We Can Be Weirdos 3: Wrapped in a Flag, Carrying a Cross

Reality Can Go F*ck Itself:

In a time when those who are described as successful - media moguls and tech titans among them - line up to kiss the ring all in the name of making a buck, I prefer to stick with those strange folk over in the corner who don't dress well, and pass the time by making things they like regardless of what other people think.

Let's face it. What passes for normal these days is appalling. I'd prefer the company of those who, simply by being and creating, reject it all out of hand. None of these folks come out and say so, I'll admit. But I'd like to think so.

So let's all raise a finger to this new class of rich idiots playing with guns, while the powerless  - as usual - pay the price.

Thanks, Johnny! Thanks, Neil!

Musically speaking, we will move on from Ambient, to where things quickly get out of hand. 

Fishmans: Long Season (1996)

Thirty-five minutes long, built on a simple synth melody riffed on by guitar, bass, and piano. With vocals in Japanese, of course. 

It's more upfront than the records that follow below, in that it has an easy loping beat and a simple direction. It takes its time to get to its destination, which is nowhere in particular. Quite accessible and kind of laid back.

In other words, short and sweet. At first a bit strange but in the end, what's not to like?

WTFITS Score: 4.5

A-

Godspeed You! Black Emperor: Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven (2000)

Not ambient. It just seems that way because it takes its sweet time getting started. But unlike Fishmans, it's got places to go and people to see, and damn if it doesn't get to each and every one of them.

But that takes some time so this is over 80 minutes long. Just four cuts, each about twenty minutes long. So if you were patient enough for Stars of the Lid and not going anywhere for an hour and a half, you will probably be fine with the buildup, digressions, and somewhat anti-climactic, um, climax. Because the peaks - and there are many - are worth it. 

The word "symphonic" comes to mind. But not in that fatal way of sounding like classical music - it's a rock band after all - but more in how it develops themes and brings them to their logical conclusions. And it's not overly dependent upon keyboards, like typical prog rock. The guitars are front and center and stay there unless there's a mysterious digression to spoken/overheard words.

Quite daunting at first, but unlike many efforts, I keep coming back to it, and each time it sounds better and better. 

WTFITS Score: 7.0

A-

Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band: Safe As Milk (1967)

Remember the Summer of Love? Well, this has nothing to do with that. It's Captain Beefheart's first album, and let's just say it wasn't in harmony with the times. 

It's not exactly like the Captain just stomped out onto the world stage fully formed and took it by storm. In reality, this is the Captain before his vision comes fully into focus. It's a solid rock record - consisting of admirable takes on blues-based rock n' roll, with the occasional foray into pop and soul - that the record company wasn't going to let get too weird. And as usually happens in such cases, everyone pretty much ignored it. 

Some '60s cliches pop up here and there, and that might tempt one to dismiss this record. But I have to give it to the band, which is very tight. Excellent lead guitar and drums throughout. A young Ry Cooder helps out on the bluesier cuts, but the other guitarist Alex Snouffer is no slouch, either. And drummer John French gives even the wilder stuff some structure.  The only outright strange element is the vocals - a combination of Howlin' Wolf and Wolfman Jack - which are there from the start. Even then the twenty-six-year-old Captain had a downright scary growl.

My version has some bonus cuts taken from sessions for what would be his second album. And here is where the Captain and the Magic Band start to sound like who they would become. The songs are longer, the lyrics odder and the signature slide guitar sounds like it's being played on a rocking boat. Even John French risks losing his way. 

A mere two years later, with the help of producer Frank Zappa, the facade falls away completely and the Captain and Band are on full display on Trout Mask Replica. I tried to play my vinyl the other day, and by the time I got to Side 3 my turntable died/refused to play it/committed suicide. Hard to tell. But with CB it's hard to tell when the record player is on the fritz to begin with. Lucky for me, unlike the Captain himself, turntables can be replaced.

But Safe as Milk is where it all starts.  It could have been a runner-up for my "Most Work But Not Necessarily Worth It" award, but I guess I played it one too many times and was converted.

A-

WTFITS Score: 7.5

Dirty Projectors: Bitte Orca (2009)

They are youthful, arty, pretentious, and precious, with a lead singer/songwriter who sounds like a cult leader. In all, annoying as f*ck. Upon my first listen I was tempted to fling the disc into the wall. 

It's my fault, really. I try to take in everything at once and end up hearing nothing at all. At least not the core of the songs. I hear the distractions only, and it first appears that this is made up entirely of distractions. 

Here's how my first few listens went:

First Listen: Grade: D,   WTFITS Score: 9.5 Utter loathing.

Second:        Grade: C,   WTFITS Score: 8.5 Arty, but with good musicianship

Third:           Grade: B-,  WTFITS Score: 7.5 That first song is actually good.

Fourth:         Grade: B,    WTFITS Score: 7.0 The fourth one is very pretty. 

So you see what's going on here? It's wearing me down. Just like this weird shit always does. Goddamn it. It's the old Jaybee shuffle. I go from hate to like/admiration/love and when I recommend it everyone thinks I've lost my mind and I know they're right.

WTFITS Score: 6.5

B+

Pere Ubu: The Tenement Year (1988)

Remember this Jack Benny skit?

A bandit points a gun at Jack Benny.

Bandit: Your money or your life.

Silence.

Bandit: Well??

JB: I'm thinking! I'm thinking!

That's how it was when I thought about buying another Pere Ubu album. Their album Dub Housing remains a 10/10 WTFITS score to this day. And no amount of replays or increased familiarity is going to change that.

But after forty-odd years, I'm in a strong f*ck you kind of mood, so I decided to give them another try.

In one respect they're weirder than ever. That is if you think matching David Thomas' "quirky" vocals with straightforward rock 'n roll, with the synth acting as glue is weird. If not, I take it all back. But otherwise, you might think you're listening to two different records playing at the same time. Maybe three.

But the rock and rock is very, very good. And David Thomas is, well, himself, but more "sociable" than before.

Who knows? You might even like it...

WTFITS: 8.0

B+

Ornette Coleman: The Complete Albums Collection 1958-62

After Of Human Feeling (WTFITS Score 9.0), Song X (9.0), and The Shape of Jazz to Come (8.5) I'm no closer to understanding this man's music than I was forty years ago when I started to try. So I didn't know what getting this set would do other than shorten my life, but that has taken care of itself and I've taken the plunge.

This collection brings together all of Coleman's first eight albums, all of them controversial to one degree or another. Most jazz enthusiasts found it to be an attack on jazz itself, or at least its foundations. My experience (see above) seemed to confirm that view. So I was afraid I was getting an endless barrage of unstructured, atonal, screech. 

And yet given the overall mood I've been in lately, I was attracted to the idea of that barrage. In that respect, it's sad to report that, over these eight albums, the barrage only occurs once. And even that isn't so bad. In fact, it's all really quite good. 

What is here is fast, hard, melodically intricate jazz. I'm just not hearing what's so strange about it. I guess you had to be there then.

And since The Shape of Jazz to Come is here, too, I'm getting to hear it - and enjoy it more - in this new context.

All in all, the news of Ornette's weirdness has been somewhat exaggerated.

WTFITS Score: 7.0

A-

All in all, there's nothing here to really piss people off. I do have a Cecil Taylor CD I can play with the car windows down, though, if needed. 

Nonetheless, all of this music will help me immensely during the farce that is about to commence.

In the meantime, hang onto your humanity.

And your weirdness.

The 14th Annual Jaybee-bies: 2024, or Love Among the Ruins

Billie Eilish

You don't need me to tell you how f*cked up 2024 was. I'll try to identify some silver linings.  

Executive Summary:

Music: Pop music good, if not exactly in my comfort zone. Jazz, Blues, and Oldies wonderful. Weirdos thriving. (More to come on that).

Music/Personal: No longer striving for competence on guitar. 

Personal: Retired and grandfather of two. Getting old fast.

Politics: Everybody knows the war is over, everybody knows the bad guys won. Fascism is cool again, apparently. The young folks - men, mostly - let us down.

Humans:

Best:

• Jimmy Carter
• Adam Kinzinger
• Liz Cheney
• Many, many others who, in my current state, I just can't bring to mind. Feel free to write in some names.

Worst:

The ever-expanding "Usual Suspects", as I called them last year, make a repeat appearance here. I'll only make special mention of their Rookie of the Year, Nancy Mace, whose popularity confirms the existence of a new mini-industry busily producing Awful Women, like veterans Elise Stefanik, Nicole Malliotakis, Marsha Blackburn, Kristi Noem, and others. However, I will risk being accused of sexism by saying they'll never quite match the production of Awful Men. But keep up the bad work gals!

Best Books:

During this, my first year of retirement, my ambition was to "just lie down on the damn couch and read a f*cking book or two". 

And I did! I read all of the following books with great enthusiasm:

• A Distant Mirror by Barbara Tuchman: A remarkable history of Europe (mostly France) in the 14th century. 
• The Spy and the Traitor by Ben MacIntyre: A true-life spy story and a great one.
• Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain: A true-life restaurant story, and a very entertaining one.
• Consciousness Explained by Daniel Dennett: What's an "I", anyway? Mr. Dennett tries to explain.
• Karla's Choice by Ken Hardaway: John le Carre's son admirably continues the George Smiley saga.

The following are part of my World History Project, which has now reached the end of the American Civil War. I read a lot more than these five, but these are the best of the lot:

• The Good Lord Bird by James McBride: A hilarious and tragic retelling of the John Brown story.
• The Fiery Trial: Abraham Lincoln and American Slavery by Eric Foner: Notorious flip-flopper's views on slavery. 
• Battle Cry of Freedom by James McPherson: The entire Civil War, miraculously, in a single volume. 
• Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin: Lincoln and his Cabinet. Possibly the best history book I've ever read.
• Lincoln by Gore Vidal: Vidal could be pompous in interviews and lectures but he did work his ass off to get his historical fiction right. I read this alongside Team of Rvals, and was in awe of his grasp of the details. And, like Burr, it's funny too.

Best Movies:

I did manage to get out and see a few movies, but the only one worth mentioning here is A Complete Unknown. What it may be lacking in specific details, it more than makes up for with Timothee Chalamet's performance (and performances). Ed Norton is also great as Pete Seeger. The music is pretty great, too.

Best TV:

• Somebody Somewhere
• I May Destroy You
• Insecure
• Bodkin

Best Concerts:

Still none. I'm still waiting for one that's worth time/trouble/$.

Music Awards:

Most Work (But Worth it): 

    Billie Eilish

Most Work (And Possibly Not Worth It): 

    The Dirty Projectors

Most Surprising (and Not Necessarily in a Good Way): 

    Nico

Best Nostalgia:

    Jimi Hendrix 

Best Artist:

    Daniel Nigro, producer of both Olivia Rodrigo and Chappell Roan

Best Albums of My Year:

1. Billie Eilish: Where Do We Go When We Fall Asleep? - The key to this young lady, and what eventually wore me down - is not the loopy sound effects (that's her brother). It's the songwriting that stays consistent from beginning to the very end.
2. Cannonball Adderley: Somethin' Else - NOT "worse" than Billie. Just a slower burn.
3. The Quintet: Hot House: The Complete Jazz and Massey Hall Recordings - Ditto.
4. Jimi Hendrix: The Cry of Love - Not a masterpiece. Just a very consistent (that again!) yet relaxed set of tunes with great guitar playing.
5. Chappell Roan: The Rise and Fall of a Midwestern Princess - I'll get to this at another time, but in short, she edges out Olivia by the sheer volume of hooks and emotion she brings to the table. Geez!
6. Olivia Rodriguez: Guts - A smart young woman. NOT worse than Chappell. Just a bit more professional sounding, which is both a plus and a minus.
7. The Chills: Brave Words - Another one for a later time. RIP Martin Phillips.
8. The Feelies: The Good Earth - "Only" rock n' roll and I love it.
9. John Cale: Paris 1919 - Professed weirdo plays it straight with lovely results.
10. Low: I Could Live in Hope - Just how depressed can you get? Find out here and come back alive.

Honorable Mention: Arto Lindsay, Fishermans, Steely Dan, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Stars of the Lid, David Behrman, Elliott Smith, Beyonce

Best Compilations:

1. Muddy Waters: Anthology
2. Robert Johnson: The Complete Recordings
3. The Shirelles: 25 All-Time Greatest Hits 
4. Fats Domino: My Blue Heaven, The Best of...
5. Sir Warrior etc: Heavy on the Highlife!

The Album I Listened To Most but Had the Least to Say About It Due to Density (Mine, not the music's.):

Bach: Violin Concertos

Some of the best songs I heard this year can be found here.

Oh, and Mrs. Jaybee's Favorites:

1. Beyonce: Cowboy Carter
2. Billie Eilish: Where Do We Go When We Fall Asleep?
3. Gorillaz: Cracker Island
4. Bill Withers: The Ultimate Collection
5. Amy Winehouse: Back to Black

Conclusions:

Now with two granddaughters, I'm slowly beginning to understand what life is all about. I hope I'm not too late. 

Pop continues to grow - sometimes away from me. That's okay. I don't have to be in the middle of it. As long as I can find some electric guitar music - now a small sub-section of pop - I'll be okay.

Jazz and blues (and oldies, and older pop) will always be there to fill the gap. I was hoping to keep you informed about new stuff, but if old stuff is new to both of us what's wrong with that?

And finally, I have come to realize that most of my countrymen think a dictator is someone who is NOT popular. A little more education might have helped. One can only hope the bad guys form a circular firing squad.

Happy New Year!

Post Election Blues

Given how one of our esteemed political parties was accused of being weird this election year, I could have called this post "Weirdos, Part 3", but since I'd rather focus on music, I decided not to. 

This one's about music for a special occasion, which the advent of fascism kinda is, doncha think?

Upon hearing the election results I didn't need an analysis. I didn't want some smarty pants nabob explaining things to me. Oh, I wanted to know the why and how all right, but the habit of our media ecosystem to provide an explanation while the fucking thing is still happening just rubs me the wrong way, even if that explanation were to be correct. (It wasn't, of course.) 

It's the same reason why I watch the Superbowl with the sound off. The event itself is quite enough thank you. I don't need the additional aural input. I could see what was going on, and now just f*cking needed quiet. 

Well, not complete silence, mind you - just something that takes that as a starting point, and adds the least possible amount of stuff to end up with something I can deal with. In other words, something that doesn't try to match the energy level of said media ecosystem.

Last time, I mentioned a few records that one might think would fit the bill. But no. They were good at dealing with negative possibilities. I needed something to get me through negative realities. Not overtly political music, either. Just music for (God forgive me for using this word) existential realities.

Robert Johnson: The Complete Recordings (1990)

When I bought King of the Delta Blues Singers about forty years ago I had trouble getting into it. I was young and still had a smidgen of hope. Not even Reagan could inspire me to gaze into the abyss from which it emerged. 

But this year, in the months leading up to November 5, I could listen to this two-CD set in its entirety and love every second. Was I - or it - tapping it a general vibe portending the collapse of what little was left of our social contract? 

This collection has alternate versions of some songs, which some folks might find annoying. If so, King of the Delta Blues Singers is for you. But for now, listening to the complete recordings is a willful act - the equivalent of refusing to leave my room until this new era is over. 

Perfect, but a lot.

A

Low: I Could Live in Hope (1994)

Funny story about this band. A few years ago, I was listening to their eighth album, 2001's Things We Lost in the Fire. It took until near the end of it for me to notice that - probably due to a syncing issue - iTunes had two copies of each song and was playing them in numeric order. In other words, like this: First song, First song again, Second song, Second song again, etc.

I remember thinking wow this album is longer than I realized. But since the songs were so glacial, mournful, and quiet I didn't notice they ended and started again. I thought, well, that's the way they are. They're slow so why wouldn't there be a pause in the middle of each one? 

This time around, I'm listening to their first record where, if anything, they're even more quiet and mournful. I had to listen hard (even with the hearing aids) to confirm there were drums. Oh, yeah, there they are. But there's no beat to speak of here, except that of nails being hammered into a coffin.

Low's music comprises one man and one woman singing in harmony. He plays a muted electric guitar. She plays the drums. They sound like they're in an abandoned church. Their sound fills that space better than any organ or sermon would.

One-word song titles, cryptic, minimal, vaguely menacing lyrics about various states of isolation, disrepair, and dislocation, that don't become explicit until you get to "Rope", followed by their straight version of "You Are My Sunshine".

It's cold, but oddly beautiful. In other words, everything The Marble Index was aiming for but missed. Ripe for parody, but I dare ya. 

Perfect for the day after a particularly tough election.

A-

Cannonball Adderley: Somethin' Else (1958)

I used this as a palette cleanser in between listening to Captain Beefheart and Nico, who I always (well, since just now) saw as an ideal couple.

I've done my best to get exposed to all the top-tier jazz geniuses and am only now getting around to the next-level players. And if you think that's a knock I recommend you listen to "Freddy Freeloader" from Kind of Blue. Yeah, it's the ever-searching Coltrane who takes you to Mars, but Adderley's relaxed, open solo tells you how great things can be here on Earth.

Adderley worked for Davis on KOB and Milestones. Here Davis returns the favor, and one could be forgiven for thinking it's a Davis record. If it is, it's one of his best.

If Kind of Blue is quiet jazz played and heard in the middle of the night, then Somethin' Else is the jazz played - and heard - the following morning, after everyone has had their coffee and is ready to take on the day.

A

The Feelies: The Good Earth (1986)

Gaffa, in his one-star Amazon review, writes:

"I cannot figure out how anyone in their right mind could give this record a good review. You would have to be insane. In this day and age, to have a producer mix the sound of this record/CD to the extent of ruining the vocals is beyond me. This may have been a really good record if the vocals were able to be heard. The music for the most part is really catchy and well done. But, having to listen to the vocals so low ruins the listening experience. I cannot imagine that the band was alright with this, and if they were, shame on you. Terrible all the way around and a huge waste of money."

Now, for Jaybee, that's a rave.  I should say upfront that I was already a fan of the Feelies' first record, the nervous, jittery Crazy Rhythms. But I needed a push to go back for seconds. Thanks Gaffa!

Poor Gaffa. The vocals don't remind him of Lou Reed and the ominous momentum doesn't remind him of the Velvet Underground.  Of course, mere imitation would never be enough, and the Feelies know that, so they're faster, cleaner, and more modest.

Peter Buck from REM (another band known at the time for murky vocals) produces here, and suddenly the two band's similarities are obvious. REM's own third record - made the year before - is good but a little too tangled in the kudzu. This one beats it. The next REM record - while still short of magic - was a little snappier, thanks, I believe, to the influence of this record.

Alas, some of the Feelies' lovable/scary awkwardness got left behind (I can only wonder what Gaffa would have thought of Crazy Rhythms), the chord progressions are well-worn, and the solos usually stick to the scales. And yet they still sound great. Besides their trademark furious strumming, the guitars now chime and echo, too. 

This, their second album, was made six years after their debut. During those years they broke up and then re-formed with a slightly different lineup. That experience may account for some of the lyrical themes. Topics include not flying, taking the road, being away too long, and even company. In other words, rock cliches with aging added for spice, and sung in a manner that fits the music like a glove and makes one hear them as if for the first time. What a relief from singers who sing them as if they're hearing them for the first time. 

The cover of "She Said She Said" is less than essential but it's the thought that counts.

There is no funk here, and no syncopation I can hear. Just drums and bass marching in lockstep with those guitars. The sound of a renewed commitment after some setbacks.

The sound I need now.

A-

We Can Be Weirdos 2: Background-ish Music

Stars of the Lid

David Behrman

Arto Lindsay

If anyone remembers what I did in 2016 to deal with that awful election run-up and result, it will come as no surprise that I immersed myself in the following music for this one. 

Before we delve into our topic today, I offer this article to help with some terminology. I'll delve into three of the categories mentioned, but will ignore the rest because life's too short. 

Muzak:

Musical Kryptonite. It's ignorable if you're familiar with the song they're covering, but if it's something you love you will have heard the abyss. 

After hearing Muzak repeatedly emasculate anything resembling a beat, I waited for their version of John Lennon's "Love". Surely, its slow, gentle melody was impervious to any tinkering. After all, there was nothing in it to emasculate. 

But I was wrong. They did a perky version of it. I tried to track it down (well, I gave it about five minutes) to no avail. So instead I'll provide this readymade playlist, which is all you need to know. You can thank me later but I doubt you will. 

Foreground/Beautiful/Easy Listening/Mellow

I always considered this worse than Muzak, which was at least ignorable in theory and laughable in practice. But F/B/EL/M wanted to be more than that, and to their everlasting shame, they succeeded. 

After all, it's one thing to desecrate actual good songs but entirely another to pluck songs that might have served as individual respites amongst other, louder/faster fare, and then string them together to form a permanent environment of utter conformity, superficiality, and fake feeling. 

My disgust for this category goes back to when I spent years working in a large office where - briefly - everyone listened to their favorite radio stations. Our manager didn't like the "cacophony" (she said it like it was a bad thing) or happiness in general for that matter, and so mandated we all listen to WPAT, which for all intents and purposes was a Muzak station, although they called it Easy Listening. After years of agony, the staff requested a change and we ended up on another Easy Listening station, which played lame songs by the original lame artists. An improvement? Not really. Alas, I got an education in how many people like insipid music. I still have the scars. 

"Mellow Rock" stations might occasionally play an actual good song. But let's face it: the term "mellow rock" should be a contradiction in terms. But they wanted to have it both ways and ended up with lukewarm water. 

And no, I'm not saying you have to listen to actual rock 'n roll music all day long. Just understand when what you're listening to is NOT rock 'n roll, okay?

ANYWAY, I'm putting this record here because it sure sounds like it could belong in this category. However, I detect more than a little feeling here, like the original version of "Love".

Arto Lindsay:Mundo Civilizado (1997)

I thought this guy was all about the skronk. Exhibit A is all nine minutes of his first band's EP A Taste of DNA, circa 1981.

But it turns out I was wrong. I only recently found out Arto spent part of his youth in Brazil, where he absorbed its music (So today's version of white supremacist skinheads can f*ck off right here and go bowling.) before going full No Wave in the late '70s.

I really should have figured out where he was headed, given the relative pop slickness of Greed (1988) - his record with his next band, the Ambitious Lovers.

Here, he's gone full crooner, with very laid-back accompaniment, except when the snare drum makes you sit at attention. It's not dissimilar to "Girl from Ipanema", and just as well suited for early-morning listening. 

And yes, it could have been played on the Easy Listening stations, but it wasn't, was it?

A-

"Complicity"

Ambient:

Here's Wikipedia's excellent definition of Ambient music. But if you just don't have the time, the short definition is music you can put on but don't have to actively listen to. 

When done badly, it's hard to distinguish from New Age, which is just ambient music with an inferiority complex. In other words, it needs to draw attention to itself. 

Ambient just is, and when done well there's a slight chill or distance to it that can leave you feeling something without being manipulated into doing so. And some of it is so moving you end up actively listening anyway.

One of my all-time favorite albums - Brian Eno's Another Green World - has several quiet interludes, but it was really his Discreet Music where he dove in headfirst by programming a couple of tape loops to each play a brief theme - but, crucially, at different speeds - together for 30 minutes. 

And on the next day, he rested. (He really was kind of lazy.) Then he looked upon his creation and said "And it shall be Levon, er, Ambient!"  And the rest, as they say, is boring. 

Or it at least seemed so if you put it on, and like a fifteen-year-old, sat next to your stereo expecting revelation. If instead you put it on and then went about your business, you might forget about it, but then suddenly remember it's on and realize it was filling a void you hadn't noticed was there. 

Of course, one could go too far. The supposed ambient classic Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works, Vol. 2 (all shall hear me and despair!), clocks in at over two hours, is daunting and cold, I found it worked best on those occasions when I needed a look into the abyss. If you're made of stronger stuff than I, you might try it to hear the musical equivalent of Zero Degrees Kelvin. 

(Election Update: 11/5/24 - I now give this record a complete - if unenthusiastic - thumbs up.)

I will instead direct you to two excellent examples of Ambient 101. The first is brief while the other takes its sweet time:

David Behrman: On the Other Ocean (1978)

At first, this sounded quite bland. A little too ignorable. For the first minute or so I kept waiting for William Shatner to intone "Space, the final frontier."

BUT WHEN I REALLY LISTENED (ie, when I finally broke down and got hearing aids) I could hear its simplicity and beauty. (And yes, just like my new speakers did, my new hearing aids might prompt a reappraisal of some music I first found blah-ish.) 

Like Discreet Music, this record uses some computer-generated tones. But instead of pressing the start button and going to lunch, Behrman mucks around a bit with it. And he has actual musicians react to it, and damn if the computer doesn't react right back. It works amazingly well. The second, less famous piece features a cello that could have passed as a droning electric guitar for any pretentious art band trying to empty a room, except it's so unassuming.

Perfect for reading, or doing things around the the house. And if you should decide to be naughty and, what the hell, listen to this not-meant-to-be-listened-to music it repays you many times over

A brief but ideal introduction.

A-

"On the Other Ocean"

Stars of the Lid: The Tired Sounds of... (2001)

This one's much longer. Two freakin hours worth, but still more concise - and bearable - than Selected Ambient Works, Vol. 2.) The length makes it more functional as ambient because you really do get the opportunity to ignore it for a while before picking it up again later. It really has a chance to become part of the environment.

It's more somber than On the Other Ocean. It's difficult to imagine it accompanying a nature video, thus avoiding the New Age label. (I did include a video below that makes that pretty clear.)

I have played all the way through many times - probably more than any other album this year - and enjoyed every minute. Even the parts I wasn't paying attention to. (Hearing aids again, I think.)

It's best for mornings but evenings work okay, too. Acceptable in Summer but Fall seems optimal. This Fall in particular.  It amply supported two hour's worth of anxiety. Now that the election's over I'm going to see if it will do the same for depression (or Depression).

A-

"Requiem for Dying Mothers, Part One"

Next: Perhaps as a reaction to our current situation, It Gets Weirder Still.

We Can Be Weirdos: VU Alumnae

Nico

John Cale

The Time of Your Life vs. No Time At All:

Having recently retired, I veer between two contradictory ideas:

1. I now have all the time in the world, so I will get every Bob Dylan bootleg like my friend Nutboy recommends.
2. I am nearer to the end of my life and time is thus limited. Therefore I must be unrelentingly focused on the best of everything, not in every weird byway.

While my default approach is number one, lately I've been opting for number two.

WYHIWYG vs. WTFITS

Most pop records are pretty straightforward. In the olden days, there was a thing called "airplay", which was needed if a record was to become popular. Thus artists, "encouraged" by the record companies, would try to not scare off DJs, whose motto was "what you don't play can't hurt you". The song had to be short, sweet, and catchy right out of the gate. Thus, the end product tends to be what you expect. They hold no secrets and offer no mysteries. And it's good, even great, sometimes. You get what you pay for. Or, to put it another way, What You Hear Is What You Get (WYHIWYG).

Then there are records that, when you put them on, an unprepared listener is likely to say "What the fuck is this shit?" Call it the WTFITS (pronounced what fits?) Test. I'm not talking about records like Ruby Vroom or Second Edition whose first impressions are quite daunting, but that eventually pull you in. I'm talking about the ones that - after dozens of listens over the course of, ahem, decades - still make you shake your head.

I will never know who the WTFITS GOATs are, but I am aware of some real contenders. In Pop Music there's Pere Ubu and Captain Beefheart. Scratching the surface of Jazz reveals Cecil Taylor and Ornette Coleman. And out there in Classical Music, there's Steely Dan fave Cathy Berberian. And if there are Country and Western weirdos I don't want to know about them. I don't need Deliverance vibes.

In this series about, well, weirdos, I will try to limit myself to new purchases. Of course, my mind wanders, and now that I mention Pere Ubu I ask myself why I have not gotten anything else by them since Dub Housing in the early eighties? Oh, because that record scored highest-ever (in the Jaybee Universe anyway) WTFITS score with a 10 outta 10. Even Trout Mask Replica (9.5) can't match that. And my one listen to Metal Machine Music reveals it to be only a 9.0, as you get the joke rather early in the proceedings.

My reaction to such music can be perverse. Sonic Youth, for instance, has enticed me to buy at least six albums while not fully satisfying me on any of them. How did they do that? Is it like having an argument with someone and you keep going back hoping to come out on top of the conversation. 

This might explain why, after getting two rather mystifying Ornette Coleman albums I'm tempted to put this on my Christmas list.

But deep, deep (deep) down I realize the really really real reason is that cool people like these albums/artists and I want to be cool, too. Never mind that when I actually meet any of these cool people I guard my wallet and look for the exit. It turns out the cool people I meet via the written word tend to be the same ones I avoid on the D train.

So before I do any further damage I'm pulling out all my WTFITS albums and, before I die, come to some understanding of/with them.

In the meantime, I will look at some new (for me) records that are kinda strange. This time I'll limit myself to two Velvet Underground alumnae.

Nico: The Marble Index (1968)

Take Chelsea Girls, subtract the good songwriters (Jackson Browne, Dylan, Lou Reed, etc.) and add random background noise to announce that it's art. Nico mostly disavowed Chelsea Girls, and here she wants to prove her avant-garde bonafides, so she dragged John Cale - producer and fellow VU alum - into this project. Good soldier John doubled down on the Art with a capital A and thus must accept some blame. I imagine Nico standing erect wearing a Viking hat when "emoting" these tunes (a term I use loosely) from the top of Mt. Bindingsnuten.

If the theme is "life sucks and then you die" that's fine, but don't actively try to make it so. I like a lot of music that could make one want to slit one's wrists but this could take out an entire neighborhood.

It starts off okay, with an off-kilter little ditty that sets the doomy tone. Okay, fine, I'm thinking, you're preparing me. So I get comfortable in my chair and wait. Then she does it again. And again. And so on. 

I will admit that after repeated listenings, a few songs do emerge, but alas, they recede again as the accompaniment (again Cale) is erratic bordering on random. On one song the background adds tension and thus improves things a bit, on another song it just gives the sense of two blind people occasionally bumping into each other in a dark room.

The climax is "Evening of Light", which - as you can see below - belongs in a cheap '70s horror flick. It reminds me of the worst parts of Pleasures of the Harbor and the best parts of The Wicker Man.

And yet, I don't hate it. It just needs a label, like "Warning: Pretentious, Bordering on Silly".

B-

John Cale: Paris 1919 (1973)

Having spent last summer with Lou, I felt it only fair to dip back into John Cale's oeuvre (I always  have wanted to write - but not necessarily pronounce - that word!). I've got his three albums on Island Records, which are good, if not exactly catchy. His 1990 collaboration with Eno is a lot more fun.

Cale, by the way, was born in Wales, was quickly recognized as a musical prodigy, and ended up in America playing with avant-garde luminaries like La Monte Young and Terry Riley, and playing 18-hour concerts as one does. 

He then met Lou Reed and formed the Velvet Underground, playing, among other things viola. After he got tossed out of the band (just Lou being Lou) he went on on to produce numerous artists including the Stooges, Patti Smith, Nico, the Modern Lovers, and Squeeze. And his own solo career would be singularly idiosyncratic without all the Lou Reed nastiness.

This is probably his most accessible record. Quite lovely and way more enjoyable than anything Lou was doing at the time. I guess this is Cale's stab at commercialism, just to show he could do it. But he can't without it coming out weird anyway. How does one recruit half of Little Feat and get them to sink into the mix without a trace? (Well, they do manage to bust out for "MacBeth".) I guess after years of trying to bend Lou Reed to his will (and vice versa) Lowell George was a piece of cake.

It's a bit baroque, rife with literary and historical references. What undermines it is his not exactly unpleasant but kinda shaky voice. He sounds like he's hanging onto the melody for all it's worth, and occasionally falling off. If it were sung more skillfully, it might have been one of the best records of the decade.

Alas, it's only pretty freaking good.

A-

Next: It gets weird(er)

Normies but Goodies

I've been spending a lot of time with weirdos lately. And by "spending time" I mean listening to their records, not hanging out with them. So let's have a post spotlighting the infinitely sane folks pictured above could serve as a palette cleanser before I go down that deep hole.

Timing Really Is Everything:

Pre-1964: Music didn't mean anything to me. All I knew were the Irish records my mom and dad played, which were ridiculously uncool (accordions) and downright depressing (the Troubles). Elvis was no help because I interpreted his sneer as him being conceited, and six-year-old Irish Catholic me did not like that!

1964: One assassination later, the Beatles arrived and that was that. Anything before that may as well not have existed. My attitude would only harden as I bore my parents' constant criticism of any person with an electric guitar. Say the following aloud with a brogue and you'll get the idea: 

    There'll never be a Beatles record in this house!

So I figured the best defense was a good offense, and I'd show nothing but contempt for anything pre-Beatles. And that meant 1950's rock 'n roll, too.

1972: Two assassinations later, and I was in full rock-snob-mode. Long guitar solos meant rock musicians were virtuosos, prog rock meant they were intelligent, and the Grateful Dead meant they wrote better songs. (Well, one out of three ain't terrible.) I hated Fifties music. It was simplistic, sappy, and lame. It also emphasized vocals when I wanted electric guitars. When WCBS-FM switched from a pretty good AOR format to oldies I was outraged. Having a station devoted to something other than '60s music suggested that there might be something lacking in it. I wasn't having any of that.

So I reacted by mocking oldies mercilessly. One song was the epitome of all that was wrong with it: "Soldier Boy" by the Shirelles. The first time I heard it, I scoffed at the melodramatic opening line, found the melody to be simplistic in the extreme, and the rest of the lyrics trite. After all, there wasn't a war or anything, was there? Four girls singing with an orchestra was just as wrong as could be. 

1985: This was the year of the great Mr. and Mrs. Jaybee wedding and, almost as significantly, record-collection merge. Having only purchased quality music myself, I needed to ensure my collection remained free of any "impurities", so I made a point of listening to every one of Mrs. Jaybee's records before admitting them into the collection. 

Amidst the occasional good album was some disco, R&B - neither of which I'd yet come to appreciate - and, lo and behold, The Best of the Shirelles - a ten-song single record with a crappy black and white cover photo AND the corner cut away, indicating a budget buy. The presentation was a clear indication of the "quality" inside. After some rest and preparation, I put it on, patiently awaiting thirty excruciating minutes of bad pop music, and failed to hear any. 

1987: I played it again and couldn't detect a single awful song. I played it yet again, and couldn't detect a single mediocre song. I did hear a couple of great ones, though.

Like "Soldier Boy", whose melody now sounded timeless, and the lyrics innocent and longing, the singing utterly artless and all the more powerful for that. And although even they don't know it yet, they're talking about fucking Viet Nam. Or may as well have.

This was folk Art.

2024: I decided there is some music out there I don't want to leave undiscovered, and ten Shirelles songs were no longer enough. So I opted for this compilation.

Shirelles: All Time Greatest Hits (1999)

Okay, so it's not a thirty-minute flash of genius that the knockoff LP was. It's over an hour (26 cuts!) of usually great and otherwise excellent music. It feels more complete if less miraculous. 

Highlights:

"Foolish Little Girl", where I'm tempted to sing the first line of the chorus But I love him! out loud at random/inappropriate times (supermarket, airport, restaurant, etc.)

"Tonight's the Night" kicks the Rod Stewart song's ass, and gives Neil Young a run for his money.

Their comparably matter-of-fact version of "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" edges out Carole King's more emotive version. Ditto their "Baby It's You" vs. Smith's version.

I could go on, but will instead report the Shirelles are rightfully in the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame. Luther Dixon, their main songwriter, alas, is not.

But I love him! (You see what I mean?)

 A

Fats Domino: My Blue Heaven: The Best of Fats Domino (2006)

Now who would want to get a record by Fats Domino? The songs are sweet enough but they are ubiquitous on oldies radio. So you sing along or dance along at a wedding because they're so damn simple and catchy, but don't take him seriously right? Indeed, his affable persona might cause one (me) to underestimate him. 

Slightly wider exposure to his music makes a strong argument for him as one of the founders of rock 'n roll, at least the New Orleans version. It's astounding that such simple music could still sound so vital.

How could this be? Is it the accompaniment that is terrific throughout? Good tunes? That affable persona? Good guesses, but here's some actual evidence:

The bottom of "Ain't That a Shame" is astounding. (No, not his ass. Although... Subject for Further Research: Did Fats have a nice ass?). The piano, bass, drums, and god knows what else that provides the bomp in between the poetry: 

    Oh well   BOMP BOMP   Goodbye   BOMP BOMP   Although   BOMP BOMP   I'll cry

    Ain't that a shame!

And have you ever heard anything that summarized the human condition so concisely? It makes "Love In Vain" seem like Infinite Jest. And speaking of concision, these songs all clock in at the low 2-minute range. Why did it take our '70s heroes twice as long to say essentially the same thing?

Other highlights include:

• The sax on "I'm In Love Again" is to die for. 
• Fats' singing is out front on "Valley of Tears" so you can hear his voice in all its glory.
• And who gets away with singing oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh for over half the song before he starts singing actual words as Fats does on "Please Don't Leave Me"? (The title does the heavy lifting.)
• And is that ska I'm hearing on "By My Guest Tonight"? Did he invent that, too?
• It ends, appropriately enough, with "What a Party". Try it out at your next one and see.

With all this under his, ahem, belt, you'd think Fats would be an asshole. But he appears to actually be the humble entertainer we all see him as. (Kanye, take note.)

A

Next: Things, Alas, Get Weird