Friday, January 30, 2004
New downloads come early this week, since I'm going away for a week and won't have access to the FTP server:
I'd always heard of the brilliance of Louis Jordan and His Tympany Five, but had never actually heard any of his stuff until recently, after hearing Matos wax apeshit about him, especially at Boogie Fever. Hearing the phenomenal "Harlem Hit Parade" show Douglas Wolk did on WFMU back in November piqued my interest, too. So I tracked down one of Jordan's biggest hits, "Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens," which was #1 on the Billboard R&B charts for a jaw-dropping 17 weeks in 1947. [And that wasn't even his biggest hit! That honor goes to "Choo Choo Ch'Boogie," which ruled the roost for 18 weeks in 1946. In fact, from July '46 till May '47, no one else hit the top of the R&B chart, and that run only featured 5 singles.] I understand what the fuss is about. This ain't just swing, this is jump-up boogie - with more energy and propulsion than the majority of any given year's hip-hop and R&B singles put together. Consider me converted.
Pet Shop Boys released a double-disc retrospective, PopArt, at the end of last year (in the UK - there's still no US release set). It features the obligatory pair of new songs, but for once, they deserve to appear here. I've already gotten all rhapsodic about "Miracles"; take a listen to the other new track, "Flamboyant." It's classic PSB, and could just as easily have been made in 1992 as today. That's a compliment.
It's no secret that one of my professional idols, and one of the biggest influences on my writing, is Robert Christgau. He's been writing for The Village Voice (and occasionally, other publications) for over 30 years now. He's not just the Dean, he's the motherfucking Don. One of my favorite review he's ever written is of the 1986 Rolling Stones album Dirty Work, which happens to be my favorite non-comp of theirs. Hopefully, it won't piss anyone off if I share his classic review here in full:
Dreaming of solo glory, Mick doesn't have much time for his band these days--just plugged into his Stones mode and spewed whatever he had to spew, adding lyrics and a few key musical ideas to tracks Ron and Keith completed before the star sullied his consciousness with them. And I say let him express himself elsewhere. For once his lyrics are impulsive and confused, two-faced by habit rather than design, the straightest reports he can offer from the top he's so lonely at, about oppressing and being oppressed rather than geopolitical contradiction. In the three that lead side two, always playing dirty is getting to him, as is his misuse of the jerks and greaseballs and fuckers and dumb-asses who clean up after him, yet for all his privilege he's another nuclear subject who's got no say over whether he rots or pops even though he'd much prefer the former. Especially together with the hard advice of "Hold Back," these are songs of conscience well-known sons of bitches can get away with. Coproducer Steve Lillywhite combines high-detail arena-rock with back-to-basics commitment and limits the melismatic affectations that have turned so much of Mick's late work in on itself. Let him have his own life and career, I don't care. What I want is the Stones as an idea that belongs to history, that's mine as much as theirs. This is it. A
Wow. The title cut from Dirty Work has always been a personal favorite of mine; it's just so raw and nasty, and sounds like my idea of what the Stones are supposed to fucking sound like. They've never sounded nearly so loose-cannon since, and that's a shame.
I'd always heard of the brilliance of Louis Jordan and His Tympany Five, but had never actually heard any of his stuff until recently, after hearing Matos wax apeshit about him, especially at Boogie Fever. Hearing the phenomenal "Harlem Hit Parade" show Douglas Wolk did on WFMU back in November piqued my interest, too. So I tracked down one of Jordan's biggest hits, "Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens," which was #1 on the Billboard R&B charts for a jaw-dropping 17 weeks in 1947. [And that wasn't even his biggest hit! That honor goes to "Choo Choo Ch'Boogie," which ruled the roost for 18 weeks in 1946. In fact, from July '46 till May '47, no one else hit the top of the R&B chart, and that run only featured 5 singles.] I understand what the fuss is about. This ain't just swing, this is jump-up boogie - with more energy and propulsion than the majority of any given year's hip-hop and R&B singles put together. Consider me converted.
Pet Shop Boys released a double-disc retrospective, PopArt, at the end of last year (in the UK - there's still no US release set). It features the obligatory pair of new songs, but for once, they deserve to appear here. I've already gotten all rhapsodic about "Miracles"; take a listen to the other new track, "Flamboyant." It's classic PSB, and could just as easily have been made in 1992 as today. That's a compliment.
It's no secret that one of my professional idols, and one of the biggest influences on my writing, is Robert Christgau. He's been writing for The Village Voice (and occasionally, other publications) for over 30 years now. He's not just the Dean, he's the motherfucking Don. One of my favorite review he's ever written is of the 1986 Rolling Stones album Dirty Work, which happens to be my favorite non-comp of theirs. Hopefully, it won't piss anyone off if I share his classic review here in full:
Dreaming of solo glory, Mick doesn't have much time for his band these days--just plugged into his Stones mode and spewed whatever he had to spew, adding lyrics and a few key musical ideas to tracks Ron and Keith completed before the star sullied his consciousness with them. And I say let him express himself elsewhere. For once his lyrics are impulsive and confused, two-faced by habit rather than design, the straightest reports he can offer from the top he's so lonely at, about oppressing and being oppressed rather than geopolitical contradiction. In the three that lead side two, always playing dirty is getting to him, as is his misuse of the jerks and greaseballs and fuckers and dumb-asses who clean up after him, yet for all his privilege he's another nuclear subject who's got no say over whether he rots or pops even though he'd much prefer the former. Especially together with the hard advice of "Hold Back," these are songs of conscience well-known sons of bitches can get away with. Coproducer Steve Lillywhite combines high-detail arena-rock with back-to-basics commitment and limits the melismatic affectations that have turned so much of Mick's late work in on itself. Let him have his own life and career, I don't care. What I want is the Stones as an idea that belongs to history, that's mine as much as theirs. This is it. A
Wow. The title cut from Dirty Work has always been a personal favorite of mine; it's just so raw and nasty, and sounds like my idea of what the Stones are supposed to fucking sound like. They've never sounded nearly so loose-cannon since, and that's a shame.
# posted by Thomas : 6:43 PM
