Chewing Pine

Harry Taussig – Fate is Only Once (Tompkins Square, 2008)

Comparing this, the lone, 1965 release of Harry Taussig, to another instrumental Tompkins Square Records re-release – that of Richard Crandell – reveal some striking differences. Even with obvious proficiency at the acoustic guitar, Taussig’s less polished playing easily places his talents a bit bellow those of Crandell.

That being understood, Taussig’s limited career is to blame for any perceived blemishes listeners find here. He does reach beyond his natural abilities, but that, in a musician, should lead to expanding one’s talent. Unfortunately, Taussig wouldn’t record again, so listeners won’t ever know.

Based solely on the contents of this album – although not really in the same league as 6 and 12 String Guitar – the potential follow-up could have been staggering.

Beginning Fate… with a Rev. Gary Davis cover forces a specific expectation. Davis, who should be considered rag-time guitar’s most creative practitioner, can so rarely be matched, that leading the disc off with “Baby Let Me Lay It on You (That’ll Never Happen No More)” could have only led to disappointment. To Taussig’s credit, he is able to imbue the song with a strong lyrical feel. The playing here just doesn’t seem to be as syncopated or assured as that of Davis’.

There are a few other covers, hinting at Taussig’s affinity for clear and danceable melodies. In his cover of a Shelton Brooks number, the guitarist is able to morph “Dark Town Strutter’s Ball” into something of his own – or at least a Rev. Gary Davis version of the song.

A great deal of the album is devoted to lithe numbers and dancing guitar, but “Dorian Sonata” is a drastic departure in tone from the rest of the disc. The pronounced chording accents the tune, but the progression moves towards a darkness absent in the other eleven tracks. While not in the music, downheartedness seemed to overcome Taussig in the titling of “Rondo to Death” as well as “Fate is Only Once.”

This final track perhaps points to the future stylistic changes that Taussig foresaw for himself. A very distinctive melody persists for a minute at the beginning of the song. And while he undoubtedly duffs a few notes, Taussing moves to an unsettling rag – not all too accented – but slow and emotionally heartfelt none the less.

Everything about Fate is Only Once can be understood from this last track. An earnest and emotional man poured every part of himself it into these recordings. And because of that, it’s regretful that solitary disc is all listeners have to reflect upon.

Tracklist:
01 – Baby Let Me Lay It on You (That’ll Never Happen No More)
02 – Blues For Zone VII
03 – Dark Town Strutter’s Ball
04 – R.R. Bill & Co.
05 – Rev’s Rag
06 – Sugar Babe, Your Papa Cares For You
07 – National Ragtime Stomp
08 – Rondo to Death
09 – Monte’s Blues
10 – Dorian Sonata
11 – St. Louis Tickle
12 – Fate Is Only Once

Top Hats for Meat Flaps

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Bill DeArango: Clevo Jazz

Interestingly enough, Bill DeArango’s love of guitar pushed him through various eras of jazz and even into psych rock. He eventually lent his talents to some Cleveland locals in a group called Henry Tree. On the album Electric Holy Man (produced by Bob Shad of Mainstream Records fame), you can hear how DeArango was able move from the hard bop of Gillespie to the prog-rock of North-East Ohio.

There’s no use in my waxing about this gentleman – except he ran a music shop down the street from where I grew up. If you take a look HERE, you can find out all you need to know.

The Outsider: The Story of Harry Partch

Orange – In the Midst of Chaos (De Stijl, 2008)

More likely than not, if  Paul Flaherty didn’t play on this disc, it wouldn’t have been re-released. That, though, is a moot point – he did. Originally recorded at the tail end of the ‘70s, the disc finds Flaherty engaged in a musical discourse with, most notably, guitarist Barry Greika. Greika would not continue on to become a ubiquitous name in free-jazz/improv like Flaherty, but on this session the guitarist’s performance makes up for any structural short comings in the music.

The sound Greika’s guitar emits recalls ECM tonalities, but at times becomes more inimical than any player tied to that label. Much of Greika’s time is spent interacting with Flaherty’s sax, birthing an eastern influenced free jazz, not unlike passages offered by Pharaoh Sanders.

The comparison to Sanders may not be the most appropriate – there’s little chanting here and no Afro-centric tracks coming from this group who lived in the northeast. Orange does though indulge in polyrhythmic percussion, even having two of Flaherty’s brothers sit in on a few tracks to engorge the ensemble with drumming.

Even as these players are added, much of the music here seems unfinished. Perhaps that’s due to the level of advancement some of the players were at – although Flaherty was around thirty by the time of this session. There generally seems to be very little structured chording and while the intangible groove is reached in a number of places, only brief stretches of brilliance call out.

“Peace,” really in many ways, encapsulates this entire slab of music. The track seems underdeveloped, clocking in at less than two minutes. But in those two minutes the ambient music runs through a great deal of modern jazz history. Unfortunately, the later half of the album – subsequent to “Peace” – was the only point where Orange fully integrates effects and the studio process to change to direction of its music. For an anachronistic Connecticut recording to achieve what In the Midst of Chaos reached is unquestionably a comment on not just the developing talent Flaherty, but of Greika’s unrealized potential.

Jeggae, Part 01

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Richard Crandell – In the Flower of Our Youth (Tompkins Square, 2008)

A few years ago, picking up any music publication exposed readers to “New Weird America,” alternatively referred to as “Freak Folk.” Devandra Banhart was a fashion plate and James Jackson Toth was releasing dozens of albums. Now, Banhart’s an exhibitionist and Toth plays in a more straight ahead style. The faux-media frenzy that coalesced around all of these artists was capitalized on by some who began re-releasing hard to find folk albums – again occasionally and insipidly called “loner folk.” Tompkins Square isn’t amongst the profiteers. They helped reintroduce Peter Walker to the world and have been steadily releasing albums that touch the past and push the future.

Richard Crandell is still around, picking. Of late, he has released two albums for Tzadik in 2004 and 2007, while In the Flower of Our Youth was re-released on compact disc last year followed by the TSQ vinyl version. This album, finds the guitarist fully formed and basking in the influence of all that is instrumental American folk music. There is a hint of blues, but nothing as overt as in efforts by Fahey. Of course Kottke too is a cornerstone of this music, being given “Minuet for Leo” as a namesake. This is a two way relationship though. On his 1975 album Chewing Pine Kottke turns in a rendition of Crandell’s “Rebecca” that eschews the droning low note and sounds less muscular than the version found here.

It’s odd to describe instrumental guitar music as muscular, but that’s why Crandell is unique. He also manages to summon some pretty dark imagery during “Diagonal” and “Shamrock.” In the later track, notions of Ireland are the assumed genesis of the music, but somewhere Crandell gets lost. He may intend to invoke rolling hills and beer, but in Crandell’s unification of variegated techniques, he accidentally creates something much darker than the title could hint at. It does some bouncing and dancing around, but a menacing undertone is persistent throughout. Given that gloomy notion, it should be understood that a great deal of the music found here is quite playful and if the tunes aren’t enough, listeners can hear Crandell blurt out, “Have a burger. Good night,” during “Assembly Line.”

In the Flower of Our Youth can be rewarding for listeners who enjoy this segment of American music and culture. At times Crandell even comes close to the consistency of his forbearers. But if you don’t own Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death, pick that up first.

The Wally Shoup Qtet: Drawn Apart

A musician must find his space in the world. Some are satisfied in one spot. Some feel an inclination to move around, to ramble. But these experiences affect their playing. During this tumult, the innate human endeavor to find companionship presents itself as a doubly difficult task for musicians. In addition to finding a mate to live with and not want to fight, a musical mate must also be sought. In some ways this might be a more difficult task than finding love. No, you don’t have to live in close proximity or even in the same city, but communication, interaction and understanding is still tantamount to success. With the various outlets for free music, a strain proffered by Coltrane and his disciples, Seattle services not just Bumbershoot. Seattle Improvised Music, the various ‘burbs and Anacortes Jazz gatherings as well as the Earshot Festival provide release for local and national jazz players. Since 1918 and the Grand Benefit Ball, hosted by the NAACP, featuring Miss Lillian Smith’s Jazz Band, Seattle fosters those who traverse the jazz idiom. Coming from various corners of the country and the state, the Wally Shoup Quartet stands as one of Seattle’s most forward looking ensembles. The European influence of Gust Burns on piano, polyrhythmic infatuations manifesting themselves in the appendages of Greg Campbell, East Coast assuredness come North West self reliance in the round tones of Ruben Radding’s bass and Wally Shoup’s unnerving energy create an unequalled squalling and beautiful mess of sound. Too bad everyone doesn’t call the same place home any longer. The two main rovers of the group, Radding and Shoup have called enough different cities home to lose count. Something led both of these men here and something separated them as well.

Though more than a decade earlier than bassist Ruben Radding, Wally Shoup began exploring the noises he was able to coax from a sax in the early seventies. It seems the time that he chose to begin playing allowed him the fortunate opportunity of discovering music during an era when musicians were still able to amass label support for bizarre endeavors. Beefheart was between the enigmatic Trout Mask Replica and Lick My Decals Off, Baby. And while Coltrane had exited this world to the next, his disciples raged into the following decade with Pharaoh Sanders releasing Thembi and Village of the Pharaohs. This was the musical backdrop in which Shoup “began practicing daily” and “exploring the intricacies of the instrument”. The search was on for same-thinking players. And early enough a musical partner was proffered in Ross Rabin. Together these two, along with Keith Gardner would release Scree-Run Waltz in the early ‘80s.

As a resultant effect of recording and self-releasing Scree-Run Waltz, a twenty something noise advocate from New York began following the career of Wally Shoup. This personage, Thurston Moore, who would become acclaimed and captivate the ears of slackers across the country, would not be a consistent collaborator. Eventually, another New Yorker would. For a time at least.

At about this same time as this tape only release, in our nations’ capitol a young Radding was exercising his musicality within the “intensely serious” band, Age of Consent, before moving on to play with Dave Grohl in Dain Bramage. Each act was on the effete side of Punk, falling into the unfortunately named New Wave category.

While a Grohl collaborator, Radding, prompted to an encore in 1987, improvised a song after running through the entirety of the Dain Bramage cannon.

“All agreed that it was excellent,” Radding expounded, “but the others in the band refused to ever do it again!” Perhaps due to the uncertainty of the outcome, Radding’s band mates relegated him to servitude under others’ constructed musical writings.

Even if Shoup was a bit antiquated for what was ‘70s punk, Radding grew up amidst the flood of D.C. hardcore bands and in one way or another absorbed some of the attitudes that punk glorified: “anti-consumerism, self-determination and lack of aesthetic rules”. Championing those ideas was and will continue to coalesce scenes. But free-jazz or improvisers are still only figuring out how to take advantage of the market that still buys Sun Ship or Bap-Tizum. Radding observes that “nowadays the musicians in the jazz world are catching up with where we were 25 years ago, starting their own record labels, booking their own tours. Any music that doesn’t get much corporate or mass audience support is going to operate this way, with the artists and hardcore enthusiasts taking matters into their own hands.” No one can argue this point. And in a round about way, Shoup and Radding think the same thing, express it differently verbally and similarly musically.

Of the many avenues Shoup uses as a creative release, his website plays host to a few of his writings on music. In one essay he describes the relation between Punk and Free-Jazz. It’s interesting to note that he differentiates the Sex Pistols, the Damned and other assorted groups, as Punk Rock, not as Punk. Beefheart, he postulates, is Punk. And while that’s hard to argue, Beefheart was also a number of other things and is now a recluse. Ostensibly, the root of what Shoup seeks to uncover is the lack of precedent for tracing a music backwards. Beefheart was punk. There was not an antecedent. For that matter Zappa or Syd Barrett can be referred to as punk because what they did was an aural fuck all. The British Punk faire he mentions is criticized for substituting posturing for musical proclivity. Punk, in its most obvious form will keep the basic above ground musical tenets, which Shoup identifies as having a “keeper of the beat, player of the right notes at the right time in the right way.” The point he misses is that, Beefheart may have created a stirring racket that any listener in the ‘60s or ‘70s found alluring and subversive, but he never barked the lines “Fuck this and fuck that/Fuck it all and fuck a fucking brat” as Johnny Rotten did.

Radding’s musical experiences were enough prodding to transplant himself from D.C. to New York where his life became “about sitting alone in a room with a keyboard, which I don’t play worth a damn, scribbling dots and lines on paper, which no one would ever hear,” he sarcastically recalls. The scholarly approach to music was not an advantageous one to Radding. Luckily, while working in a bookstore, he discovered Anthony Braxton. His playing was changed irrevocably.

Finding that his experiences in D.C. and New York had taken their course and after a brief layover in Missoula, Radding made it to Seattle in the spring of 1997. Burnt out from travel and his musical endeavors, Radding sought a break from action and settled in the North West. Bereft of his dormant musical inclinations, Radding eventually sought out solace in improvising, finding Shoup and his musical brethren.

Discovering a complimentary player is perpetually difficult. Add to that fact, that the form is non existent and this compounds the problem. Enough similarities existed in style and concept that Shoup immediately knew he “found a great player” after musically conversing with Radding. The immediacy and rhythmic irregularities, which in this music stand for regularity, endeared Radding to Shoup and countless other groups that he has played with. The bassist explains this by supposing, “I have a tendency in my playing to imply form and others pick up on that.” Even amidst the maelstrom of sound Radding’s bass techniques manage to collect any ensembles thoughts and terrestrialize other players’ warblings.

“I don’t define the music material as much as I define how it will be shaped and developed,” figures Radding.

Coming from New York, coincidentally an incubator for Free Jazz and Punk, Radding possessed a different perspective and had different experiences, like being involved with the precursor of the now defunct club Tonic. “The jazz scene was shockingly conservative,” Radding recalls about Seattle upon his arrival. “The Jazz scene and the Free Improv communities were not as integrated as they were in NY,” he continued via e-mail. Since leaving the North West and venturing back to Brooklyn, which he calls the “center of this music”, Radding has played with a variety of groups ranging in sound from Klezmer back to more Jazz oriented ensembles. “I prefer to be in New York for many reasons, the pool of talent, the diversity, the challenges.”

The Quartet of Shoup, Radding, Burns and Campbell gave Seattle an improv group that equals the progressive tag that Seattle has acquired. Although Radding now calls the East Coast home, the group has recorded and released an album entitled The Levitation Shuffle. The settings that the band creates for Shoup’s horn become familiar, allowing conversations between players to develop. At once the band can be caterwauling and the next moment, Shoup drops out and development amongst three musicians ensues. Suppressed and quiet explorations without a leader provide needed breaks from louder actions and serve to punctuate Shoup’s re-entry into the fold. There is a hint of David Thomas (Pere Ubu), who might be considered a punk himself, in Shoup’s horn work. Much like the vocal entanglements Thomas ensnared himself in, Burns and Shoup frequently arouse imagery of family infighting replete with emotional outbursts. The Quartet, and its recording, question what can and should be considered proper playing. It challenges the listener to not only appreciate the sounds that they hear, but to make it through the recording and view the distinctive tracks as a single entity. The Wally Shoup Quartet was a single entity, briefly. Now only chance circumstances reunite them.