Matana Roberts COIN COIN Chapter One: Gens de couleur libres

Though I am not the most qualified person to write about jazz, especially contemporary jazz, I really love this album and wanted to review it. From Tiny Mix Tapes.

Matana Roberts
COIN COIN Chapter One: Gens de couleur libres

Independent rock labels have made great headway in turning on listeners to challenging, cutting-edge jazz. Homestead and Henry Rollins’ defunct 213 and Infinite Zero labels helped expose David S. Ware, Matthew Shipp, and William Parker to more casual jazz fans in the early 90s, and these and other avant jazz artists have been doing great work for Thirsty Ear’s Blue Series over the last decade. The fact that alto saxophonist and composer Matana Roberts’ extraordinary new album COIN COIN is released on Constellation, a label better known for serious, somber rock, tells us Roberts knows this music deserves and can net a wider audience than more traditional jazz records would reach. In fact, the Chicago-born Roberts was already something of a post-rock fellow traveler, playing on Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s Yanqui U.X.O. and inviting members of Tortoise to guest on one of her albums. She was also in jazz trio Sticks and Stones alongside Josh Abrams and Chad Taylor, two other players active in Chicago’s cozy jazz/rock/whatever milieu. But in the end, making these connections primarily serves to pique curiosity and draw in listeners, as COIN COIN is a pure celebration of jazz.

COIN COIN was recorded live in the studio of Montreal’s Hotel2Tango last July with Roberts leading a group of 15 musicians playing multiple saxophones, two trumpets, two basses, two violins, a cello, piano, prepared guitar, drums, musical saw, and doudouk. That’s a large group, and the inclusion of the last two instruments especially might lead one to think the arrangements are needlessly crowded or exotic, but it certainly never feels like that. Edited down from a 90-minute performance to an hour, the music can be busy, even noisy, but these passages fit smartly within a larger compositional whole.
The album begins with a scorching solo burst of saxophone that recalls the fire music cries of Albert Ayler, Archie Shepp, and late-period John Coltrane. What follows over the next six minutes of opening track “rise” is a composition that references multiple styles of jazz, then detours into wholly original territory, most notably during Roberts’ theatrical spoken word/half-sung portions. These vocals, featuring Gitanjali Jain alongside Roberts, appear throughout the album, with a narrative that concerns the history of slavery in America and how it continued to affect and inform the lives of African Americans throughout the 20th century. Some sections offer stronger images and impressions than others, while Roberts and Jain’s intertwining vocals often favor ambiguity and emotional resonance over clarity and pedagogy. While I personally tend to shy away from spoken word or vocalese in jazz, these vocals are essential to its success.

COIN COIN’s middle section serves as a self-contained example of what Roberts and her band have accomplished on a larger scale. “kerasia” begins with a repetitious modal vamp before the music softens to allow Roberts’ and Jain’s vocals to dominate the track. The instruments soon come back on full blast, with Roberts leading the pack, picking the opening theme back up before sliding into a Dixieland romp that eventually mutates into a free jazz spree. This then segues into the centerpiece of the album, “libation for Mr. Brown: Bid em in…,”a soulful a cappella gospel blues chant that recalls a slave auction. In just 15 minutes, these tracks cover an astonishing amount of musical ground, highlighting Roberts’ skill as both composer and performer.

By the time the album nears its end, you may feel like you’ve already been on an exhausting, emotionally charged trip, but the most intense music is saved for last two tracks. “i am” features stunning wordless vocals over rambunctious musicianship, while “how much would you cost?” closes out the album with a moving dedication to Roberts’ mother. The exuberant cheers and applause from the small studio audience at performance’s end remind you that what you’ve just heard has happened in real time, making it all the more impressive.

COIN COIN, the first half of a larger politically-charged and personal work, is one of those records you didn’t know you were waiting for, couldn’t expect you wanted or needed to hear. It’s already grabbed the attention of both jazz aficionados and its more casual fans, impressing both in equal fashion. This is complex, life-affirming music that’s both serious and playful, steeped in tradition yet as highly original and forward-thinking as anything you’re likely to hear this year.

Tindersticks - Claire Denis Film Score 1996-2009

Tiny Mix Tapes


Tindersticks had two albums of largely downtempo chamber pop under their belts when French filmmaker Claire Denis approached them after a concert to ask about recording a soundtrack for her 1996 film Nénette et Boni. It turned out to be a fateful meeting, as the collaboration has yielded positive results for both: working on instrumental music arguably helped change how the band approached their studio albums, and many of Denis’ films derive a great deal of their emotional thrust from Tindersticks’ music. Members Stuart Staples and Dickon Hincliffe have since recorded three more soundtracks for Denis together and two more separately. All six of these works have been packaged together by Constellation in a box set entitled Claire Denis Film Scores 1996-2009, which shows a much more varied and exploratory side of the group than the studio albums alone. It might also win them some new fans.

Although the band seemed to be in sync with Denis from the beginning, with music that seamlessly matched the alternating playful and serious tone of Nénette, listening to the albums in chronological order reveals how much more innovative and exploratory they became with each film. While the first two, Nénette and Trouble Every Day, sound the most like other Tindersticks albums — especially when the former incorporates a song from their second release — Staples’ music for 2004’s L’Intrus is distinctly his own. By 2009’s White Material, most traces of the group’s early romantic lounge act have disappeared. This is indicative of how comfortable and assured the director and musicians must have felt working together. And even at their most Tinderschticky, the soundtracks have a personality all their own, appropriately matching the films’ varied themes: Néntte is romantic, nostalgic; Trouble Every Day eerie and stark; Vendredi Soir lush and passionate; L’Intrus mysterious and sinister; 35 Rhums tender and a bit melancholy; and White Material tense and foreboding.

As standalone works, they’re enjoyable to varying degrees. For me, the two most recent soundtracks, 35 Rhums and White Material, stand up best divorced from their original context. One potential problem with soundtrack releases is their repetitious nature and lack of diversity. This is standard for film music, where if it’s doing its job properly, we rarely notice the restated musical themes and motifs as we watch. But listening to such music independent from the film can sometimes be a bit of a slog. This isn’t so much a problem with shorter works like Vendredi Soir, which clocks in at 23 minutes, but three takes on the main theme during the more than 40 minutes of Trouble Every Day is demanding, especially when echoes of it are found elsewhere on the album. While White Material is almost as long, it avoids this grating repetitiveness through more diverse ideas and creative application of instruments, stripping away the orchestration and full band to rely on the subtle use of electric guitar, feedback, droning organ, and mournful violin.

Even more unique is L’Intrus, which for its scant 23 minutes repeatedly returns to a sinister guitar riff underscored by brooding ambient keyboards, occasionally augmented by mournful trumpet and impressionistic drumming. And although it's by far the least diverse, most repetitive soundtrack here, L’Intrus’ single-mindedness gives it a conceptual feel that makes it stand apart from the others, while its haunted tone and minimalist quality also make it the most hypnotic and unforgettable.
Denis’ use of music in films is never less than appropriate, and very often surprising and inspired. (Her use of pop music is particularly affecting.) It’s the mark of a great filmmaker that her soundtracks are never obtrusive or obvious, yet we remain aware of how well they’re working when things are going well. Though, it wasn't until I heard this music apart from the images when I realized not only how evocative it was, but also how essential Tindersticks are to the effectiveness of Denis’ work. It’s impossible to hear the opening melodica theme of 35 Rhums and not imagine Alex Descas steering a train through Paris, or “Rumba” from Nénette et Boni and not imagine Vincent Gallo and his wife in their bakery. The music from L’Intus calls up any number of stunning images from that odd, dreamlike film.

Although the limitations of Claire Denis Film Scores 1996-2009 will make parts of the collection appear inessential for casual listeners, this music will certainly be welcomed by Tindersticks fans and soundtrack buffs. For Denis devotees, it will likely be a testament to one of the great contemporary sound and image collaborations. Indeed, if there was any doubt, this set helps secure their place in the pantheon of great composer/director pairings.

Sic Alps - Napa Asylum

Man, do I love this record. I'm more ambivalent about this review then usual, though, because I'm not exactly sure why I love it so much (other than the obvious reasons listening to it will provide you). It's one of those records I'll probably need to live with a while before the auditory portion of my brain links up with the critical/wordsmithing portion. I might even have to put it away and return to a few months later, thus midwifing a "Eureka!" moment. Do you have albums you love like that? I hope we all do. Anyway, here's the review, from Tiny Mix Tapes.



Sic Alps
Napa Asylum
Drag City

During the lo-fi/shitgaze craze that crested a couple of years ago (and keeps chugging along now, albeit to lesser blog buzz), bands were coming out of the woodwork to unleash an avalanche of cassettes, 7-inches, CD-Rs, and even some old-fashioned "proper" albums on established labels. The energy and excitement of these recordings were the major draws, with groups pounding them out as if they had invented home recording, even rock 'n' roll itself. But while there was certainly an abundance of talented musicians — The Hospitals, Eat Skull, Psychedelic Horseshit — it was unclear what some of these groups would do beyond their two- to three-minute up-tempo rock tunes, if they'd do anything at all.

Sic Alps always stood out as one of the more unique of the bunch. Having a more carefully thought-out approach than most, the duo of singer/guitarist Mike Donovan and drummer Matthew Hartman rectified shitgaze's aesthetic circularity by building on their punk and garage rock core with a sort of late-60s psychedelic vibe, falling on the dreamier, sparser side of that sound, more Skip Spence than Moby Grape, more Syd Barrett than Pink Floyd. And as demonstrated by their Description of the Harbor EP, they weren't afraid to experiment with form either, playing around with seven minutes of feedback and noise before continuing with a group of pop-minded songs averaging about a minute and a half. They always made the gauzy quality of lo-fi recording seem more like a natural component of their music rather than a mere circumstantial necessity or nostalgic fetish.

In the two and a half years since the band’s last album, the excellent U.S. EZ, shitgaze has become an amusing but quaint also-ran genre name, subsumed by the vague but venerable lo-fi. In that time, Sic Alps haven’t released anything besides a 7-inch, a split EP with The Magik Markers, and a few stray compilation tracks. This was curious from such a previously prolific band, especially in an environment where so many bands seem to operate under the music scene equivalent of “publish or perish.” Whatever the reasons for their absence, though, Sic Alps have returned from their sort-of hiatus with Napa Asylum, a fantastic album that adds new dimensions to their sound without altering what made them so engaging to begin with.

Napa Asylum was recorded with two mics on an 8-track in a basement, though that description doesn’t do justice to how good the recording sounds. Sic Alps' aesthetic was never as jarring or harsh as some of their peers, which actually matched quite well with Donovan’s lilting, sleepy voice. While the addition of Comets on Fire's Noel Von Harmonson has certainly fleshed out their sound — his guitar creates an effect like a Les Rallizes Dénudés guitar solo bleeding over into a radio station broadcasting 1960s pop — they still reverb the hell out of everything (yes, including the drums), and they still have songs clocking in around a minute and a half or under. But here they are the exception rather than the rule. “Country Medicine” and “Low Kid” are two brief tunes that feature Donovan alone on acoustic guitar, but you never get the impression that they’re incomplete fragments: he just lets the songs do what they need to do and then checks out. Meanwhile, Donovan’s lyrics are largely inscrutable — and I’m guessing largely personal, referencing people and events the listener couldn't possibly infer without context — but they often contain their own poetic logic, such as the lines that finish off the album: “It’s happening/ Or it’s not happening/ Or I’m dying on my feet/ I’m coming back for me again.”

Napa Asylum isn’t that imagined lo-fi/shitgaze 'masterpiece,' mainly because if it fits at all in that ill-defined genre, it does so uncomfortably. But perhaps I’ve set up a false dichotomy by comparing Sic Alps to other shitgaze bands. If we can get past recording equipment and sound quality for a moment and consider song craft and execution specifically, Sic Alps are clearly both miles ahead of and miles away from their peers. Napa Asylum only further proves this.

LA Vampires Meets Zola Jesus

From Tiny Mix Tapes.

As Zola Jesus, Nika Roza Danilova caused a sizable stir in the past year or so, releasing an EP, a split LP with Burial Hex, and two solo LPs in 2009 alone. Purveyor of crimson wave/darkwave/noise goth or whatever wacky appellation you want to hang on her music, she’s covering similar ground as a lot of contemporary post-noise songwriters who favor muddy production smeared across their poptones. Sharp drum machine-produced beats, shrill keyboards, and epic distortion are the delivery system for generally recognizable song structures. But the main attraction to ZJ, and one that will likely remain so no matter what musical direction the opera-trained 21 year old ends up taking, is her voice. While those with a deep affection for her voice could listen to it in almost any musical setting, those who find her singing affected and mannered, who can’t take that much drama in every song, have to at least acknowledge the strength of her voice.

Danilova seems to have been born at the right time, though, because the vogue for noisy pop suits her powerful, resonant voice surprisingly well. Her musical mood seems confined to the dark and gothic, which seems fitting, but she doesn’t get all impenetrably Diamanda Galas about it. She broadened her audience a bit with the cleaned-up sonics of this year’s Stridulum EP, even if her underlying aesthetic hadn’t changed that much. Although it seems inevitable that Danilova will end up working with a big-time producer (Chamber pop via Marius de Vries or Van Dyke Parks? Club bangers courtesy of Switch and Diplo?) or turning up on a tasteful collaboration with Björk or Antony, a lot of people like those fuzzy/skuzzy layers of keyboards and canned drums, and are hoping things don’t get too spic and span just yet. Thankfully, LA Vampires Meets Zola Jesus arrives to further postpone her assimilation.

As half of Pocahaunted, Amanda Brown has been increasingly incorporating dub rhythms and production techniques into the droney duo’s quasi-tribal trip. With LA Vampires, she seems to have embraced the dub aesthetic wholly while keeping Pocahaunted’s gauzy recording quality intact. Brown is credited with all the music on this 25-minute EP — “Beats, keys, vice” — to which Danilova adds her echo-y, layered vocals. It makes for a fine pairing, the production leaning toward the murky lo-fi end of things but foregoing the more piercing, dissonant sounds of earlier ZJ efforts for a smooth, underwater dub vibe. At times, such as on “Searching,” Brown adds a bit of slowed-down acid jazz vibe.

Brown’s concocted a sinister dub brew for Danilova to sing over, or really, under, as most of the vocals are buried and unintelligible. Not a problem, because if the inspirational, greeting card-style lyrics discernible on Stridulum are any indication, ZJ’s vocals always work better as atmosphere. Only on the EP’s closing version of Jamaican singer Dawn Penn’s frequently covered and sampled “No No No” can we clearly make out words, the hypnotically repetitive refrain “No no no, you don’t love me I know.” This song follows “Eulogy,” the one track here I found to convey much emotion. Maybe that’s because this is the one track where Danilova’s wordless vocals dominate, the sparse beats and keyboards creeping around in the background. Whereas ZJ’s music tends toward high-drama strum and drang, the music Brown lays down just kind of hangs there, mellow and intoxicating, not trying to elicit any emotive response.

There’s nothing terribly complicated or eclectic about the music overall, and there doesn’t need to be. The slow grooves and hazy sound are a perfect but until now untested fit with Danilova’s singing. LA Vampires Meets Zola Jesus is seductive, lulling listening, as easy on the ears as anything either of these artist have recorded, but that certainly doesn't make it lightweight.