Esoteric’s timely reissues of these two National Health discs are a strong reminder of just how important [keyboardist Dave] Stewart was at a time when there were few, if any rules and it was not just acceptable, but demanded to pursue all avenues to their logical conclusions . . . and, often, beyond. Esoteric’s forthcoming Hatfield and the North reissues will, no doubt, bolster this belief even further, providing further evidence that it was and remains possible to create music of great compositional depth without resorting to excessive self-indulgence or over-consideration.
At a time when national health is on every yanqui’s mind, the only national health that anyone should be paying attention to is of the musical kind from late ’70s England.
Canterbury-born Hugh Hopper—bassist and founding member of the Wilde Flowers which split into two legendary bands: Caravan and Soft Machine—has died at age 64, in Kent, England.
The “Canterbury scene” remains to this day completely unknown to most who grew up with progressive rock’s late ’60s and early ’70s royalty—ELP, Genesis, King Crimson, Pink Floyd, Yes.
A heady amalgam of whimsy, psychedelia, and modern jazz, the Canterbury scene produced many of progressive rock’s finest albums, the McCartney-Lennon school of pop meeting the Davis-Coltrane school of improvisation.
A primer, then, to essential Canterbury recordings:
Last night The Wife and I had the rare pleasure of seeing Jeff Beck perform live, the first of two nights at the El Rey Theatre, capacity 700.
I knew we were in for quite the show when Beck opened with “Beck’s Bolero,” followed by “The Pump,” and then “Cause We’ve Ended As Lovers,” featuring bass wunderkind Tal Wilkenfeld. Providing the muscular backbeat was Vinnie Colaiuta, one of the all-time great drummers, while keyboardist Jason Rebello impressed on more than one occasion with tasteful solos.
Now I’ve seen a lot of guitar greats (Beck’s Yardbirds’ alumni, Eric Clapton and Jimmy Page; fusion giants, Al di Meola and John McLaughlin; and luminaries from rock’s pantheon, Ritchie Blackmore, Billy Gibbons, David Gilmour, Steve Howe, Alex Lifeson, Steve Morse, Keith Richards, Carlos Santana, Steve Vai, Eddie Van Halen), but there’s something about Jeff Beck that leaves everyone else wanting. Perhaps it’s his ability to swing from soulful lyricism to soul-sucking pyrotechnics in the same breath without ever seeming to lose his breath or sight of where he wants to take his solo.
Last night’s show also featured a two-song surprise cameo by Beck’s old cohort Rod Stewart (“People Get Ready” and “I Ain’t Superstitious), the first time the two have been on stage together since 1983.
To finish the set, Joss Stone took the stage to sing “I Want to Take You Higher.”
Honestly, I couldn’t imagine getting any higher after that incendiary set.
Last night I had the long-awaited pleasure of watching the Master Musicians of Jajouka perform live (at UCLA’s Royce Hall, part of their six-city US Winter Tour 2009). I’ve been a fan for almost 20 years, a dreadfully brief time considering their music, by some estimates, has been passed down for over 1300 years. (Beat writer William S. Burroughs famously described MMJ as a “4000-year-old rock band”.)
It’s difficult to describe the music of Jajouka, especially to Western ears . . . the serpentine buzz of ghaitas (double-reed horns made of apricot wood whose sound most resembles oboes) matched with the insistent percussion of tebels, djarbougas, and bendirs creates a trance-like, “flangeable” soundscape that—eyes closed, ears open—eventually reveals the deceptively simple melodies and rhythms disguised by the swirling music’s immediate intricacies.
Listen for yourself:
If you ever get the chance to witness a Jajouka performance, hesitate not. Like The Wife, you may be pleasantly surprised by how well a night of Jajouka goes down.
On our way home tonight from a relatively impromtu dinner with Dave, Robyn, Karl & Baby Finn in Redondo Beach, side one of Rush’s 2112 shuffled its way to the front of my iPod.
Racing down the 405, The Wife and I sang our way through the entire suite at the top of our lungs.
And, yes, she knew every line, from “We are the priests” to “We have assumed control.”
A second Zen Pirates song for your listening pleasure. Click here to listen to “I Caught a Wave.”
“Hold Me Down” was recorded at Planet Dallas Studios in 1993 after we had become a power trio: Mikey Brown on guitar and lead vocals; Dave Willyard on drums and vocals; yours truly on bass.
Before fiction became my sole creative output (outside of the occasional meal that teases even the culinary gods), I was a bass player in search of rock stardom. Had I succeeded you’d certainly have read my obituary by now—another young soul lost to sex, drugs & rock ’n’ roll. . . .
It would’ve made sense, though: “Whole Lotta Love” is the first song I remember falling in love with (way back in 1970 at the tender age of five) and Led Zeppelin became the band I most wanted to emulate—in success and excess.
In twenty years of serious playing my most successful band was Zen Pirates, formed in 1991 on the beaches of South Padre Island, Texas, and then again in the living room of our (first) singer’s mother’s house in Plano, Texas. I could write for weeks about the band and all its adventures, misadventures, successes, failures, near-death experiences, and ever-changing lineups . . . and perhaps one day I will. . . .
Yesterday I received an e-mail from Zen Pirates’ second and longest-serving drummer (and, honestly, the best drummer I’ve ever played with). Included were six ZP songs recently transferred from the original DATs. (Others, including a myriad of live recordings, will shortly receive the same treatment.)
Of these six songs (two are actually different versions of the same song), one in particular has stuck with me all these years.
“I Caught A Wave” captures the essence of Zen Pirates in our tumultuous 1992–93 period. This particular version was recorded in 1993 at Planet Dallas Studios after we had become a power trio. The performances aren’t particularly great (our manager-producer, Adam Mitchell, insisted we play with a click track—rock ’n’ roll don’t need no stinkin’ click track!) and neither is the sound. The song, though? To say I’m still proud would be putting it mildly. It rocks as hard today as it did then.