Show Review: Gil Scott-Heron Today

I tried to curb my anticipation for Gil Scott-Heron’s performance at the recently made over Regency Ballroom last Friday. But how could I? I wanted him to amaze, to enrapture with his musical poetics, and most secretly, to redeem my nebulous view of a 70s era, politicized soulfulness unrivaled by today’s musicianship. It’s an idealistic and surely ridiculous image we children of the 80s have learned of the decade before ours. But it’s one so ingrained and endlessly reminded that we can’t seem to shake it free.

While Los Angeles revival funk band Orgone grooved (peep their solid cover of “Funky Nassau”), singer Fanny Franklin expressed an equal excitement about bearing witness to the legend. And when Scott-Heron finally stepped onto stage, strutting choppily to the microphone, the audience erupted in wailing applause and shouts. He looked older and moved with certain difficulty, his body appearing thin underneath his loose fitting clothes. His face was angular and gaunt with patches of gray hair pouring from the sides of his hat and from his chin. A lady sitting in front of me asked incredulously if that old man indeed was Gil. I nodded with certainty but really had no idea. After all, he’s hardly recognizable compared to his younger self clad with the iconic afro and psychedelic garb. Today, it’s a rare occurrence to see Gil Scott-Heron. He has been in and out of prison for the past decade on drug and parole transgression charges. Some reports imply his suffering from being HIV positive, something Scott-Heron addressed perhaps indirectly when he told the Regency that a media frenzy on the internet continues to concoct all sorts of chimeras about his life.

Ebbing our immediate impressions, Scott-Heron opened with a consciously cheesy comedy routine where he got comfortable with the crowd. It reminded me of the legend’s simple humanity -- like a venerable uncle who still tells bad jokes at a family dinner. As soon as the routine verged on the unbearable, he transitioned into a monologue and solo song in tribute to Sister Fannie Lou Hamer. And when Scott-Heron’s voice boomed forth from his brittle body, everyone immediately felt his unparalleled soulfulness and brilliance. With age, Scott-Heron’s bright voice has gained a hoarse resonance, adding even more layers to his street inspired poetics and wisdom.

Gil Scott-Heron guided his soul-jazz outfit, the Amnesia Express, through some of the strongest moments of his catalogue. The band retained a decidedly solid hold on their expressionistic 70s earthliness but bent towards a lush, jazzy psychedelia. Although technically rusty and hiccuping occasionally with offbeat rhythms, it worked. Scott-Heron bellowed “We Almost Lost Detroit” to set the mood for a conflicted era shaped as much by violence as hope and love. He lamented today’s popular understanding of jazz as a sterile and passive musical style with a charging take on “Is That Jazz?” And in waxing poetic to introduce “Winter In America”, Scott-Heron pondered whether the season’s indifferent coldness might be revenge for us cherishing the other seasons more. A fifteen minute version of “The Bottle” -- sung in a dreamy, melancholic tone -- swept the climax. The performance swayed from lyrical musings to groove laden songs and improvised solos, each song extended into a prolonged and interwoven narrative.

Despite the real possibility of coming off trite, there was a remarkable sincerity to Gil Scott-Heron. His creative expression stemmed from life experience rather than a need to perform a spectacle and preach a message before a crowd. Song reflected life and life in turn was shaped and illuminated by song. For a moment I felt that magnitude of revolutionary spirit burning distant in another hazy generation. It was aged and hardened in one man’s beautiful, gravely voice, and filled the auditorium with its sweetness.

Sanguine Soul: Summer Madness

Kool & The Gang's "Summer Madness" doesn't sound quite the same in the consistently mild temperature of San Francisco summers. Once every couple months the mercury still rises, definitely a lower threshold in this breezy city, but a beautiful one that sends thousands onto their stoops and the streets. And I still have my memories of Los Angeles' horribly burning asphalt, the ghastly humid thickened heat in New York and Philadelphia, as well as the endless sweat and daily reports of elderly deaths when I used to live in Paris, the frugal city of no air conditioners.

On the last Sanguine Soul radio show, we premixed some summer jams while making Korean / Chinese / Vietnamese BBQ at Moss Studios. Definitely a few classics thrown in the mix as well as a newer strain of sun drenched tunes for your listening pleasure.

Also, for a more exhaustive arhive, check out Oliver Wang's summer music blog.

Sound Lesson: Soupy Jenifa

De La Soul - Jenifa Taught Me (Derwin's Revenge)


Maggie Thrett - Soupy


Wow, it's been nearly a year since my last sound lesson. I need some crate digger out there in the internet waves to help me out with this feat. Let's kick it off again.

The idea behind these sound lessons is to dig out the dusty history sampled by classic Hiphop tracks. It is always fascinating to hear an old drum break or vocal cut completely reworked into a new sonic landscape. The montage made out of old pieces not only rejuvenates the energy of those aged works, but it also constructs a fresh and new perspective on the musical resonance.

Although accomplishing such innovation with production skills is not an easy task. And many beat conductas have failed along the way to actually construct something blazing new out of the old. But then you got the geniuses like Prince Paul of De La Soul acclaim, an innovator and true taste maker of stylized sound and theatrical Hiphop (the originator of the album skit). Their highly original and brilliant 1989 album, 3 Feet High and Rising, bumps 24 fresh joints patch worked together by literally hundreds of songs from America's pastime. You can even get a taste of the breadth of the samples at sample lesson grandmaster, Kevin Nottingham's, archive.

There are a couple glaring oversights, but for me the most important one gives the life to "Jenifa Taught Me". What happened to stunner Maggie Thrett's anthem, Soupy, released in 1965 off DynoVoice Records? Soupy is a brilliant jam, just that raw uncut funky soul for yo ear. Not to mention that Thrett was also an actress, crooning that futuristic spirit on the mothership.

It makes me understand all the more clearly why De La got their minds all worked up for this girl named Jenifa, oh Jenny. But who the hell is Derwin? Just a virgin? There's got to be more.

Also, Maggie Thrett was an actress who elegantly displayed her futuristic beauty on Star Trek among other cult hits. That's her on the left up her. A sparkly mothership crooner.

Interview: Exile and his Universal Sound

Exile Interview (original)


Exile Interview (with beat)


I had the chance to chop it up with Exile after his performance with Blu at Berkeley's annual Hiphop in the Park festival. We sat on a gnarled park bench straight out of Middle Earth, and Exile traced the journey from his humble beginnings making music to where life is taking him now. I already thought Exile demonstrated some mad ingenuity in his creative process, but now I am ever more convinced that the man has just got a serious gift, and deep sympathy, for stylizing sound.

If you're not familiar with Exile's unique brand of earth power production, then you've got an expansive catalogue of music to experience. Spanning the gamut from soul spliced grooves tapping into the richness of the human spirit to gritty beats urgently calling forth action, this Los Angeles beatsmith is capable of a universe of sounds.

Exile gained notoriety for his masterful production for Blu on their seminal 2007 release, Below the Heavens, an album quickly garnering recognition as a Hiphop classic. However, Exile got his start much earlier in the game, collaborating with LA rapper and crooner, Aloe Blacc, in the noname backwards group Emanon. In 2004 they released a groundbreaking soundscape harmoniously politicizing music (or to coin a phrase, musicifying politics), The Waiting Room, and recently reissued their smoked out underground tape, Imaginary Friends, originally put out on the grind in '96. And before all that, dude made his way around beatboxing and flipping loops on the tape deck, or spitting helium induced raps about scandalous moms light years before Quas. And amidst all that science, he made a name for himself bombing the walls with sweet and sticky aerosol paint.


The honey drenched drums and textured harmonies don't stop there. Exile dropped Dirty Science in 2006, showcasing his talent collaborating with monster lyricists like Oh No, Ta'Raach, and Ghostface. And most recently, Exile concocted his first instrumental album purely out of samples from the radio. This concept album, simply titled Radio, stretches the creative process of Hiphop to its limits. Exile crafts music out of disparate elements broadcast on the air, bits and pieces of sound which he affirms himself, you're not supposed to make music out of. The end product is a compelling montage of human voices and mechanical noises layered upon each other, a rhythmic sound sphere depicting the way we see the world.

In tune with "Radio", we broadcast the interview with Exile on Sanguine Sunday Radio for our dedication to Hiphop in the Park episode. I decided to post up the interview separately in two forms. The first is tiered with Exile's beat mix for Mary Anne Hobb's Radio 1 show, and the second is the sparse interview in its original taping, full with the lush sounds of Berkeley's very liberated and never duplicated, People's Park. You can also cop the Radio 1 mix and peep the playlist of unreleased beats at her BBC home.

Live Cuts: The Windy Budos

Caught the Budos Band blast out their latest afro-soul powered set last night at the Independent. I wanted to experiment with some in crowd live recording on that mad clandestine level with my handheld. Fuck pictures, I got the imagery of sound baby.

Budos Band live 04-15-09 Ind. SF 1

Once "Los Barbudos", the bearded black haired members of all possible styles shortened their name to Budos after someone decided to shave off the face scruff. Well, now they thrive fully bearded again, funkifying the spectrum of afro rhythms and psychedelic melodies off the highly successful soul revival label, Daptone Records.

The eleven piece outfit (short on some brass this time) played a range of songs from their discography and new joints off the up and coming album. The sound journeyed through adrenaline charged dance numbers, springing horns and funky backbeat, to far out meditative jams serrated with electric keys laced upon an endless, hypnotizing bongo percussion.

While Budos enthusiastically thrives in pumping the dance floor full of sweaty grinding bodies, I found them strongest in their spacey experiment with psychedelified afro-funk. These tracks are definitely in debt to the original arrangements of Mulatu Astatke', Ehiophia's premiere jazz / funk virtuoso. They sway with the wind of the Mediterranean, soaking up the African sun, and finally washed over the dirty Summer waters of their home place, Staten Island New York.

Outro J Dilla: The Man Becomes His Music

I decided to revisit an old post on the late and great J Dilla. Enjoy.


The question of a supernatural afterlife remains a dubious if not outright unanswerable enigma for us beings of limited powers. If we would put aside such narratives of a divine heaven or cursed hell or even dreams of reincarnation, we might come to acknowledge an infinitely more tangible idea of the eternal afterlife here on earthly soil. The possibility of a resonating memory so essential that we cannot imagine the world without it. Paradoxically, this kind of consonant memory--human and fragile--can take on an absolutely necessary and eternal value for us.

Just consider for instance an artist gifted enough to create beautiful works and pass these animate memories onto us in the form of an aesthetic legacy. Such a legacy shapes our understanding of not only art but the sense of meaningfulness that orients our lives. A number of the more introspective artistic types--confronting their own inevitable deaths (despite whatever beliefs they might hold about a supernatural realm)--become intrigued if not obsessed by the possibility of such a legacy. Wracked by inner conflict, they grapple with the notion that the lifespan of sublime artwork outlasts that of the progenitor.

In recent memory, a young musician by the name of J Dilla (born James D. Yancey) reflected on the afterlife of his art in the 2006 release of his provocative and brilliant soundscape, Donuts (Stones Throw Records), just days before his untimely passing. Dilla's production submerges the listener deep into his idiosyncratic brand of soulful frequency and lush rhythms. His sonic universe provokes and inspires, lingering in the crevices of our imagination. As a voracious flood of tribute albums, songs and articles continue to praise the life and music of Yancey (this one included), there is no doubt that his music is transforming into just this kind of aesthetic legacy.


While struggling to survive in a hospital bed in late 2005 and the twilight months of 2006 with the debilitating immune condition, lupus, J Dilla gathered the courage to release his most captivating effort. In a story that has become almost mythical in proportion, he worked bedside with musical equipment brought by his mother, known intimately to Dilla as Ma Dukes. Each of the 31 tracks he completed do not last much longer than a minute reflecting Yancey's failing endurance yet resilient devotion to tie together his final creative vision.



Interpreting the conceptual purpose intrinsic to an instrumental hiphop album is quite different than analyzing the transparent narrative and content of a singer's lyrics. However, hiphop arrangement makes no unsolvable mystery of the multiple stratospheres that build its sampled architecture. And while listening more carefully to Donuts and unraveling some of its layered puzzles, there is no question that Yancey was trying to come to terms with his own death on the approaching horizon by way of his production. Some of the cryptic code offers itself to us listeners.



As if peacefully saying goodbye to the terrestrial and firmly implanting himself into the everlasting through his art, Donuts ironically begins with the 'outro' and ends with the 'intro'. It does not take a leap of imagination to think that Dilla, a man completely absorbed in his music, understood his own life in terms of a musical narrative. The title 'outro' on the introductory track hints to the idea that Yancey composed Donuts as a personal meditation on death. We bear witness to the outro of a human life--the conclusive chapter--in the form of a tragic yet triumphant swan song.

31 - Donuts (Intro)

The meaning of the closing 'intro' is more veiled in structure and purpose. Prefaced by two hymns of goodbye that halt and hesitate, reach out and shudder back, each song addresses a farewell to a respective audience. In “Bye.” Dilla opens a dialogue with his listeners, holding onto the Isley Brothers’ crooning, “Don't ever. . .” as we finish the words solemnly, “say goodbye”. And in crushing sincerity Dilla implores us, “I feel you”, implying that there is no reason for us to say last goodbyes despite the emphatic period at the end of the song's title. In the brooding penultimate dirge, “Last Donut of the Night”, Dilla dwells on the arresting texture of his self-realization that his life's work would soon come to an end. We feel his anticipation of a pending finale through the ghostly guise of an MC introducing the life's work of an anonymous musician about to take stage. That frozen moment of suspense comes to an abrupt interruption with an insight of clarity hurled forth in the lucid 'intro'.

motherlode - when i die

In this heart wrenching very last song Dilla manages nothing short of a musical apotheosis. He employs a sample of one-hit wonder Motherlode's 1969 single, “When I Die”, a heartfelt soul jam originally directed towards a distant lover readdressed to everyone who listens. The track is propelled by serene percussion that drives Motherlode to chant in chilling harmony during the chorus, "When I die / I hope I'll be / The kind of man / That you thought I'd be". In the concluding 'intro' Dilla strategically cuts Motherlode's chorus to elevate the self-proclaiming "be" intertwined twice with the contrasting concept "die". The acoustic quality of the words are manipulated into near incomprehension, as Dilla deconstructs the notions of being and death into their minimal sonic elements of raw feeling. 


Facing death head on, Dilla elongates Motherlode's vocals into a celestial proclamation, emphasizing not only the beauty of life but even his own oncoming second life, as he dissipates into becoming, and finally being, the music itself. As a last memory recorded in wax, Dilla aligns himself with a heritage of musicians who have passed but continue to live on in the hearts of all who hear his everlasting sonance. Maybe that is why we do not ever have to say a last goodbye.



Intro J Dilla.

Sanguine Sunday - Resolution (ep. 3)

We've been trying to orchestrate a podcast feed, but such a feat combined with the time consuming ventures in learning sound editing in logic, has postponed our new years mix so long that well, it's almost 2010 already. Granted it's only the middle of the month, what better day to throw out a mix on such a remarkable day that triumphs a call to action and resistance to petty delays and griping commitments to future goals (you know, making a legit podcast.)

Friends! I give you our resolution. Until the podcast comes, we shall harness the internet's maternal riches in its nourishing offer of zshare!



Let's get down to the program. In the spirit of the new horizon set forth by 2009, Honey Knuckles cuts up some soul collaborated proto-break tunes--putting emphasis on the afro-beat, disco, and krautrock sectors--with the resolution of improving his b-boy technique in the cypha'. And I (Z-Noooote) take the year of recession to reflect upon the magical quality of money. In resolving that it's time to either find a hustle or make some more cash money in recession times, or less ambitiously, just wondering about the poetics of the dollar bill, I find some inspiration in a collection of cross-genre dollar lamentations, on the grind motivations, and fuzzed out flows flipped up for my own purposes. Finally, Aisha rocks steady with some knowledge on the Oscar Grant protest in Oakland and the perennial abuse of police authority in the inner city. Let the chi flow!

Much resource is to be found in the rich history of music to help us make the resolute kind of resolution that will prove lasting. So peep that shit. And tell us about your transformations.

Download here.


Tracklist:

Honey Knuckles - Breakin' Breaks

Mark Ronson - God put a smile on your face feat. The Daptone Horns (Talk)
Lefties Soul Connection - Code 99 (Talk)
Dave Cortez with the Moon People - Happy Soul with a Hook
Sharon Jones - I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
The Pointer Sisters - Send him back (Piloosky Edit)
Ides of March - Aire of a good feeling
Gil Scott Heron - The bottle
Fela Kuti - Roforofo Fight
The Beginning of the End - Funky Nassau Pt. 1 & 2
Manu Dibango - Soul Makossa
Manu Dibango - Moni
Kraftwerk - The Robots
Holy Ghost - Hold On
Can - Vitamin C
Lowell Fulsom - Tramp
Eric B. & Rakim - Know the Ledge
The New Mastersounds - Land of Nod (Lack of Afro remix)
Maceo and the Macks - Soul Power 74
Red Astaire - Mambo El B-Boy
The Budos Band - The Proposition (Talk)
Cymande - Dove (Talk)

Z-Note - the Money Mix

Young-Holt Unlimited - Ain't There Something Money Can't Buy
Amral's Trinidad Cavaliers Steel Drum Orchestra - The World is a Ghetto
Bohannon - Save Their Souls
Demon Fuzz - I Put a Spell on You
Sly and the Family Stone - I Cannot Make It
Public Enemy - Shut 'Em Down (Pete Rock edit)
Common Sense - Soul by the Pound
Slum Village - Get Dis Money
Stevie Spacek - Let the Dollar Circulate
Billy Paul - Let the Dollar Circulate
The Sylvers - Stay Away From Me
Black Merda (w/ Linnie Walker) - People Let me Know
Eric B. and Rakim - Paid in Full (Coldcut edit)
Eddie Bo - The Thang (Part 2)
Eight Minutes - I Can't Get No Higher
Fatback Band - Goin' to See My Baby
James Brown - Give it Up or Turn it Loose (remix)
Run DMC - Hard Times
The Flying Lizards - Money



Big ups to Edgar at Words, Words, Words for providing a resonant response to the soul recession episode and kicking me to the Billie Paul's soulicious brain melter, Let the Dollar Circulate. Peep his bombastic, well versed journey through a rag-tag history of American soul recession music.

Endnote: to be improved in the beta stage --> mic levels, mixing skills, music knowledge, radio voice, suggestions?

We Funk(ed) Up Frisco

I haven't been steady bloggin' lately, since the mobbin' of non-virtual life has caught me up in the hustle. Hopefully my three loyal readers don't mind too much, or else I'm just going to be writing for myself from now on.

Enough of the nonsense, let's get to the program.

While sliding through San Francisco's night life the past couple years I've become disappointed with the lack of a solid Hiphop - Funk - Soul scene that holds it down on a consistent week to week basis. Maybe I'm spoiled because Los Angeles pushes the movement hard. But most of the big name DJ's in Frisco -- you know, the ones who've apparently been in the game for a minute and paid all their dues -- seem to compromise their style by playing a stream of the jiggy club shit to an audience that shrinks in numbers each week.

While I got no problem with the bass heavy club bangers that rock the party, I'm looking for the balance in style and content that reflects the Bay's rich music history. In the end, the Hiphop heads ain't happy, the DJ's don't feel it, so what's going on?

Saturday night, Montreal's We Funk radio DJ's Professor Groove and Static proved that Baydestrians really do fiend for a nickel bag of The Funk. Packing Elbo Room's top floor like a sardine can, We Funk demonstrated the crowd pleasing legitimacy of their funky soul hustle. Static dropped the classic boom bap Hiphop leading smoothly into Professor Groove's crescendoing dirty diamond funk. They switched off every thirty minutes or so, letting the tempo rise and fall in thick cascading motions like a multi-layered sexual grind.


While spinning together for twelve years on the notorious internet radio station and doing their homework digging deep into the crates, the DJ duo developed a streamlined set of slamming jams that pulse with soul clapping percussion. The finely woven fabric of Apache-style breaks, In response, not only did the crowd soak in the music, the air conditioning rafters literally started sweating and dripped onto the dance floor's many writhing bodies. You can call that a make it rain remix.

Special shout out to ShredONE for making wefunk happen!

Be sure to scope out the We Funk radio archive of over 520 radio shows, updated bimonthly (about) with a couple new shows each time. Peep the interviews, dialogues, and mixes (with set lists) raising the peoples on Hiphop like the Wake Up Show used to. You can also listen to the weekly Friday night live streams at 2am (est).

4onephonics Unleashes Boogie with Dam Funk

Over the last few years living in the Bay Area seeking out Hiphop and its multitudinous offspring, I became quickly familiar with the innovative triathlon skills of the DJ collective, 4onefunk, paying dues in the scratching, battling, and mixtape circuits. Taking their steez to the next level in 2005, DJs Teeko and Max Kane established the 4onephonics band with drummer Austin Bohlman and keyboardist Colin Brown from the Mononphonics seven piece jam band.

The group utilizes two turntables as instruments, operated by mix wizards Teeko and Max Kane, to manipulate prerecorded elements as well as synthesize spontaneous sounds with the drum machine. Bohlman carries the groove forward with a heavily syncopated percussion that soaks in the break beats while Brown's cascading keys jazz up a groovy melody. Occasionally the horns of Monophonics join forces to stretch the capabilities of the group's organic swaying music even further. The final product is a powerhouse funk group informed just as much by the heavy grooves of Tower of Power as Herbie Hancock and the Scratch Pickles.


However, last night at the Elbo Room I witnessed 4onephonics like never before. Opening a set for the newly signed Stonesthrow records breakthrough, Dam Funk, 4onephonics unleashed a side developing project that blew the roof off the sucka'. Hooked up fully with deep boogie vinyl, spacey synth heavy keys, a sliding bass thump, and even a vocoder, 4onephonics constructed a sticky, grinding atmospheric noise that filled up Elbo Room's top floor with head nodding awe and sweaty writhing.

I must have been sleepin' on it for awhile, because sure enough, 4onephonics' myspace page showcases a couple tastes of their new boogie inspired joints. The low rider anthem, "Gfunkin on the C1," cruises steady with a clapping boom bap that lets the gurgling synth pop keys sink their chords thickly into your skin. Moving towards the spacier tip, "Controller ONE take ONE" totes a pummeling drum lick, whinnied along by scratching that transforms the prerecorded vinyl into a chopped up cosmic melody that sounds almost like a futuristic saxophone that secretes sex.

There's also a touch of the live shit, where you can really hear how Teeko and Max Kane cut up unchartered tuntablist territory, making previously unheard patterns of sounds.

4onephonics opening attuned my ears to a higher boogie refinement to get down with Dam Funk. Dropping joint after joint of boogie funk bangers, Dam Funk schooled the crowd on the names of each song in the most generous way possible, sharing the love by calling out names without any sense of elitism.


Dam Funk just released his first 12'' on Stones Throw called "Burgundy City," and plans to release a full length album by the end of the year. He grounds his music on the heritage of boogie but calls his own production, "future funk", keeping the music organic by using analog machines and special chords that avoid some of the synth pop soulless robotism that ravages much of disco.


Since I'm still learning about these the history of boogie funk I found the interview with Dam Funk in the last issue of Wax Poetics to be real informative. He drops the knowledge on the rock bottom foundation that everyone who loves this music needs to know.

As far as boogie, early Slave and Cameo are examples of popular boogie. That was the second wave of funk music. James Brown and Sly Stone created the first generation. Boogie is the sound of slap bass, loud claps, melodic chords, and synthesizers. Boogie followed the last gasp of disco.

Boogie includes releases on labels like Prelude, Sam Records, late Waste End Records, late Brunswick, and U.K. labels like Elite. Boogie-ologists will mainly tell you it's from the '80s, and it encompasses Italo disco as well.

You can cop some dope mixes by Dam Funk on Stones Throw's podcast #28 and the recently dropped One Day Later set. I have yet to find any of his original production to download, so if you wanna' hook us all up, the comment section is open.

Final Notes: Be on the look out for 4onefunktion events monthly at the Elbo Room (including guest appearances at Free Funk Friday each second Friday).

AND: 4onefunk reconstructed a Dilla track. Amazing. Dilla's influence is unstoppable.

Red Astaire doin' James

A couple weeks back I hesitantly scoped out Frisco's newly promoted Hiphop / Soul / Funk "Money Shot" weekly in an Irish bar on Polk St. suffering more identity problems than a biracial child adopted by a troubled lesbian couple. Actually, my scoping out of the event was limited to five feet away from the door where I peered through two bouncers asking my lint filled wallet for ten dollars.

I must admit that the title "Money Shot," referring to a cum splatted Benjamin visage (or was it just a black eye), on top of the ridiculously overdrawn "Saints and Sinners" anthem of s O' Reilly's Holy Grail Irish Pub did not really, let's say, motivate me to do anything but get the hell outta' there.

Last night my feel for "Money Shot" took solace in the integrity of Massive Selector's promotion, bringing to the Bay such huge successes as the Stevie Wonder party and last week's "Happy Feet" featuring Bobbito and Rich Medina (who didn't show but Bobbito and Hakobo held down the cuts like nobody's business).

A James Brown tribute headlining Sweden's remixing production wizard, Red Astaire, AKA any child's nightmare wonder, Freddie Crugar, (he also goes by the birth certificate name Fredrik Lager) at an Irish pub, aligned with murals of a haloed Rick James sandwiched in-between Richard Pryor and Kurt Cobain, all illuminated by Byzantine stained glass portraits? Now I'm fucking inspired. That's when identity trouble gives birth to the transformer genius of some cultural amalgamation.

Here's the low down on Mr. Lager. Red Astaire gets the big ups from the breakers, the club junkies, and the DJ nerds world wide who are drawn into his smooth beat conducting techniques that whirl your feet oh so naturally into nu-jazz popcorn.

Schooled in the 80s by the diverse dusty grooves he listened to while working at Space, a legendary record import shop in Stokholm, Red Astaire cultivated an intense taste for funk, Hiphop, disco, Latin, and electro. He cemented his wave twisting production style together with a Hiphop sensibility for dirty break beats balanced by the soulful lyricism that gets the party crackin' in the three feet high and risin' way.

Around '94, Astaire joined the Raw Fusion Records label, an influential Swedish label created by Mad Mats, and would release consistent limited edition EPs, 12 inches, and singles throughout the decade. Astaire didn't get much love on the international circuit until his "Follow Me" single, a jazzy liberation joint sliced with clashing percussion propelling melodic chimes, and a powerful impact verse from Method and Redman, released on G.A.M.M. records in 2003. Ubiquity then released his full length album, Soul Search, in 2006 to widespread success in Canada and the US.


I got my hands on 2007's Nuggets for the Needy, which includes a couple break beat nu-soul club bangers on top of "Follow Me." A definite nugget is Astaire's edit of Angie Stone's 2002 hit "I Wish I Didn't Miss You", entitled in ode form to the singer, "Love to Angie." I agree completely with Oliver Wang that this joint is sure to get someone in the crowd to poplock instantaneously, those drums are too irresistible.

In the spirit of James Brown tributes, I also couldn't stop playing "The Wildstyle," an Apache style bongo driven rhythm that cuts up Brown's flustering "Soulpower" lyricism with some grandmaster technique scratching straight outta' Flash's S. Bronx bedroom. The rebirth of the wildstyle? I'm ready.

Snatch Red Astaire's Nugget's for the Needy (2006) G.A.M.M. records.

If the download hits the spot, don't forget to support the artist.

Gaslamp kills Minna

The last time I crashed a Minna party I nearly fell asleep on the couch out of boredom, so it's been a minute since I've checked out the spot. Last night the musical lineup including Los Angeles' The Motherfucking Gaslamp Killer (Willow) as well as Daedelus made me recheck my distaste for the venue and give it another chance.

Typically Minna exhibits sub par contemporary art that bites other styles. Some of the colors and neo-surrealism compositions are pretty, but they lack the raw inspiration of an artist who is captivated by the need to express something higher. Are my expectations too high? Luckily, it's pretty easy to let the art fade into the background when you got some amazing DJ's cutting it up on the ones and twos who are gripped by just that sort of inspiration.

I'm really talking about the Gaslamp Killer who rapidly clicked, and dervish like spun, and vigorously scratched his vinyl donuts while rocking his Jewish fro up and down, crazily flipping his fingers with the percussion as if the poltergeist of the music possessed his body. That's some spiritual release right there.

Gaslamp commenced the set with some hard hitting boom bap Hiphop riding soul samples like Ghostface and Dilla (can I get a copy of Jaylib 2 yet damn it?) mixed seamlessly with percussion driven beats (including some new shit by Flying Lotus.) The straightedge genres of music soon became more blurred as Gaslamp slided into the mix some dirty cosmic psychedelic and alt rock while turning up the highs so hard that the crackling bass shook the silly metal installations hanging on the wall.

The drums continued to tie the dusty grooves together as the hype grew quickly into some more obscure funk tracks from India and Africa as well as some yelping psych funk straight outta' Turkey. The obscurity led into classic American funk that slammed the dance floor with the gospel anthem "Save" featuring Arethra Franklin's distinctive soul crooning carried by a swift drum break. The progression demonstrated an aggressive understanding of music as emotional release and spiritual restoration. The dance floor seemed to agree.

Gaslamp wanted everyone to remember his own roots as a rave head before he started spinning all that Hiphop, funk, and soul, and beyond shit. The story goes that Gaslamp's endtroduction to DJ Shadow served as the bridge into this this parallel universe of sonic listening. So the sound crept up in bpm even more as Gaslamp filtered in clashing electro swaying with horns and booming with synths. Fitting as an end to this set, Pilooski's Franki Valli re-edit, "Beggin'" dropped to finish shit off.

Don't know about that Gaslamp Killer blow your mind and grab your soul shit? Two months ago he released the sun blazing heat, "i spit on your grave" mix off Obey Records. Support the artist too, the box set comes with some goodie snacks.



Or maybe you're in LA sometimes? Be sure to check out the Low End Theory Wednesday nights at the Airliner in Lincoln Heights. Can someone bring this weekly event to San Francisco, apparently they got a monthly in NY already? Last night shows that the Bay needs and wants some of that genre bending Hiphop inspired psych, funk, soul, electro, reggae, world madness.

Sound Lesson 4: Dilla's Donuts

I've been noticing more and more Hiphop artists playing with the concept of art taking on its own life independent from the life of the artist. While Vaughn Bode constructed a self-sustaining world of mystical wizards, lizards, and bodacious women that enchanted bombers worldwide, J Dilla (born James Yancey) produced a resonant universe crafted out of disparate musical histories that aggressively calls the listener to fall deep into his own sonic world.

While struggling to survive in a hospital bed in '05 and '06 with the debilitating immune condition, lupus, J Dilla gathered the courage to leave behind his best album, Donuts. Dilla worked bedside with musical equipment brought by his mother. Each of the 31 tracks he completed do not last much longer than a minute reflecting Dilla's failing endurance yet resilient devotion to tie together his final aesthetic vision.

While listening more carefully to Donuts and unraveling some of its layered mysteries, I realized that Dilla was trying to come to terms with his own death on the approaching horizon. Some of the cryptic code offers itself to us listeners.

As if peacefully saying goodbye to the terrestrial and firmly implanting himself into the everlasting through his art, Donuts begins with the 'outro' and ends with the "Donuts (Intro.)" Adding to the spiritual quality of the album, the finale 'intro' aims towards Dilla's own apotheosis by employing a sample of one-hit wonder Motherlode's 1969 pop hit, "When I die."

The heartfelt soul jam addressed to a distant lover is propelled by serene percussion that drives Motherlode to chant in harmony during the chorus, "When I die / I hope I'll be / The kind of man that you thought I'd be." In the concluding 'intro' Dilla strategically chops up Motherlode's chorus to elevate the self-proclaiming "be," intertwined only twice with the parallel concept "die," which is manipulated into near incomprehension, as Dilla deconstructs the notions of being and death into their pure sonic elements of feeling.

Facing death head on, Dilla elongates Motherlode's vocals into a celestial proclamation, emphasizing not only the beauty of life but even his own oncoming second life, as he dissipates into becoming, and finally being, the music itself. As a last memory, Dilla aligns himself with a long lasting history of musicians who have passed but continue to live on in the hearts of all who remember.

Intro J Dilla.

Sound Lesson: 1

I decided to start a weekly thread that traces the original samples of classic Hiphop / Electronic /Nu-Soul / 'whatever genre I want' joints. At first I wanted to limit myself to finding the most obscure shit around, but that constraint really is silly. Instead, I'm just going to post up the illest shit no matter it's popularity.

Let's get to the program then. Remember young Jay-Z when he used to kick with The Jaz as part of The Originators in the late 80s and early 90s? Rumors abound that the Jaz gave Jay-Z his name, or even his original style from which he gained the name Jay-Z, having something to do with his bullet paced, saxophone swaying flow.

In the end, who the hell knows since their egos get too thickly in the way for any simple answers. Even though the two have the funny beef that always haunts people who want to define themselves uniquely from their closest influences, they used to rock it like no one else, leaving for our politically minded bodyrocking pleasure the funky Nation of Islam slam "The Originators."





Oddly enough, I never hear DJs bumping this track even though Jay-Z drops a heated verse with more tongue-twisting technique than Das EFX. Apparently all of Brooklyn got down with the skibbidy hibbop yabbadoo steez.

Considering the track is entitled the Originators, it's only fitting to go back into history to find the source of that inspiration. For the production, Jaz sliced up the aggressive saxophone and resonant drum break of The Last Word's "Keep on Bumpin'." The Last Word was actually a tiny side project of the J.B.'s in the mid 70's that tended to more of an upbeat sound friendly to the hip grinding moves of the bump fad. The sax melody is layered with some sharp keyboard effects that raise into an alarming doppler style blast in the middle of the track. This shit is fresh.

Review: Erykah Badu's New Amerykah

Ten years ago Erykah Badu ushered in the birth of what we now know as neo-soul music with her trend setter Baduizm. Expect to hear the nu soul conventions broken, twisted, and completely transformed in the 4^th World War, part one of an ongoing concept project entitled New Amerykah. Finding inspiration in Funkadelic cosmic grooves, the loving croons of Minnie Ripperton, and the playfulness of De La Soul contrasted by the street smarts of Eric B. and Rakim, Badu takes the listener on a chopped up musical voyage of heartfelt sound and imagery. Leaving behind the simple coherence of Baduism that championed headwraps, ankhs, and astrological lyricism, Badu achieves a more authentic voice with her broader, more complex perspective.

Hiphop’s finest funky soul crate diggers of today (sorry Pete Rock) – Madlib, 9^th Wonder, and the Sa-Ra collective – provide Badu with the head nodding smooth production that really allows the power of her voice to ride the sonic waves. On the opening track, the Healer, Badu proclaims an ode to Hiphop culture, “bigger than religion... bigger than the government,” and specifically, praise to the legacy of the late J Dilla. Badu steadies her penetrating voice over a gritty Detroit hand clap boom bap that sounds part like a rebirth of the culture and due to a ghostly background chant, an eerie funeral oration of its demise.

As if the track did not remind one enough of Dilla, Badu slams it into our ears with her flipped up rendition of the seminal Donuts joint, My People, where she puts new soul into the original Eddie Kendricks cut. Badu chants “my people,” elongating the syllables as they fade into the break beat, swaying hypnotically with the thrusting momentum of fast synth clips charged with a resounding bass line.

Adding complexity to the album that warrants its replay value, Badu shifts styles right in the thick of it. The contemplative melodies of the beginning tracks are complemented by the body jerking funk groove of “The Cell” where Badu skillfully crafts together multiple styles of singing from aggressive raps to jazzy skatting. She unifies the uplifting sound into a critique on poverty, drug abuse, and violence that avoids cliché thanks to its potent visual language, “Mama hopped up on cocaine, Daddy on spaceships to no brain.”

The album finishes with the “bonus track,” Honey, the catchy single bumping a heavy wa-wa guitar that reaches towards tying together the P-Funkish introduction but strangely fits the least with the conceptual scheme of the preceding tracks. Honey nonetheless stands on its own as an impressive balance of playfulness, “I’m in love with a bumblebee,” and a serious proclamation of joy.

The varying tracks are drawn together by Badu’s delicate mastery of merging the personal with the political reminiscent of Curtis Mayfield. Knowledge of Erykah the woman in the largest sense sheds light on the overall situation of our people on the planet Earth. The pun of the title, New Amerykah, therefore makes perfect sense even if the subtitle of 4^th World War gets lost in the bumbling shifts from one subject to the next that sometimes forgets its central insight.

In flipping the rules of the neo-soul game, Badu is not only reconstructing her own personal mode of expression, but also perhaps more daringly, seeking to achieve the most ambitious objective of music - to move the world in a different direction.


If you haven't peeped the video of Honey then check it. How many classic albums do you recognize?