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-