" guys who look like Homer Simpson, and never quite got past their worn old vinyl copies of Fly Like An Eagle or "Free Bird."

Nope.

You won't catch me grousing about how "all today's music is crap" like a number of my contemporaries have.

On the contrary, I listen to and actually like quite a bit of the music out there right now. I could probably do with a little less Justin Timberlake and a little more White Stripes if I'm being one hundred percent honest. But for the most part I'm okay with most of what I hear these days.

One thing I'm not so okay with though, is the lack of political activism in music. I mean think about it. We are living through times which in many ways run directly parallel to the sixties -- they had Vietnam, we have Iraq; they had Nixon, we have Bush -- and yet, there is precious little out there in the way of musical reaction or resistance.

There are exceptions of course. Tom Morello's former work with Rage Against The Machine, and currently as the Nightwatchman, as well as Serj Tankian, and some of the more politically aware hip hop artists like the Roots and Erykah Badu spring most immediately to mind here.

But I also don't think it's a coincidence that so many of the few musicians out there fighting the good fight are the old duffers. Guys like Springsteen, Neil Young, Pearl Jam -- hell, lets throw the Dixie Chicks in there too, ever since they more or less fell into the role of musical politicos courtesy of an unfortunate onstage quip about George Bush.

The other thing though, is that despite all of the publicity people like the Chicks or even Neil Young got after he released Living With War, I can't think of one song now that so captures the incendiary (or what should be) mood of this time, the way that this particular one did back in it's day:




When you hear the words "Stop! Hey what's that sound?" there is no mistaking what the Buffalo Springfield were singing about. That's why the song is used in so many movies today dealing with that time period. And that's just one song. I can rattle off several more without even thinking about it. Jefferson Airplane's "Volunteers," John Fogerty's "Fortunate Son," Marvin Gaye's "What's Goin' On," John Lennon's "Give Peace A Chance," and just about anything by Dylan back then come most immediately to mind.

Not that the mix of politics and rock and roll was by any means confined to the sixties and seventies. By the time the eighties rolled around, that battle was still being waged on a number of fronts. The punk-rock of bands like the Saints, Tom "Glad To Be Gay" Robinson, and especially The Clash on albums like Sandinista is the most obvious example.

The reggae music of artists like Third World and especially the late, great Bob Marley and The Wailers also served as a political flashpoint during the seventies and well into the eighties. Marley's anthems like "Get Up Stand Up" and "Exodus" not only made him a God at home, and an international star abroad -- they also nearly got him assassinated.

But there was also a lot of that revolutionary spirit during the embryonic, early stages of hip hop in the eighties too.

Grandmaster Flash was the first to voice it on the landmark single "The Message," where Melle Mel's lyrics "don't push me, cause I'm close to the edge" captured the rage of an entire generation of disenfranchised black youth. Chuck D's Public Enemy would later take that same anger to an entirely new level on albums like It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back and Fear Of A Black Planet.




In fairness to today's music however, one simply can't overlook the fact that not just the times, but the actual climate is quite a bit different than it was back then. So while Tom Morello, Erykah Badu, or even Radiohead may be making music that is crying for change, it is also unfortunately crying for airplay.

The songs may in some cases be every bit as powerful as the anthems of the sixties were. But unlike yesterday's top-forty radio -- where it wasn't at all uncommon to find "For What It's Worth," "Who'll Stop The Rain," or "Street Fighting Man" sandwiched together with something by the Monkees or the 1910 Fruitgum Company -- that type of music just doesn't play well today next to Justin, Mariah, and the rest.

But it is out there.

It just comes in a different variety of shades and forms, and you may have to look a bit harder to find it. You'll find it on songs like "Last To Die" and "Livin' In The Future" from Springsteen's Magic album. You might also come across it at a System Of A Down concert. Or maybe, you'll hear it on some out of the way underground podcast on MySpace or elsewhere on the internet.

Whatever the case, it is there.

And a lot of it -- from Neil Young's Living With War, to Tom Morello, to Public Enemy's "Son Of A Bush" (Chuck D is still at it, God Bless Em'), is as direct and in your face as so-called "protest rock" has ever been.




I promised my good friend, rap-music promoter Nasty Nes that I would post a video by an artist he's promoting called Tha' Brain when I got around to writing something where it would fit. Since Tha Brain's song does deal with a political theme (it supports Obama's presidential bid), I figure this is as good a spot as any to do that.

Besides, with all the flack Obama is catching right now over the Rev. Wright deal, I figure he can use all the help he can get.




Okay, so that wasn't exactly "Fight The Power" or "The Message." It's still pretty damn funny its own way.

Nine Lives Is Steve Winwood's Best In Years

Music Review: Steve Winwood - Nine Lives

Steve Winwood's new album starts off in quite deceptive fashion.

The opening track, "I'm Not Drowning," is almost an acapella sounding sort of thing, where Winwood's bluesy, almost aching voice -- which by the way, sounds better than ever here -- is accompanied only by the most minimal, metronomic rimshot percussion, and an equally bluesy sounding guitar.

As I said, it's deceptive.

But only because it doesn't really begin to hint at what is still to come. By the time of the following track -- the mellower, but more fully fleshed out "Fly," -- it all begins to sound a bit more familiar. The gentle guitars recall nothing so much as Winwood's classic with Blind Faith, "Sea Of Joy." Meanwhile, the arrangement, with flutes and soprano saxes floating in and out of the mix, is -- like on older songs like "Back In The High Life" -- further in line with his more middle of the road work of the seventies and eighties.

It is at about this point, two songs in, that the deception ends, and the album takes an abrupt left turn into -- what's this? -- early Santana territory.

On "Raging Sea," Winwood not only cranks the vocal up a few notches, but a more Latin sort of percussion sound first begins to be introduced, along with a heavier Hammond organ that I, for one, thought had went the way of the wah-wah pedal. It is a surprising, but very welcome development, that proves to become even more dominant as this disc progresses.

On the very next track, the standout "Dirty City," that same organ and congas(!) combine for an intro that comes straight out of Santana territory. Or to be more specific, the Santana version of Peter Green's "Black Magic Woman," found on that group's second album, the classic Abraxas. The feel is dark, mysterious, and intoxicating all at the same time.

Familiar? Sure. But only in the best sort of way. Like a dear old friend who has been sorely missed for years - no, make that decades.

By the time of one of the best Eric Clapton guitar solos heard in recent years, you are all but sucked in by it. For anyone who ever spent any time listening to the original late night, freeform FM rock stations of the sixties and early seventies, where the DJs for the most part shut up and let the music -- by bands like Santana and Winwood's own Traffic -- do the talking, this song will send shivers straight up your spine.

Yes, it's that good.

From there, the jazz/blues/rock vibe of this album just takes on a life of its own. The heavy organ remains front and center for the most part, especially on tracks such as "We're All Looking" and "Hungry Man." Meanwhile, the congas and Latin percussion lays down a rock solid foundation that doesn't so much groove as it does perk. The combination of the Hammond organ swells and the percolating rhythms here are straight out of "Soul Sacrifice" territory - yep! there's that early Santana thing again.

The fact is, in another time and place Nine Lives would be an album rock smash. As it stands, nothing here is going to fit into today's restrictive radio formats -- not even something like adult alternative. There's simply nothing here as instantly catchy as say, "Roll With It" was -- although "Dirty City" comes damn close. Still, Winwood's voice, which has always been a force unto itself anyway, has never sounded better here.

Evoking the spirits of improvisation that marked his best work in bands like Traffic, this is quite simply, Steve Winwood's best work in years.

God bless him for it.