the trio live in echo park, 10/2/2010

Glenn Gould Redux

September 25, 2010 would have been Glenn Gould's 78th birthday. He died at the age of 50 (on my 17th bithday). How he would have dealt with his advanced age, I have no idea. Very likely not well, I would guess.

But I think he would have loved our era.

Glenn Gould was one of the greatest classical pianists of the 20th century. He erupted into the world music scene in 1955 with his recording of Bach's Goldberg Variations, a set of 32 short variations (with aria)all in the key of G, outlining the path of the G chord to the D chord. I know, on its face it doesn't sound like all that eventful a musical journey. It was seen as marginal Bach.

But this eccentric, erratic Canadian upstart turned it insto a completely transformative musical experience. He played it on the modern piano (not harpsichord). His ability to give every note clarity -- not just the stuff in the forefront, but all of it -- animated Bach's music a way none of his other champions had never been able to accomplish. Not Landowska, Casals, or even Stokowski. Glenn did for Bach's voice what Schnabel did for Beethoven and Rubinstein did for Chopin: he conquered the mechanics and brought the art and mysteries to the fore. It's not just virtuoso hands at this level. It's virtuoso insight as well.

Gould's Goldberg's likely would have assured him an eternal place as a concert star if all he'd done was to toe the line of barqoue keyboard music, but he was posessed of different artistic and philosophical needs. He recorded most of the stuff a big classical pianist is supposed to -- Mozart, Haydn, Beethover et al -- but often turned in performances that served less to illuminate than to provoke. Which is fine, because as many "nice" recordings as there are of a lot of these warhorses, it was nice to have a Glenn Gould breathing new life into them, even if it wasn't the life the composers might have preferred (especially in the case of the Mozart piano sonatas). Glenn Gould was the closest thing to the Sex Pistols the classical world has so far given us, Nigel Kennedy's haircut notwithstanding.

Gould retired from the concert stage in 1964 (his last performance was here in LA at the Wilshire Ebell). He hated touring and was a notorious canceller. He wanted to stay in Toronto and concentrate on recording, producing radio documentaries for CBC, journalism, and whatever else struck his fancy. This decision caused as much controversy as any did of his performances. The idea that a performer's internal artistic alchemy turned him away from live audiences in favor of... Well, he wanted to be able to play something under optimum conditions and also to be free of the distractions of courting the concertgoer's favor. It was Gould's contention that, if a performer was left to his own devices, he would be forced to follow his truest creative conscience, instead of just doing the kinds of moves that grab applause. The resultant recording would then be a truer picture of what the performer imagines that piece of music to be, something much more honest.

I'm not sure he's wrong. Anyone who has attended a modern electric blues ordeal -- as I did the other night, opening for Willie Nelson -- where some showboat wanks away at two high notes while a bunch of beer drinking chowderheads go nuts knows what I mean. The classical world is plagued with the same hateful hateful practices and similarly satisfied chowderheads, and Gould wanted none of it. Gould's harshest assesments of his own performances generally included the phrase "a great deal of piano playing" -- i.e. coarse attention-getting stunts on the instrument rather that honestly making real music in the moment.

Gould's post-concert career saw him alternately as pianist, media critic, broadcaster, historian, and Canadian statesman. He was a dynamic and unique figure, musically and otherwise.

I have, in recent months, thought often about the difference between musicians who play because there's an audience and those who would do music even if there wasn't one. Gould definitely falls into the latter camp (I'd like to hope I do, too).

In 1981, a year before his death, Gould returned to the Goldberg's, bringing his career to full circle, with a reimagining of the aria and variations that made him such a topic of conversation. The later recording is slower and more introspective. Definitely the stuff of a man who has seen the world. But in there are still the fingerprints of the same 23 year old boy who greeted Bach with the save loving, mischevious thrill of discovery that so colored his initial Goldberg's recording.

Glenn Gould is a patron saint to every thinking musician I've ever met. Much has been made of eccentricities, but Itzhak Perlman told me something that sums it up:

"Anyone can be as eccentric as he chooses. You're free to do that. But it's not exactly like we're all free to concieve and play on Mr Gould's level."

the skip heller trio digs jimmy reed

Bill Monroe's 99th Birthday

Arguably the most important small combo leaders of the 20th century were Muddy Waters, Art Blakey, and Bill Monroe, the Father of Bluegrass Music. None of these guys completely invented his genre, but each shaped his genre in his image. There was electric blues before Muddy. After Muddy, the term meant something very specific. Ditto with hard bop and Blakey.

Bill Monroe crystallized and shaped string band music in a radical way, albeit not overnight. We see his initial moves toward the new string band music first in 1934, with his brother Charlie. They start recording for Bluebird in '36, and cut about five albums' worth of really incredible duos. After he and Charlie split up, he went about the research and development that would result as bluegrass. Different instrumental combinations -- including accordion, played by Howdy Forrester's wife Shirley -- until December 1945. Lester Flatt on guitar and vocals, Chubby Wise on fiddle,and Cedric Rainwater on bass were joined by a new banjo player. David "Stringbean" Akeman was replaced.

Monroe initially wanted Don Reno for the job, but he was serving in the military at that point (in Burma). Flatt heard Scruggs' powerful three-finger style, with its rhythmic drive and piercing high note thrust, and ... the rest is not only history, but also much of the present. The Bill Monroe and his Bluegrass Boys sides cut for Columbia from 1946-8 are still the template for bluegrass performance.

This was only the first great wave of his career, and only his first truly great lineup. The talent that would go through that band and take shape is as rich as that from the bands of Muddy, Blakey, Miles, and Basie. Likewise, his new discoveries always upped the stylistic ante. Jimmy Martin's vocals gave the band the piercing, anguished "high lonesome sound" (and his guitar playing did aggressive new rhythmic things). Bill Keith's banjo took the instrument to places even Earl hadn't considered. And the fiddle playing of Kenny Baker might be comparable only to the alto saxophone of Cannonball Adderley for its blend of originality, invention, and earthiness. And Bill Monroe's mandolin playing remains at the core of the bluegrass language for its blend of Scots-Irish fiddle tunes and pure blues. Like Louis Armstrong, Bill Monroe was not only the premiere instrumental influence on his genre, but the primary vocal influence as well.

"Uncle Pen" was cut in the fifties. I'm not sure when this clip is from, but it's a nice performance. I wish I could find a nice clip of him performing "Scotland", a sixties offering that shows his finger to be on the pulse of hundreds of years of deep tradition. "Uncle Pen" is Monroe at his most autobiographical. Pen was his uncle, Pendleton Vandevier. The fiddle tune in it is "Jenny Lind".

Today, as I am writing, it is Bill Monroe's 99th birthday. He died in 1996, but his spirit and influence are still moving mountains.

in defense of george strait

Even though he was inducted a few years back into the Country Music Hall of Fame, George Strait doesn't get his due respect.

Not since Conway Twitty has any country artist lobbed so many really good hit records into the upper regions of the charts. Then again, Twitty never really got his due, either. The Strait hits of the 1980's got slagged a lot here in California, and that's just plain wrong. Not only were there a great many hits in Strait's canon, but a high percentage of those songs became real classics. Granted, there are more than a couple in there that are as sacchrine as anything Kenny Rogers ever did, but there are great honky tonk songs, straight up Western Swing that Bob Wills would recognize as his own, and some of the best sad ballads of a generation.

The super-clean productions have held up really well. This is Nashville A-team craft. But the 1980's studio cliches that hurt several other artists longevity aren't in evidence on Strait's records. The playing is spotless, too. And, to George's credit, each of his albums has a cut or two where his road band backs him (as opposed to the usual Nashville ringers), usually on a Bob Wills tune complete with the band stretching out and taking great solos.

"All My Ex's Live In Texas" -- his standout 1987 chartbuster -- remains his signature song. It's a perfect single, with a hook that Goffin & King would have to envy, and a rhythm section grooving on a classic Texas two-beat with a swagger and authority that would do any rhythm section proud.

Honestly, you just can't do this any better.. Now put down that damn Neil Young album and show some respect. Goddam hipsters.

amarchords

Phila's glorious post-punk era had at its hub The East Side Club, where some of the more interesting bands of a generation -- The Cramps, Gang of Four etc -- held forth on the weekends with some of our better local bands in the opening slots. Certain cities are chauvanistic about their role in punk/post punk history, but I think Henry Rollins was right to say that no matter what/where your town, there was something about it, a band or a label or a zine, that was as interesting as anything anywhere. Towns like Akron and Athens (GA) had scenes every bit as inspiring and influential as whatever came out of NYC or LA.

It was an inspiring time to be into music and to have a fake ID.

I wrote "Tracy Lee" about a girl who I knew back then, who also frequented the East Side and the other places where the music was interesting. There was always a cadre of beautiful art school girls who came out dancing every weekend.

The most wonderful thing about the whole scene was the music. The music was the hub. This clip of the Cramps is meaningful to me for a few reasons: First off, I saw this line-up on this tour at the East Side, with the Gun Club opening. Secondly, I met the first girl I ever loved (my first serious girlfriend)that night. I was 15, had a really good fake I.D., and a really cute girlfriend. Lastly, this is what Lux and Kid Congo were actually wearing on the gig I saw.

Were that life could always be like that.

Music and clubs and scenes came and went like they always come and go.

I still can't dance, the East Side is long gone, Lux Interior has left us too soon, and Tracy is still quite pretty. You really can't hold back time or change, I guess. So maybe it's best just to write songs about it and trawl youtube for old video.