Wintertijd

Freak Power

The other day I wrote about finding Ashley Slater on a compilation and that caused me to dust off my Freak Power records once more. As indicated, I never knew Fatboy Slim was involved in them. The only reason I ever knew Freak Power is because a Levi's commercial prominently featured their song Turn on, Tune in, Cop out which then went on to become a minor hit in Holland after the commercial gained popularity. Many people who don't know Freak Power still know that song, and many consider it to be their signature song. Now I decided to buy their album when I heard that song, and I was pleasantly surprised.

Unlike many albums I bought at that stage in my life, the self-titled "Freak Power" is still as listenable today as it was when I first got it. They blend funky sounds with a laid-back production that flirts with R&B, Soul and Hip-Hop, albeit in a way that reminds more of Dee-lite than Cypress Hill, if you catch my drift. Groove is in the heart, baby! Yeah! It's a very nice album, and funnily enough I think Turn on, Tune in, Cop out is one of the weaker songs on it. Their excellent cover of the Sly Stone tune "Running Away" is extremely cool, the hip-hop oriented "Big Time" is a solid head-bobber, "The Whip" and "Rush" offer lovely light grooves....

While lyrically it's all very much about respecting brothers and sisters, loving the world and generally having a good time, some of the things you hear are quite cool. "Moonbeam Woman" is really very naughty while the second song I'm offering for download here is about as much on the money as you can be. So please enjoy:

Change My Mind
When it comes to affairs of the head,
I always find that the better hung are the well read.
See that sat beneath the tree of thought,
Well five'll get you ten that it's me.
If ignorance is paradise, I don't agree.

Every minute I try
To change my mind.
Every minute I try
To change my mind.

When it comes to affairs of the leg,
Don't try to purchase the tapestry off the peg.
You might be sitting all alone in your room,
flying in an armchair ride.
You'll always find when you're looking out,
you'll see inside.

Something in this world has changed my mind I find,
I took a trip to heaven on the wings of womankind.
Something in this world makes every sense, experience,
take me to Utopia, to hell with the expense
'cause I try, yeah

When it comes to affairs of the mouth,
Come sup the sociable seminar in the deep south.
Don't tell me that talk is cheap,
when it's clear as my nose that it's not.
We make up all the characters, but not the plot.

St Germain Des Prés Café 8

On the same day I bought this Stephanie McKay album I mentioned earlier, I also picked up Concerto's Nu-Jazz tip for the day, St Germain Des Près Café, volume 8. It's a 2006 compilation of nu-jazz tunes which was lying there with a post-it on it saying such things as "Nu-Jazz Tip" and "11.95", so I had to take it with me. Initially I thought it was a compilation done by the French artist St Germain, but upon reading the Wiki and some other material I found out that St Germain is actually not associated with this series of compilations. Instead, the people behind Buddha Bar are.

In and of itself I that shouldn't bode well for the CD because Buddha Bar is something I've always found trite. While I can enjoy certain compilations like St Etienne's "The Trip" and Café del Mar Volumen Seis, usually I hate electronic lounge albums because I typically think it's elevator music. However, this CD is no such thing. The focus here is less on electronica and more on Jazz, albeit with touches of Fusion here and there. Nu-Jazz in other words. The compilation is very good. For those that are not acquainted with Swedish Nu-Jazz luminaries Koop, Britain's blackest sounding white girl Alice Russell and Norwegian Jazz-Funk duo Kinny & Horne, it is a great compilation to buy as it features songs of all three, and good ones at that. So judging by what I knew on the disc, the compiler had good taste.

The track I'm going to offer here is by Ashley Slater and it's the first track in the set. When I first heard the song I immediately recognized him as the frontman for Freak Power, a band that had a smash hit in 1995 with the song "Tune on, Tune in, Cop out". I've always loved that band. Their self-titled album from the same year features a great cover of Sly Stone's "Running Away" and the voice of the singer really does it for me. So imagine my surprise when I slide this 2006 Nu-Jazz compilation into the player and hear his voice. Now I never knew Freak Power's frontman was called Ashley Slater. And I never knew he also plays trombone. Hell, I didn't even know his partner in crime for Freak Power was Fatboy Slim. It's amazing, the things you can find out by simply buying a record.

Anyway, please enjoy Cellophane by Ashley Slater. I know I did.

Stephanie McKay

Stephanie McKay has apparently been at it for about 20 years in the music business, and I never knew who the woman was. When I was visiting my favorite record shop again this weekend, Concerto in the Utrechtse straat in Amsterdam, I asked the guy in the black music section what he could recommend for me, and he came up with Stephanie McKay's album "Tell it like it is". Looking at the album I decided to pick it up, because any woman with such a fro arouses my interest.

Arno knew her as the background singer of Amp Fiddler, but he wasn't sure if it would be an interesting record. She is sold as a Nu-Soul artist, but I'm not quite sure if I agree with that label. Some of the tracks on this album are squarely rooted in the 60s, some are funky and remind me of the 70s while others indeed are pure Nu-Soul. Having said that, the opening of the Album is sticky and nasty, just like it should. And it doesn't get significantly worse from there on. Please enjoy the funky tune Kinky, though unfortunately the lyrics have nothing to do with the title.

Kinky
Gotta get my feet back on the one
Get up, pack
All my shit and run
I pack light nothing in the way
I won’t look back
I’m surer everyday
Oh I won’t hesitate
And I’m surer everyday
Got my feet planted on the ground
From the wisdom that I found
I can see the light
And I finally got it right
And I ‘m through with talking all the time
chasing dollars for a dime

Gotta get back into the race
Brace myself tighten my shoelace
Bring on more cheddar for my plate
My appetite is rising and so is my pulse rate
Oh I’m here to stay
No matter what might come my way
And I keep my face in the light
Not afraid of any height
I won’t hesitate
kick the wall down till it breaks
And I ‘m through with talking all the time
chasing dollars for a dime
And I keep my face in the light
Not afraid of any height

Gotta get my feet back on the one
Get up, pack
All my shit and run
I pack light nothing in the way
I won’t look back
My life is clear as day, hey
Oh I’m here to stay
No matter what might come my way
My feet are planted on the ground from the wisdom
That I found
I can see the light and I finally got it right
And I’m through with talking all the time
chasing dollars for a dime
Keep my face in the light
Not afraid of any height
My feet are planted on the ground from the wisdom
That I found

Regeneration

One of the bands that I've discovered by way of a friend of mine in Israel is The Divine Comedy. A lot has been said and written about this band, and you can debate whether their 2001 album "Regeneration" is one of their strongest or weakest efforts. I would argue the former, since I sincerely love every note that is played on this album.

The glum and layered production by Godrich of Radiohead fame certainly works well with Hannon's baritone on this record. In my view, the standout track (if you can say such a thing) on this album is the decidedly depressing and uneasy fourth song:

Note to Self
Monday
Restate my assumptions
Heaven and hell
Do not exist

Tuesday
Restate my assumptions
If you die you do so
At your own risk

Into the heart of darkness
Beyond the point of no return

Wednesday
Restate my assumptions
Beauty is not
The same thing as youth

Thursday
Restate my assumptions
Only one thing beautiful
That's the truth

Into the heart of darkness
Beyond the point of no return

What the fuck is happening?
Where has everybody gone?
What the hell is going on?
There is nothing as frightening as being alone

Friday
Restate my assumptions
The writer writes for himself
Not for you

Saturday
Restate my assumptions
A song is not a song
Until it's listened to

Industrial Silence

There are a million possible ways of starting an album, and this has got to be one of the most bloody brilliant ones I've heard so far. Madrugada, the Norwegian depression-rockers
start their debut album "Industrial Silence" in a way I have no words for.

Vocal
You better run, you better run
You better not wait too long
You better run, you better run
You better run for you have a heart
So let's start, so let's start
So let's start, tear it all apart
You better run, you better run
You better run for you have a heart
Well, you know it's only so much I can take
I buried my head in that pillow for a million days
So, well, I'm sorry but I do not care to wait
Dare not walk through the light
Dare not walk through the light

Your vision's traveled far today
So why don't you run away
Your vision's traveled far today
Like in the times when you say

I have a cry, I have a cry, and I will not be contained
I have a cry, I have a cry, and I will not be contained, no
Well you know it is only so much I can take
Buried my head in that pillow a million days oh, oh
Well, I'm sorry but I do not care to wait
Dare not walk through the light
Dare not walk through the light
Oh, dare not walk through the light
Dare not walk through the light

Small Town Boy

Digging through my CD collection for additional albums to rip, I came across my double CD "The Best of Pop & Wave - The 12" Mixes", and started listening through it after ripping it. One of the songs on there that always had a specific impact on me is Bronsky Beat's "Small Town Boy". It's got some references to the parental home in it that I can't identify with. If anything, my home is what kept me sane during the first 16 years of my life. But the second part of the song is very much something that stayed with me through life.

Many people asked me why on earth I ended up in Sweden respectively Israel, and I can answer something generic about meeting women and whatnot, but at the end of the day some of my reasons for moving abroad and generally looking for a place in this world far, far outside of my home town have to do with childhood. Excuse me for going all Freudian on my own ass, but it's the only logical conclusion.

Anyway, all that aside, this song just kicks ass for it's own sake. I imagine there are many people who know it and remember it without knowing exactly who made it. So therefore I offer you, from my own trip down memory lane, Bronsky Beat with Small Town Boy, but this time in the 12" version.

Small Town Boy
Pushed around and kicked around
Always a lonely boy
You were the one
That they'd talk about around town
As they put you down

And as hard as they would try
They'd hurt to make you cry
But you never cried to them
Just to your soul
No you never cried to them
Just to your soul

Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away.
Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away.

Cry , boy, cry...

Kinky Afro

Now I grew up with MTV back in the day when it was still cool and not a bunch of watered down commercials for record industry products that are a rehash of the last two decades. Roy Cakes was on with that crazy Belgian, Paul King (remember Love and Pride?) was on, headbangers ball was still presented by that trashy looking vamp, and all was good. Some of the music I will never forget seeing in those days are Beck's Loser when it came out, some G 'n' R video's and last but not least the Happy Mondays videos of the early nineties.

The latter made an excellent album which got produced by the tripmaster Paul Oakenfold, so it offered the Mancunian rock wave sound combined with a laid back club groove all on one album. That album features the absolute best of the Mondays in my view.

Recently I found a nice collecter's edition of Pills 'n' Thrills 'n' Bellyaches in a shop in Haifa, and I just couldn't help myself. Maybe it's because the Mondays made cool music. Maybe it's because they're Mancunian, and can be seen as the Godfathers of the Manchester wave. Maybe it's because I remember those wacky videos. Maybe it's because they did enough drugs to kill a small country's population and maybe, just maybe it's because they poisoned 500 pigeons from a Manchester rooftop once. I fucking hate pigeons.

Anyway, I picked it up and was surprised to find that most of that album actually withstood the test of time. Most of the songs are still as enjoyable as back in the day, and it doesn't sound dated one bit to me. Kudos to the Mondays and Oakenfold there. But while giving this album a spin and listening more intently, I was surprised how some of the lyrics are just fantastic. Kinky Afro is arguably the coolest song the Mondays released. Better than Loose Fit and Step On. But the opening lines, which are the opening lines of the Album as a whole, are by far the most astute comment on parenthood I have seen in my life. This is so cynical and spot on that they're giving the Moz a run for his money, dare I say it.

Kinky Afro

Son, Im thirty
I only went with your mother 'cause she's dirty
And I don't have a decent bone in me
What you get is just what you see yeah
I should so I take it free yeah
And all the bad preserves be things that feed me
I never help or give to the needy
Come on and see me

Yippee-ippee-ay-ay-ay-yey-yeah
I had to crucify some brother today
And I dont dig what you gotta say
So come on and say it
Come on and tell me twice

I said dad you're a shabby
You run around and groove like a baggy
Youre only here just out of habit
All that's mine you might as well have it
You take 10p back and then stab it
Spray it on and tag it
So sack on me
I can't stand the needy
Get around here if you're asking you're feeling

Yippee-ippee-ay-ay-ay-yey-yeah
I had to crucify somebody today
And I don't dig what you gotta say
So come on and say it
Come on and tell me twice

So sack all the needy
I cant stand to leave it
You come around here and you put both your feet in

Couldn't stand the damn Dog

Recently I have been ripping a lot of my music collection. I'm now up at having digitized more than six hundred albums. Yesterday I was ripping through my collection of Tom Waits CD's which is quite large, if not comprehensive. Tom Waits is a musician that makes albums that in turn delight and disturb me deeply. Some of his music is just too weird, some of it is utterly brilliant, and I'm never quite sure which is which.

The albums Swordfishtrombones and Rain Dogs are some of his clinically insane outings, but they have their moments of brilliance, be it in the music or the lyrics. He's a gifted lyricist in that he observes what few artists choose to observe, and he's the man who wrote such lines as "Don't you know there ain't no Devil, there's just God when he's drunk" (Heartattack and Vine) and "A redhead in a uniform will always get you horny" (Foreign Affairs).

Now this song off Swordfishtrombones might be a bit macabre, but for some reason I can identify with its sentiment completely. I don't know what that says about me. Maybe it's better not to think about that, but here's Frank's Wild Years for downloading. It's a short song, but to me it says more about anything than 99% of modern music out there. Enjoy.

Frank's Wild Years

Frank settled down in the Valley,
and he hung his wild years on a
nail that he drove through his
wife's forehead.

He sold used office furniture out
there on San Fernando Road and
assumed a $30,000 loan at
15 1/4 % and put a down payment
on a little two bedroom place.

His wife was a spent piece of used jet trash
Made good bloody-marys, kept her mouth
shut most of the time, had a little Chihuahua
named Carlos that had some kind of skin
disease and was totally blind.

They had a thoroughly modern kitchen;
self-cleaning oven 'n' the whole bit
Frank drove a little sedan.
They were so happy.

One night Frank was on his way home
from work, stopped at the liquor store,
picked up a couple of Mickey's Big Mouth’s.
Drank 'em in the car on his way to the
Shell station; he got a gallon of gas in a can.

Drove home, doused everything in
the house, torched it.
Parked across the street laughing,
watching it burn, all Halloween
orange and chimney red.

Frank put on a top forty station,
got on the Hollywood Freeway
headed North.

Never could stand that dog.

Jukebox.

It's not often I have to reverse on my positions on Lo-Fi artists. Typically the lo-fi people's (lack of) production values make for eternally flawed recordings that are kind of like masturbating with a cheese-grate... Interesting, but painful. Of course, you have the mainstays like Will Oldham (aka Bonnie 'Prince' Billy) and the Magnetic Fields that are good in spite of the budget, but apart from that it's just not my cup of tea.

So when I heard Cat Power's "Jukebox" played in a record store yesterday I was surprised to find out it was her. I had heard her earliest outings because of a Lo-Fi Loving friend of mine in Sweden had insisted, and I had seen her live at the Debaser club in Stockholm, but I was hardly impressed with it all. She has made some pretty gritty lo-fi stuff, and I wasn't expecting something as polished as this.

The whole album is bursting at the seams with languid vocals and guitar play, and she seems to have managed to attract a very decent keys-player who lays down very nice Rhodes accents throughout the whole album. The music sounds great, albeit a bit heavy on the reverb.

She also makes some bold choices here. There are Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Hank Williams and Frank Sinatra covers on this album. I'm not sure how to even qualify it, because some of the songs are country-ish, while others are rhythm and blues, soul, blues and even jazz influenced. The one common denominator on the album is the atmosphere which is decidedly brooding.

All in all, this album made me want to revisit her 2006 album "The Greatest" which allegedly is a tribute to the Memphis soul scene, from which she got some of the backing musicians to play on Jukebox too.

Some critics seem to dislike her opening tune because it is too predictable of her, but not having heard much of her other albums I was completely blown away by it. It is by far the coolest rendition of a Frank Sinatra song I have heard to date, and a good indicator of the ear-candy you can expect on this album. Therefore, please enjoy New York by Cat Power, and then run out and buy Jukebox.

King King.

Every now and then people make albums that seem to render the rest of the genre obsolete or superfluous, and the 1992 live recording by The Red Devils, "King King" pretty much does that for blues, blues-rock and most rock. It is a hard-hitting set of 12 songs recorded at the King King club, 6 years before the demise of their harp player and lead singer, Lester Butler. He died of an OD in 1998, which to me seems kind of fitting for a blues man.

In spite of these guys all being white, they deliver in spades. The band is tight, the sound original yet familiar, the harp playing is inspired and gritty as hell. In fact this whole album is made of pure grit, grime, sweat and smoke, just like it ought to be. It may be strange to quote Radiohead in a Blues review, but the Red Devils offer you no alarms and no surprises here. It's blues, man. Unadulterated and unpolished as anyone has ever recorded it. Once you buy it, there are only two things you can do to this album. The first one is kind of elaborate, so bear with me.

You take this album and fly down to the deep south of the US. Find yourself a small town with a drug store, a local mechanic and gas station and a juke joint. You go to the local mechanic and pick up a greasy, beat up American vehicle with a V8 engine, a leather couch for a front seat, an automatic gearbox attached to the wheel, an ash tray and a decent CD system. Then get yourself a hot looking woman with an attitude, a short dress and no shoes, a cold six pack of beer and a pouch of tobacco.

Next you wait for one of those cindering hot summer days where the cotton is high and the only things that move are the heat tremors above the tarmac and the alligators looking for lunch. You take your CD, woman, six pack and tobacco, and put them all in the car, roll a cigarette, light up and then you drive that car 500 miles down backwater roads with the windows down, the woman cuddled up to you with her naked feet on the dash, cooling her neck with a can of ice-cold beer and the system as far up as it can go.

Or you can just stick it in your stereo and play the damn thing. I guarantee you, the feeling will be all the same. Please enjoy No Fightin' by the Red Devils.

Hope?

Since my kid was born, the notion of Identity has been on my mind more than before. For all intents and purposes a whole bunch of people are going to label him a Jew, because his mother is Jewish. I would label him half Israeli, half Dutch, because I don't believe his system of morals / beliefs is ever set in stone. How he sees himself later on, and how he presents himself will determine how other people view him, and ultimately might restrict his freedom of movement in the world, but he's not born with anything except socio-economic circumstances.

Brandishing his Dutch identity he would be free to go where he damn well pleases. If he adopts the Israeli Jewish moniker for himself, he will end up with half the world being off limits and parts of the rest biased against him. Still, he's the same blue eyed boy. How fucked up is that?

Having said that, I once got this obscure CD from a friend of mine in Sweden. Ethan Daniel Davidson's "Don Quixote De Suburbia" is a mixed bag, but a very interesting one. I hadn't listened to it for a long time, but yesterday I had put it on my new iPod 80GB, along with 5800 other songs, and while I was thinking about this aspect of Daniel's life to be, this song by Ethan Daniel Davidson flashed by.

By his own admission he's part Jewish, part Native American and looking at his last name, there are Scandinavian settlers in the mix too... Because Ethan and Daniel are Jewish names (or can be) while Davidson can be as Swedish as an elk. So he sings / speaks this song about going to the deep south and partying in a mixed crowd next to the house of the asshole who founded the KKK back in the day, and he managed to put my mind at ease somewhat.

Listen to the lyrics of this funky tune. It's one of the best songs I've rediscovered recently, and it actually has something intelligent to say about the state of the world. Enjoy Ghosts of Mississippi by Ethan Daniel Davidson.

U2? No thank U.

I've been following the music industry versus technical industry debate with great interest, and now U2's long-time manager has made a speech about how the poor record industry that has "relied on poorly paid enthusiasts" is suffering from the "corporate culture of Silicon Valley" where "nearly every employee is a share-holder". Furthermore he is complaining that consumers are "stealing with impunity" the works of the music industry. In the same speech this guy mentions that U2's 2005 tour grossed 355 million dollars, and that their last record went #1 in 27 different countries. So here we have a dude who, along with the rest of U2, have got a bank-account that far surpasses 99% of all the people who work in the high-tech business, put their by the fans and consumers, who is complaining that his revenue stream is drying up.

Coming from a band who has not made any significant contribution to Music since the 80s War, October and the Joshua Tree, who have been relying on producing middle-of the road bloody boring stadium rock with lyrics that turn less and less political as time goes by, a band that has been wearing larger and larger sunglasses *inside* *while it's dark* *all the time*. If U2 looked at their own video for "New years day" they should feel ashamed of the money grabbing executives they have become. And then to have the gall to call the fans and consumers, who provided them with more fucking cash than the average 3rd world country has, thieves is a bit far fetched.

Then he goes on to criticize "da innernet" and all of its companies for making money on developing technology that enable the average consumer to become one of said THIEVES. Technology business is largely run by enthusiasts who invent things because they think they're cool or useful to the community. These are the roots of HP, Apple, Google and quite a few other technology players.

Lastly he criticized Radiohead and Nine Inch Nails for their move away from record companies. Two acts that indeed have been producing innovative and thought-provoking music throughout their career, albeit in totally different ways. I can name at least a hundred artists just like them, who are not affiliated with Big Labels. Who offer downloads on Internet or who would be happy to find out people were downloading and digging their stuff.

The Music business on the other hand, is a cynical business that pushes shite down 15 year old boys and girls' throats while screwing artists on the other hand. On that note, I think it is about time EMI, Sony and BMG went fucking bankrupt. U2 is nothing more and nothing less than the latest incarnation of bloody BoyZone or Brittney. They are a money machine who have not made a single memorable album since 1987, while cashing in the megabucks.

And they're calling me, an avid record collector who does the odd download to evaluate things and who works for a High-Tech company a thief? I had one U2 album in my collection by virtue of the fact that I got it from someone. This U2 album has now been thrown into the rubbish bin. Along with my Metallica records.

Fucking tossers.

Best By Far?

For a long long time, my friend Arno and I have been exchanging ideas about the world and music alike. One of the ideas he's had so far is that I should purchase records by a guy named Omar, a British gentleman who does funk/nu-soul. Somehow he must have played me the wrong tracks or described the wrong thing, because I never listened to Arno or Omar for that matter. Until recently.

I was in Amsterdam, walking along with Arno until we got to Concerto. We even tried walking hand-in-hand for the hell of it, but that didn't work because each of us wanted to walk with his own hand in the dominant front position. I guess that makes us too straight for our own good, but I digress. At Concerto Arno saw Omar's 2001 album "Best by far" for 8 Euros in the second hand bin. Since that's rather expensive for a secondhander, I wasn't too keen on buying it, also because I had 73 Euros worth of Merchandise in my hands already.

Discussion ensued and he forced it on me. Since then I have listened to it at home, on airplanes, in taxis and in the car, and I'm whacking myself over the head for not having bought this album when it came out. The track that I'm putting on the site here is the starting track of the album, and potentially it is Best By Far. In the sense that this opening song is the end-all be all of all opening tracks I've heard with maybe the exception of "Rikki don't lose that number" on the D's Pretzel Logic.

The album has got some funky soul, even when it's ripping through styles like Bossa, Trance and Reggae. Funnily enough the Title Track, Best by Far, is by far the weakest track on the album, to the point where I even skip it when it comes along at number 5. The other 14 tracks are brilliant, right up to the trancy re-mix of the second track that closes the whole affair. And I really don't like trance.

Also noteworthy are "To the top", which boast some seriously frivolous wind instruments and other sounds while remaining funky and "Come On" which has the best electro-bass line since Parliament's Flashlight. So please enjoy I guess by Omar. Merry Christmas and all that humbug, now run out and get that album.

Into the Wild

In 2000 I had just moved to Sweden, and at the time I was in a rocky relationship with a woman who was into the whole alternative rock thing, and to paraphrase Samuel L Jackson, that practically made me into the whole alternative rock thing too. So when the news surfaced that Pearl Jam was coming to Stockholm, we scored us some tickets. It was after all one of the only things we could agree upon. So we went to Sjöhistoriska Museet, a museum on the North-East side of Stockholm City, on a bank of the Baltic. It was one of those long Swedish summer evenings where the sun seems to set and then just hover there on the cusp of coming back up immediately, casting everything in a four hour red twilight.

We arrived a bit early, but there was already a huge commotion of people making for the stage. I didn't know at the time that Eddie Vedder is prone to do half-hour solo sessions before his Pearl Jam gigs in which he can do folk, pop and other covers. In we went, sat down, and were treated to him doing 30 minutes or so of brilliant acoustic singing and playing. Vedder Alone and Acoustic is, in retrospect, a much bigger treat than Pearl Jam as a whole. The gig was fine though. They played quite a bit of their "Ten" album and quite a bit of the stuff that came after, and things were good. We even got a fly by of big hot-air Balloons that crashed the concert. Vedder made the quip "I hope you enjoy it, you fucking freeloaders", and merrily continued playing his tunes.

Almost seven and a half years later, I found myself standing in this record shop in Ra'anana I've been talking about, and I see a solo album by Eddie Vedder out. Apparently, Sean Penn had made a movie to the book Into The Wild, and asked Vedder to pen the Soundtrack. The whole thing, upon closer inspection, only lasts for 33 minutes but is an absolute joy to my ears. Precisely because it leads my thoughts back to that open-air concert on that night in Sweden. Essentially, this album is played and written by Vedder. The tracks are short, folky and earthy, and generally speaking all instruments are done by the man himself. There are some guest musicians on one or two tracks, and there are two tracks he didn't write. But all in all it feels like Eddie Vedder just climbed on a stage with an acoustic guitar, a banjo and a drum to do his thing for half an hour.

This makes it outstrip any Pearl Jam album ever made. To illustrate what I mean I'd herewith like to give you the sublime, banjo plucked (or is that a ukelele?) Rise. Enjoy!

Such is the way of the world, you can never know...

Music Scene

To illustrate what Kutiman means with No Groove Where I Come From, check out this MySpace profile. These ladies have talent. They sing a good harmony, and they are purdy much the only ones in Israel that seem to have heard of an actual harmony. Listen to the track "So Far", which I think is brilliant. Then think about this for a second: The whole album's most upbeat track *is* so Far. Some don't even have a semblance of a rhythm section and they just meander around without a goal or the slightest bit of balls. And this, I fear, is typical for the Israeli music scene.

The owner of the record shop I mentioned told me he works in Radio sometimes too. And for memorial days, they change the programming to be exclusively ballads and sad songs. He said that after days like that, they receive thousands of e-mails on "how excellent" the programming was. This overall attitude really depresses me. Like I said, HaBanot Nechama have talent. And I'm not looking for a pop product. But lay off the fucking meandering ballads and the eternal melancholy already! To allow these girls to make something that isn't as melancholy-prone. Jesus H fucking Christ. The Israeli population should get a collective fucking clue about music.

Specially if you keep in mind that the rave-scene is lively here. So apparently, between tasteless Hebrew versions of Italo-Pop, thumping Rave of yesteryear and these bloody fucking Ballads, you've captured the Israeli scene. I'm going to quit ranting and raving now. But it's worrisome that a country has a music scene decidedly *less* interesting than the Dutch. I never thought it possible, you see.

PS: When I say Sad Songs and Ballads, I don't mean they have the taste or grace to put on a Willie Nelson tune or an Otis Redding song, OK? Just to be clear on this.

No Groove Where I Come From

I have discovered a brilliant record store in Ra'anana, called The Third Ear. The owner is a huge Steely Dan fan, has Fred Wesley and the Horny Horns on sale as a default and to top it off he knew what I was talking about when I wanted to order William Shatner's "Has Been". As a matter of fact, these people have given me a few good tips already, but more about that later. Now the other day I was having a smoke with one of the employees, and we were talking about P-Funk and the sorry-ass state of groove in Israel. I asked him "So what do *you* think about the Israeli music scene?". He just smiled, took a drag off of his cigarette and said "We don't talk about it in this store. It just don't exist". Amen to that.

So yesterday I walk into the store, and they're playing a modern take on P-funk. I ask the dude what it was he was playing, and to my complete bewilderment he answered it was Israeli. We all stood there and marveled at that for a while. One customer asked if he had heard that correctly, and all that. Much hilarity ensued. Apparently there is a Gentleman named Ophir Kutiel who calls 'mself Kutiman. He plays keys, guitar, bass and, most of all, drums. The guy sat down in his home studio with a couple of friends that are into groove as well, and cut a self-titled album that consists of thirteen cuts, on which he plays most of the instruments. He gets vocal backing from a couple of people and there's a few horn-players that supply much needed wind to the album.

This is also the weak aspect of the Album. Kutiman is not a lyricist. He is not a singer. He lays down grooves, but somehow the thing feels unfinished. It's decidedly funky in places, but it's missing something. The whole album is too much a product of one dude sitting down and giving his interpretation of what Funk should be, but he's no Stevie Wonder or Johnny Guitar Watson. Having said that, it is the grooviest thing I have heard coming out of Israel to date. And that makes him one out of three Israeli artists that for one reason or another are worth listening to. Obviously, it's also true that the budget he has most likely received to make this album is such that he couldn't indulge in Isaac Hayes' scope of arranging exactly either. So all in all, this home-grown funk album is definitely worthwhile. On some tracks there's too much emphasis on P-funkish synth diddles. They're a one man show. Consequently I really think the album shines on cuts where he really uses those horn players and some vocals.All in all an excellent first foray into cutting a full length album of funky stuff. Somebody just needs to give this guy Mo' Money.

If you consider the Artist was born and raised in the most arid of countries when it comes to Funk, Soul, Groove and R&B, you'll appreciate it even more. For there is No Groove Where He Comes From. So I decided to post the so aptly named fourth track of the album, No Groove Where I Come From. It's a five minute funk extravaganza with chanting, horns, freaky synths, a very decent bridge and a colossal ending. Enjoy!

Que Onda III

A while ago I started talking about Latin music. I'm perfectly aware of the fact that some people associate the likes of Ricky Martin, Enrique Iglesias and Shakira with Latin Music, and I'm not entirely sure of the Gentleman I am going to post today would turn around in his grave or not. Carlos Gardel was really the son of French immigrants in Argentina, and instead of a career as a more classical baritone, he chose to embrace the working class music of the time, the Argentinian Tango.

It has always struck me as funny that the genre of the Argentinian Tango was popularized and defined in many ways by a Frenchman, but there you have it. And as it was the "less cultured" choice at the time, I'm not so sure if Mr Gardel would actively dislike the commercialized pop that Latin has become. Somewhere inside me there's a music-snob lurking, working at the burger king, spitting on your onion rings, who hopes that he would indeed roll over in his grave at the thought of being lumped in with these contemporary "Latin" artists.

Either which way, the music of Carlos Gardel represents some of the oldest recordings I have in my posession. It's him, Charlie Patton, Robert Johnson, Benny Goodman and Bix Beiderbecke that represent the thirties in my collection. Like Robert Johnson he also died way before his recording career should have been over. He died in a plane crash in 1935, which is about as tragic as the death of Robert Johnson in 1938.

Although it must be said... I mean, we all know Stevie Wonder was a musical genius. With everything he did in the seventies in mind, the man should have been nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize somewhere along the line. But then the eighties hit him, and he started turning out shite like "I just called... " and such. With that in mind, it is maybe a good thing Gardel died when he did, because it enabled him to leave behind an expressive and immaculate set of recordings.

Now I hate to be a cliché-monger, but in his case the stand out track amongst the ones he left behind is Por una Cabeza. I love that tune. I first heard it on a Friend's compilation, the Luistervinken, but since then I've heard it pop up in TV-shows, or small parts of it here and there in the media. So I'm relatively sure some of you will recognize parts of it.

Enjoy!

Hipperdehop III

It is my sincere belief that nobody should be mentioning Hip-Hop of any kind without mentioning De La Soul. These people have made a number of albums that are underrated because they didn't do what the rest of the business was doing, but in the mean time they did introduce a whole new way of handling samples. And sampling they did. Not just the Usual Suspects like James Brown, the JB's, Funkadelic and Parliament either... Anyone from Luther Vandross to Hall & Oates to the illustrious Steely Dan ended up on the chopping block of Plug One, Two and Three.

The other thing that sets 'm apart from all the Public Enemy's and Ice-Teas of this world is the fact that they never went Gangsta on anyone's ass. There is no bustin' caps and running drugs on their albums, and they don't call any Birds Bitches or Hos either. They don't talk about Unclefuckers as a matter of course and they refrain from MurderDeathKill in their songs. This puts 'm in a corner with people like Tribe Called Quest, Q-Tip, Will Smith, Arrested Development and other acts that spread a more positive message. Still, don't call 'm Hippies, because that pisses 'm off.

Now most people my age have at least heard a De La Soul tune or two. Eye Know (featuring a sample from Steely D's "Peg"), Say No Go (featuring Hall & Oates' sample from their Say No Go) and Me Myself and I were all relatively large hits in the late eighties and early nineties. Ring Ring Ring (Ha Ha Hey) was also a big hit. However, the rest of their stuff has always eluded those that are not into Hip-Hop per se.

This is a shame, because De La Soul have always evolved their style from album to album. To be honest, I only bought a Best Of album, because I've never been into hip-hop enough to build a comprehensive collection. But the track I want to put on this compilation is almost more of an R&B track than a Hip-Hop track, and it's not from the ubiquitous "3 Feet High and Rising" or "De La Soul is dead" albums. It's a duet featuring Chaka Kahn laid over a very nice guitar and bass background. The whole thing is funky as hell, although it might not sound like what you might expect after hearing "Me, Myself and I" or "Ring Ring Ring".

So for something different from the Plugs, please enjoy their All Good from the 2000 album Art Official Intelligence: Mosaic Thump. If you like what you hear, run out and buy a De La Soul collection or a couple of albums. They know their stuff.

Hipperdehop II

A group that I've been a fan of since they first had a hit in the Netherlands with "Zu geil für diese Welt" is Die Fantastischen Vier. German is normally not the first language people think of when they think of Hip-Hop, but Die Fantastischen Vier, and their man Schwudio in particular, always had fantastic flow in their native tongue. Furthermore, the fact that they collaborated with Bootsy on one of the few good tracks from "Fresh outta P University" does well in my eyes.

For a long time, the only had of them is the trip-hoppish and very esoteric "Die 4. Dimension" which does include some very good tracks. When a friend of mine alerted me to the fact that Die Vier had done an unplugged album, I payed extra attention though. So I went out and got it. It's a fine album all in all. Frankly, there aren't many Hip-Hop albums I can listen to back-to-back, and this one is no exception. But it does have a couple of stand-out tracks that I keep coming back to, and which are bigger favorites than the superb "Tag am Meer" on "Die 4. Dimension".

The track I want to put in this compilation is surely one of the very best break-up songs ever penned on this planet. The lyrics, for those who understand them, are fantastic. Not just insightful, but also downright funny and sarcastic. Musically the whole thing really works well too. Again, this is from a Live and Unplugged performance, there are no studio tricks going on here. And yet everything is tight, atmospheric and the flow is great. It really showcases why I'm a fan of "Die Fantastischen Vier" to begin with.

So without further ado, from their Unplugged album, I herewith give you the second entry in the Hipperdehop compilation: Die Fantastischen Vier with Raus.

Woher kommt die Kraft die es schafft,
daß man am Rausch des Lebens zieht und nicht pafft?
Und überhaupt, wer sich nichts erlaubt
sich nichts traut, der verstaubt ~
beraubt sich aller Dinge die er glaubt,
und vertraut sich nicht.

Que Onda? II

This is something I wasn't planning on at all. I've decided to include a Neil Young cover in the Que Onda compilation on Latin sounds. Neil Young has never dabbled in Latin. I'm a fan of the man, but not for his exotic rhythms as it were. However, through a newsletter from a Dutch alternative rock/americana band I've been following (The Gasoline Brothers) a bit, I came to a website called CoverClub where six bands posted free songs. Covers of Neil Young songs.

Honourable mentions also to the Moss people, although their version didn't add much to the original. The Ponokos version of Pocahontas is also very good. However, the one track on that compilation that really grabs me is made by a Lady called Marjoleine Reitsma, known as the artist Leine. She's only had one solo-outing, an EP / CD called "Songs at the dinner table" which I'm in the process of ordering. Her cover of A man needs a Maid is splendid.

She apparantly did everything herself, the body sounds, sax, guitar and what sounds like a bandoneon. And let's not forget the singing. Her voice really stands out. It's relaxed, it's jazzy. To me, there's even something sexy about it. Either which way, the results are a jazzy bossa-nova tune with an interesting break in the middle which is not Latin per se, other than the instruments used.

I almost had to think of Kevin Johansen when I was listening to it. There will be more on him later for those that don't know 'm. Anyway, enjoy the second entry for Que Onda.... Leine's version of A man needs a Maid. I'm really really looking forward to receiving her CD. It's got six songs on it, but I've heard they all hit the spot, so we'll chalk that up to less-is-more.

Hipperdehop I

Earlier I kicked off the Que Onda Latin compilation, but I also listen to Hip-Hop from strange places. Of course I listen to some of the US artists, but I've got a thing about hip hop from other countries as long as it's well done. So I'm doing two compilations in parallel: Que Onda for your Latin sounds and Hipperdehop for your ghetto kicks.

The first song for Hipperdehop is not exactly from the Ghetto. The Swedish Ragga/Hip-hop outfit Rhymatic is not normally my cup of tea because it's just that, a reggaeton and ragga outfit. The one song featured here is from their 2005 album "Skak ditt Asul" and it is more old skool (if you allow me to abuse that term). The funny thing about these people is that they do their rapping in Gotländska, a dialect from the Swedish Island Gotland. This dialect is a wee hard to understand sometimes, but the use of it in Ragga-style rapping is surprisingly appropriate.

The song in question is, of course, about hoes. Over here we call 'm "luder", not bitches. Gråbo is a neighborhood in Visby, the Island's capital, and the song details the adventures of a protagonist that sees himself get rejected by gold-digging stuck up women, tourists from the mainland, and goes home to the hood to get some good ghetto loving from a Gråbo-ho. Of course this is a rather big load of crock, because Gråbo isn't exactly a ghetto even by my Dutch standards, and the women in it are just... well... Swedish. But it doesn't make the song less cool.

Without further ado I urge you to enjoy the first song on the Hipperdehop list, Rhymatic's Gråboluder.

Que Onda?

Earlier I wrote Israel was not the place for Jazz, really. So people might wonder what it is the place for. To be honest, Israel's music scene is not even close to being covered by the word horrible. Abysmal, frightful and terrible also come to mind, but still it doesn't begin to express how bloody boring and blasé I think 99 out of 100 Israeli songs are. Bland Ballads, annoying Italo-pop and half-ethnic commercial efforts with a good dose of Arabic or Hebrew "wallawalla" wailing in it are the norm of the day, and I hear them blaring out from every car I pass. If there are people of musical taste in this country, they keep quiet and well hidden.

But the weather is definitely sunny, so one thing I find myself listening to is Latin music of different kinds. Admittedly, half of my Latin collection is Brazilian. Brazil is simply a wonderful country from a musical perspective. Either which way, I got the bright idea to do a "Que Onda?" compilation of "latin" music, whatever that might mean. I am told that according to Brazilians there is no such thing as genres of music. There is simply music and man is put on earth to play it, whatever it is. We'll see. I'll still take the liberty of making a Latin Compilation.

It's no more than fair that I start in Brazil. With the man who originally wrote "Mas Que Nada". That particular song was one of the things Sergio Mendes actually did better than the original. One of the few things, I might add, because Mendes tends to get to bland. So Mas Que Nada will pop up later and not done by Jorge Ben. Not that there's much wrong with the original, it's just that it's not a standout track for the man. It's simply one of twenty excellent songs on the album I have.

The best track of the "best of" album I have is by far O telefone tocou novamente. It's funky as hell, it has a good voice track, it's got a cool horn section in it, it has a string section and it just rocks. It's one of those songs I can put on repeat for 45 minutes or more without getting the least bit tired of it.

Download it. Burn it. Stick it in your car stereo. Put the volume on the maximum your ears and speakers can take and let Mr Jorge Ben do it to you in your eardrums!

Bertje, that's Jazz XI

Recently I've been feeling I wanted to get this compilation of Jazz over and done with. One reason is that currently I'm not listening to Jazz as much as I did in Sweden. Somehow it seems Israel is not the place to listen to Jazz. Something about the light and the surroundings that don't fit to the genre.

For this reason, the last track on the "Bertje, that's Jazz" compilation is something I've been mulling over in my head. Should it be French gypsy jazz, should it be more Brazilian jazz, or something contemporary, or just plain ragtime fun with Benny Goodman or the Dutch Swing College Band? But then I decided to give the slot to a gentleman I haven't been entirely fair to.

The entry on Jamie Cullum was pre-mature. While I am happy with song on the compilation, I'm not sure about the amount of praise I gave Cullum at the expense of Connick. At the time I thought it was great, but upon repeated listening I decided it's a bit of a fad. So I dissed Harry Connick Jr. too soon. Harry Connick, as opposed to some of Jamie Cullum's stuff, has more staying power. Granted, a couple of his albums like "30" and "Star Turtle" are mediocre at best, but "Come by me", "We are in Love" and "She" are albums I still greatly and regularly enjoy.

Therefore I give you my last track in the Jazz compilation, off the album "Come by me": Harry Connick Jr.'s Cry me a River. Technically this is a big band or swing album on which Harry acts more as a croner in the style of Sinatra and Darin, but I've always enjoyed this classic song. And this particular version highlights Harry's affinity for all things New Orleans quite nicely. So enjoy, and judge for yourself.

This makes the final playlist as follows:

01) Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong - Summertime
02) Joao Gilberto - Chega de Saudade
03) Bo Kaspers Orkester - Jorden Snurrar
04) Chet Baker - You're Driving me Crazy
05) Clark Terry and the Oscar Peterson Trio - Mack the Knife
06) Harry Connick Jr. - Cry me a River
07) Alice Russell - High Up on the Hook
08) The Oscar Peterson Trio with Milt Jackson - Work Song
09) Jamie Cullum - Nothing I do
10) Nat King Cole - Sweet Lorraine
11) Billie Holliday - Stormy Weather

Bertje, that's Jazz X

No Jazz compilation could exist without some Billie Holiday in it. What Edith Piaf did for the Chanson, she did for Jazz standards. I guess many people that don't listen to jazz still might have a Billie Holiday album floating around. Although I never thought she was on par with Ella Fitzgerald, I do see the point. She expresses a lot with her singing, from misery to joy to a sense of being browbeaten by life, it's all there.

So in spite of the fact that I'm not the greatest fan, I still think she deserves a slot in the compilation. Luckily I have an old favourite song that she sings very well. Back in the early nineties there was a commercial for a life-insurance company in the Netherlands, where this grizzly looking Dutch singer would start the commercial by singing a piece of Stormy Weather, and then he'd go on to say that that would be the song, recorded by Billie Holiday, he'd want to play at his funeral.

That always stuck in my memory, so when I came across the tune he mentioned a couple years later, I payed extra attention. Technically it's a blues tune, but I've always loved it. Please enjoy Billie Holiday's Stormy Weather.

Don't know why
ain't no sun up in the sky
Stormy weather
since my man and I
ain't together
Keeps raining all the time

Bob Dog Never Sleeps

One of the bands I've been listening to over the past years is Bob Hund. They are best characterized as absurd. The music is absurd, the band is absurd and the lyrics are even more absurd. I've written about them earlier, both as Bob Hund and as Bergman Rock, their English effort. Bob Hund sings not just in Swedish but worse than that, in a dialect called Skånska. Skåne is the southernmost province (Län/Landskap) in Sweden, and the natives speak something that sounds like it's borrowing from both Swedish and Danish. Many people dislike the dialect, but I've always had a thing for it.

One of my best friends in Sweden is from that place. Ever since he told me the story of a friend who picked up a woman in a bar in Malmö, the dialect has great entertainment value for me. They went to his hotel room and started making out. When the making out started developing towards sex, the woman interrupted him, saying: "Fisken är trasig, ta tvåan" in a broad Malmö-Skånsk dialect. Literally translated, this means "The fish is broken, take number two". Needless to say the gentleman was so worried by that statement he aborted the pleasantries on the spot. One does wonder what is meant by "the fish is broken".

Anyway, I've been listening to this live collection of Bob Hund. They make great punk music with unexpected and weird twists. I've seen 'm live twice, which means I recognize the energy with which they perform in the recording, including the semi-cynical comments made by the singer throughout gigs.

The track I've uploaded here starts with the sentence "Vår orkester heter Bob Hund och vi är de enda som kan säga det", and they are perfectly right. The band is called Bob Hund and they are the only ones who can say that. They are, by all means, unique in the music business. Period. Weirder than Fanfare Ciocarlia, more cynical than The Moz (although... that *is* a matter of debate).

Please enjoy Raketmaskinen from their live album Bob Hund Sover Aldrig.

Bertje, that's Jazz IX

I had never heard of Clark Terry until I picked up this Oscar Peterson Trio CD. Oscar Peterson being one of my all time favorite artists in Jazz, I just decided to check it out, not knowing anything about it. But if you dig a little deeper into Clark Terry's career, you'll see an amazing list of jazz musicians scroll by who worked with the man. Anyone from Basie to Ella to Peterson, Quincy Jones and Sir Duke have recorded music with the man.

Furthermore, the album The Oscar Peterson Trio + One Clark Terry is interesting because Terry is doing some pioneering work on an instrument that you simply don't hear in many Jazz solos. The Flugelhorn. I first thought it was a muted trumpet, but it's a horn. Terry does play the trumpet too, hell, he even wrote the book on circular breathing for several wind instruments, but here he chose to record the entire session on Flugelhorn.

The track I've chosen from the album is one that everyone knows, whether they know it or not. Written, originally as Die Moritat von Mackie Messer, by Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht for "die Dreigroschenoper", Mack the Knife has been played by too many people to even mention. Nor just Bobby Darin and Frank Sinatra, but unexpected artists like The Divine Comedy, the Doors and Nick Cave have done versions of it.

Since the song has always fascinated me, I own many versions of it. Ella, Satchmo, Ellington, Robbie Williams, Ol' blue eyes, you name 'm, they are somewhere in my collection. It's almost like the fascination I have for Mr Bojangles versions. Perhaps the most interesting version in my possession is a Lotte Lenya recording from the 30's in German, because in spirit I imagine it to be the closest to what the composer meant.

Some people have called it the best song ever written, others simply know it because it's been on the airwaves in one form or another for the better part of a century. However, since this is the only flugelhorn version I know in existence, and since I feel that more of Oscar Peterson's groove in my compilation could never ever hurt, I chose this one. Enjoy Mack the Knife by The Oscar Peterson Trio + One Clark Terry.

Bertje, that's Jazz VIII

While taking a trip to a record store to replace my James Brown albums that a friend (Ahem!!!) lost in Sweden, I heard a cool song being played on the store's sound system. I asked them who it was and told them I wanted to buy it, but they said that I should fight with the lady that was listening to it about that record because it was the last one they had. She didn't want it, so I picked it up.

Turns out the UK has spawned an answer to Harry Connick Jr. in the shape of Jamie Cullum, a now 26 year old piano whizz who also plays drums and guitar on occasion. He, much like Connick, started out young and recorded a few records on indie labels while still 19 years old. The man has a very pleasant voice and sticks to jazzy/funky/poppy repertoire, which makes him loved by a very diverse crowd the way I see it.

The album in question, Catching Tales, is not one that Connick would ever make though. The latter has done a New Orleans funk album, a poppier album, a big band crooners album and a jazz album. Jamie Cullum, by contrast, wrapped all of these things in one. If you go on-line and read reviews, you'll see some very very mixed feelings about this album. This is because it's completely eclectic. There's jazz standards in intimate settings, pop songs with a jazz touch, Steely Dan and Billy Joel influences, funky tunes with Allan Toussaint samples in it.

Therefore, the average critic that has his niche will say song so-and-so is brilliant, but such and such is irritating, and the other way around for another critic from another angle. I share Mr. Cullum's love for eclectic music however, so I tend to think the whole album is strong. Sure, it's a great big mess of styles, but that makes it interesting to listen to. The things that become apparent though are his love for music and his skill at his game. And that's what it's all about for me.

Many times he gets compared to Joss Stone, who is overrated, Connick, which is a logical comparison, but not quite justified, and Norah Jones and Diana Krall, both of whom have talent, but no balls or panache to make them sound interesting in the long run. Jamie Cullum however definitely sticks out of this crowd. Being a Harry Connick Jr. fan, this is a big statement coming from me. Mr. Connick has produced some very dubious work. I just think he ought to stick to what he knows best... Vocal Jazz and Big Band swing. His pop, funk and instrumental efforts just don't cut it. And I think Jamie Cullum does pull all of these elements off on this album.

The track I selected for this compilation is upbeat jazz with excellent piano bits in it, with a set of lyrics that are about a bad, horrible breakup. In an interview i saw with Cullum he said he liked the contrast in the song, and I'm inclined to agree.

Enjoy Nothing I Do. I know I did.

Cash is King

Now I've always been a Johnny Cash fan. Not just because of the blood and the mud and the beer in his voice, but also because of his various musical achievements later in life. A sixty-something year old country man who sits down and records songs by Nine Inch Nails, Nick Cave, U2, Tom Petty and Depeche Mode acoustically is someone to pay heed to. His voice was cracking at the seems in the end, and he's never been the finest guitar picker around, but by God, the man has lived and he habitually poored his whole life into the songs he sung.

Walk the Line is based on his autobiographies and stars Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon as John and June Cash. I'm not even gonna talk about this movie. If you like Johnny Cash, go see it. If you don't like Johnny Cash, go see it so you might learn something. 'Nuffsaid. The movie is impressive as hell, and I'd like to see some form of recognition for the leads. If you know Cash, you know he sounds unique. I didn't think it was possible, but Joaquin Phoenix pulls off a performance that is deeply impressive.

This movie also taught me a thing or two about Cash's life and music. It turns out that one my favourite songs is one of the first he wrote. In the movie there's one scene where he's doing his first audition and he gets told that gospel standards won't cut it, and that the A&R man wants to hear something that is his own, something real.

Cash: "There are some songs I wrote in the Air Force. Have you got something against the Air Force?"
A&R man: "No, I don't"
Cash: "Well, I do", and starts singing Folsom Prison Blues.

I hear the train a comin?
it?s rolling round the bend
and I ain?t seen the sunshine
since I don?t know when,
I?m stuck in Folsom prison,
and time keeps draggin? on
but that train keeps a rollin?
on down to San Anton..

When I was just a baby
my mama told me Son,
always be a good boy,
don?t ever play with guns.
But I shot a man in Reno
just to watch him die
When I hear that whistle blowing,
I hang my head and cry..

I bet there?s rich folks eating
in a fancy dining car
they?re probably drinkin? coffee
and smoking big cigars.
Well I know I had it coming,
I know I can?t be free
but those people keep a movin?
and that?s what tortures me...

Well if they?d free me from this prison,
if that railroad train was mine
I bet I?d move just a little
farther down the line
far from Folsom prison,
that's where I want to stay
and I?d let that lonesome whistle
blow my blues away

Like I said, Cash is King. Elvis ain't got nothing on the man. Ever.

Bertje, that's Jazz VII

Sometimes you hear something that you just can't believe. I've been telling anyone about a certain something that Arno put me on to, mainly to make myself believe too. Because it's a hard act to follow. He sent me a link to download some stuff from his website. A link that contained high-quality Soul, Funk, R&B, hip hop (although without that annoying rap stuff) and Jazz. All of this on two albums. And the voice...

I figured I had another Aretha Franklin on my hands. But maybe without the knack for such horrible pop songs as she did in the 80's. The singer on these albums has a good voice indeed. One that changes depending on the genre she's singing. A versatile voice. A voice black as strong coffee. And then there was the production.

All of these songs are just really very good and well produced. I can't help it. Now many of you might wonder who this wonder woman is. She's called Alice Russell. Alice Russell is not, as I would have liked to believe, a slightly corpulent black woman who started in a baptist church in Louisiana or somewhere south in the US.

We're talking about a small white chick from the UK. And she's no Joss bloody Stone either. The latter is a good singer, but the material she delivers is boring. Such is not the case for Alice Russell. Having listened to some of this stuff a lot, I actually think Alice deserves a spot on the Jazz compilation. You couldn't call her a straight jazz singer, but some of these songs hit the spot.

So I wanted to pick this song that was an immediate topic for debate. Is it jazz or not? So I figured I'd chose a lovely Bossa track instead called Sweet is the Air. That would immediately qualify as Jazz. Plus that first album is the most pleasant of the two. It's called Under The Munka Moon.

But then I got to thinking. And tapping my toes. The song High up on the Hook is just too cool for it's own good. It's off of Alice Russell's second album, My Favourite Letters. Frankly I think anyone who likes any kind of black music ought to go run off and buy both albums. And now I'll go sit in a corner and be ashamed of what I said with regards to white people and their inability to do jazz.

In the mean time, I decided to also check out a project Alice participated in called the Quantic Soul Orchestra. But more on that later.

Memory lane...

Last Christmas Eve, four days after my dad died, I decided that I wanted to visit an old buddy of mine I hadn't seen for the better part of two years. As I'd anticipated, he was indeed visiting his mom for Christmas in our home town, so I found him at home, happy to see me. We had a nice time. Some things don't change, so we drank a drink and shot the shit for a while. His dad had died some eight or nine years ago when I was still living in Holland, and I guess this time it was my turn.

I'd taken my dad's beat-up Toyota to his place, so when I got ready to go home, I stepped into that little car and fired up the stereo. Only one sole speaker was still working. The one to the front on the passenger side. What came out hit me like a brick though. My sister had stuck a tape in there with some Tom T Hall music on it. I guess it must've been one o'clock in the morning, but I decided to take that car for a spin to listen to some country music. I grew up on Tom T Hall, so that ride brought back a lot of memories.

So I was cruising along through the farm country I grew up in, in the dark with this simple country music blaring out of this lone speaker in this little heap of rust. And I cried. Because I realized then and there I'd never see my dad sit behind the wheel of a car again. But I had Tom T Hall to keep me company. The man tells simple stories, and he sings his poetry in his baritone to his simple country tunes. It sure felt real good to have that voice I'd grown up with with me in that car. It must have been the better part of twenty years since I last heard that tape, but it was like a homecoming.

Back in Sweden I immediately ordered four CDs, and I've gotten two of them. So I'd like to give you two of his tunes and their lyrics. Enjoy.

That's how I got to Memphis

If you love somebody enough
You'll follow wherever they go
That's how I got to Memphis
That's how I got to Memphis

If you love somebody enough
You'll go where your heart wants to go
That's how I got to Memphis
That's how I got to Memphis
I know if you'd seen her you'd tell me 'cause you are my friend
I've got to find her and find out the trouble she's in

If you tell me that she's not here
I'll follow the trail of her tears
That's how I got to Memphis
That's how I got to Memphis

She would get mad and she used to say
That she'd come back to Memphis someday
That's how I got to Memphis
That's how I got to Memphis

I haven't eaten a bite
Or slept for three days and nights
That's how I got to Memphis
That's how I got to Memphis

I've got to find her and tell her that I love her so
I'll never rest 'til I find out why she had to go

Thank you for your precious time
Forgive me if I start to cryin'
That's how I got to Memphis (x8)

Ballad of Forty Dollars

The man who preached the funeral said it really was a simple way to die
He laid down to rest one afternoon and never opened up his eyes
They hired me and fred and joe to dig the grave and carry up some chairs
It took us seven hours and I guess we must have drunk a case of beer

I guess I ought to go and watch them put him down but I don?t own a suit
And anyway when they start talking about the fire in hell, well, I get spooked
So, I?ll just sit here in my truck and act like I don?t know him when they pass
Anyway, when they?re all through I?ve got to go to work and mow the grass

Well, here they come and who?s that ridin? in that big ol? shiny limousine
Look at all that chrome, I do believe that that?s the sharpest thing I?ve seen
That must belong to his great uncle, someone said he owned a big ol? farm
When they get parked I?ll mosey down and look it over, that won?t do no harm

Well that must be the widow in the car and would you take a look at that
That sure is a pretty dress, you know some women do look good in black
Well, he?s not even in the ground and they say that his truck is up for sale
They say she took it pretty hard, but you can?t tell too much behind the veil

Well, listen ain't that pretty when the bugler plays the military taps
I think that when you?s in the war they always had to play a song like that
Well here I am and there they go and I guess you?d just call it my bad luck
I hope he rests in peace, the trouble is the fellow owes me forty bucks

Deliverance

Yesterday I saw that there movie "Deliverance", and while it sure is an accomplished movie, the redneck in me had to protest, ladies and gentlemen. I too come from a place where many God-fearing fishermen and farmers (the former complete with minor genetical defects and large groups of people with the same last name) roam the land, and not all is evil there. It feels as though one needs to take a stand for simple, God-fearing folk who accepted Jesus Christ as the Lord, the Son of God, their Saviour.

One could easily go back in music history to do just that. Many people associate country music with the likes of Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers or even worse, Shania Twain. But there are a good deal of bluegrass artists that pay hommage to the afforementioned simple, good hearted people of rural areas. One such example is the musical heritage of the beloved Louvin Brothers.

They did at some point in time sway from the Path of Righteousness in their career and indulged in worldly music such as their well known In the Pines. Surely these are great songs, but I don't know if I can really abide by worldly music. Satan is lurking, brothers and sisters, and we must be vigilant. I know that many ask what harm there is in a little worldly indulgence if it don't hurt none out there, but indulgence leads to sin which leads to damnation! Be mindful of these things, folks!

For those that want to avoid Satan in their record collections there is however plenty of good ol' God-fearing gospel music in the catalogue of the Louvin Brothers to go around. Songs about Jesus and the Gospel, songs about a straight life and goodness, songs of promise and love for the divine, songs about The Lord our Saviour Jesus Christ.

That is why I proudly present one of the true gems of this style. It's a song that has seen me through many hardships, a song of promise and everlasting bliss as long as you devote your life to the Service of the Lord... Please enjoy The family who prays. I hope you may find comfort in the words and harmonies of our brothers Charlie and Ira Louvin, may they rest in peace, and may their heritage deliver us from Sin.

Guess who?

Sometimes you hear stuff from people. I did recently buy an Mp3-player, not one o' them cool iPods, just a simple run-of-the-mill 1 GB player to make traveling by train, plane or automobile more bearable. However, I'm not one of them twenty-first century hipsters that do PodCasting, -Jacking, or -Sharing. I'm more old-fashioned than that.

The way I hear stuff from people is simple. I just sit down in their living room or car, and then we talk (as in converse) and listen to tunes. Sometimes we talk about tunes. And we drink coffee, vedge and listen to more tunes. That way (let's call it iCouching or iDriving) I've come across some really great music.

The other day, I heard an album with Latin music by a gentleman I'd never heard of. The owner had picked up a copy and I was immediately very impressed with what I heard. Upon trying to google for the man, I found out he wasn't from Spain or Latin-America. That's all I'm gonna say. I'm not gonna mention the name, album or song title.

Please enjoy fairly_difficult.mp3. I almost made the mistake of posting it without editing the Tags. That would have been a silly challenge, now wouldn't it?

Wishing you a peaceful night

Önska dig en stilla natt
även en juldagsmorgon glimmar
Finn en plats där det är varmt
Härlig blir jorden, några timmar
Välsigna barnet och hans mor
Hoppas att far är hyfsat nykter
Ge en stund av sinnesro
Till dem som grubblar alltför mycket
Önska dig inget eller allt
Önska dig en stilla natt

Nu tändas tusen juleljus
Och bakom fönstret skymtar prakten
Du kom ihåg och tänd ett ljus
För dem som behöver änglavakten
Önska dig inget eller allt
Önska dig en stilla natt

Bertje, that's Jazz VI

It's been a while since I wrote something about jazz. About bulls and walking, about the notion that music should be beautiful and that no amount of over-intellectualizing can change that, not even for Jazz. I read an article today that the greatest provocation in this society is positivism at the moment. Two Danes wrote a book about the way we view art, music and society, and I can agree with the basic premesis. The man reviewing the book said that with the phrase "It's important to go to church every Sunday, even more so when you feel uninspired and not involved" one of these Danes had written the most provocative thing in Scandinavia in some years.

So I'll join the man. Music should be beautiful. One of the bands that consistently have produced beautiful music over the last thirteen years is Bo Kaspers Orkester. I got my first really dirty copy of a BKO album in 1997 from a gentleman called Senad Angelov. A Swede who was doing the expat thing in Amsterdam at the time. I've sadly lost contact with him, in spite of him having moved to Stockholm again. We live no more than 15 km apart. But one of his gifts to me was BKO's music.

The albums were Amerika and På Hotell, and contained jazz inspired Swedish pop. Actually I later learned the term for their music was eclectic. In spite of me not speaking a word of Swedish at the time, I loved their music for the swing, the feel and the absolute craftsmanship that the musicians showed. Great stuff.

People in Sweden call BKO a boring band, a band for pensioners. Too nice, too friendly. Those people should go blow it out the other hole because if you really listen to BKO's lyrics you'll find that apart from lovely and beautiful they can be insanely cynical, hard, rough and critical too. I guess it's the same crowd that calls Eminem the fuck-you man because they don't bother listening to the man's message. Or perhaps lack the capacity to do so.

So, I'll put up a song by Bo Kaspers Orkester from their first album, Söndag i Sängen. It was released in 1992, and contains samples and themes from great jazz songs. Det går en man omkring i mina skor contains a sample from Ella Fitzgerald's Too damn hot, the song Simtur i viken is definitely based on a theme from All blues off Miles Davis' Kind of Blue. They didn't just jack it though, both songs are a BKO original and good to boot. These songs do fall in the humourous or nice category. A man ranting about how all his alleged sins were committed by the man walking in his shoes, and another about how nice it is to swim in the Baltic sea.

However the song I want to post is of a different kind. It's a bit depressing. It's a slow, jazzy eulogy to a dead friend. Since I've recently been in the market for thoughts about death and depression, I would like to share some of it. But no worries, because it's a beautiful tune. In spite of the subject matter I'd say it lifts my spirits when I listen to it. I've also translated the lyrics for non-Swedish speakers.

Jorden Snurrar - The earth turns

Farewell my dear friend, if you're off somewhere else.
The flowers I picked have to do for a wraith.
You know how it is and in church all the benches are empty.
I think it is written when one loses all,
in time one gets it again thousandfold.
And the earth still revolves at yesterday's rate,
Just you wait, I'll get to you soon.

But thank you my friend for the time we were two,
they're digging your grave while I stand here and watch.
We have drunk together so often,
we were almost like brothers.
I'd forgotten what a man can take,
so remember now you've come to pass
that the earth still revolves at yesterday's rate.
Just you wait, I'll get to you soon.

I remember how we daydreamed away,
over foreigns shores and to
girls who tasted of chocolate.
Who's gonna dream with me today?

Farewell dear old friend, farewell my dear friend,
cause people like us are never asked
to sing in heavenly choirs
on the day of days.
So I pray for your soul though I normally don't
I've prayed all the prayers I learned as a kid,
and the earth revolves at yesterday's rate.
If you wait I'll be there soon.

Stephen Simmonds

Recently this site has been looking a bit Zen. People ask me what's goin3g on but like I said earlier, I seem to have lost my mojo. I've been feeling mis-placed in Sweden, my father is dangerously ill and my mother is waiting for a rather nasty operation. All in all, these are tumultuous times, and this is not the kind of blog where I pour my heart out. I'm not that narcissistic yet.

One thing that has inspired me recently was a Stephen Simmonds gig. I'm not going to launch into lengthy descriptions. The gig was mostly acoustic. There was ample energy and fun going on and he had to give three encores and got 200+ Swedes to get up and sheik der bhouty. That's an accomplishment any day of the week right there. Then the keyboardist was great too. He needs to be mentioned. Something about a grinning black dude with a hat on behind an organ... Can't help but appreciate it even if he wasn't such a damn fine player.

Now I've posted one song by Stephen earlier, and thanks to Arno who introduced me to him I've been a long standing follower of the man. However this gig made me think and rethink his qualities as a musician and entertainer. So far he's made three albums that I know of, Spirit Tales, Alone and For Father, and I can recommend you run off and buy some, and catch him live if you got the chance. But I'll spare you further hogwash on this, and I'll just post one more of his songs. This one made a particular impression on me.

For Father

Words I thought but never said,
keeping me here in my bed
From now on to the end of time,
they're prisoners in my mind

Lord I'm so tired I walk in the dark
I sing the saddest song, cos here I'm nothing
Lord I'm so tired, Lord I'm so lost
Let me go beyond, cos here I'm nothing

I know you feel like you don't belong,
When all that you had is gone
I know you think that you're all alone,
but that doesn't make it so
It feels like nothing matters at all anymore

I escape but can't ignore
I've never been hurt like this before
You're a part of who I am
It's so clear now I understand

Words unsaid and things undone,
An ending when you just begun
It feels like nothing matters at all any more,
It's like nothing matters at all
And I'm tired of holding on
Being right, being wrong
It's like nothing matters at all any more,
It's like nothing matters at all

Bertje, that's Jazz V

One of the first things I've written when I started on Jazz was the story about the bulls and how walking down the hill would be key in being able to shag them all. Judging by his career and the music off his 2000 album "Joao voz e Violao", Joao Gilberto embodies this principle. He started playing at 14, managed to be the leader of a band at 15, and went off to play gigs at 18. He then got dumped by the band because apparantly he was an eternal slacker, never getting there in time, failing to show up and all that.

After being fired from a band he drifted around in Brasil, staying at friends and acquaintances for almost ten years without even an address to his name. He smoked copious amounts of ganja and really was lethargic for a long period, untill he got a mentor, laid off the Mary-Jane and started making music seriously. In '59 he recorded his debut album and then did some stuff after that, but he's always been regarded as an eccentric and a fluke. He was however brilliant, so after many many years on the music scene a whole score of artists are influenced by him, even though his own record sales have never matched those artists'. The Brazilians at least recognized his influence on their music when they gave him the nickname "The Legend".

In the year of our Lord 2000 he did something utterly brilliant. He released an album where he played Brazilian Jazz standards by a whole score of composers. Not just Jobim, who is so defining of Bossa that he almost became a cliche, but also other, less known ones (outside of Brazil, I guess). On this album, "Jo?o voz e Viol?o", he flies solo. At the age of 68, he records a whole album, in real-time, live, alone with one acoustic guitar in his lap. It reminds a bit of the "American Recordings" that Johnny Cash did before his death. And we all know Cash is King, so more power to Jo?o for doing this.

The result was 35 minutes of utter brilliance. The album swings like no other, his nasal, understated singing doing it's thing against the backdrop of some really fucking amazing guitar work. Excuse me my French, but this album is so good that I can't express it any other way. I've come to the conclusion that I just love old fogeys, pushing 70, sitting down with a guitar and doing the thing they've excelled at for 40 years. Shows all of them young punks that there is so much more to this music thing than rock'n'roll, testosterone and the right hair-do.

Now I'm almost a bit sad that my pick for this compilation is actually a Jobim tune. It's like doing a compilation on Classical music and putting Mozart in there. It's a given. It's predictable. But the fact remains that what Mozart is to classical music, Jobim is to Bossa. He's simply the man. For those that hate cliches, at least I didn't pick Jobim & Getz doing "The girl from Ipanema", OK?

So without further ado, I herewith present the next song on this compilation: Chega de Saudade performed by Jo?o Gilberto, written by Antonio Carlos Jobim.

Enjoy. I know I did.

Bertje, that's Jazz IV

Now I would argue that the lady in the picture is the best female singer that's ever graced this planet with her presence. Hands down. In all genres. Whatever. Her voice always sounds amazing, and you always felt it was a complete joy for her to sing. One of the CD's at home describes how she usually sung to kids in the street. Kids would follow her around and she would love to sing to them, and that story always makes me want to come from her neck of the woods. Nothing wrong with my mother's singing, but I have my preferences.

So having said that, I was digging through the stuff I have of Ella Fitzgerald and chose the one that in my book is least jazzy of all. It's a song that's been around the block. Hell, even I sang it when I had a brief stint in a choir last year. It's an old Gershwin tune, and in my less than humble opinion Ella and Louis Armstrong's cooperation yielded the best version I've heard of this song.

So I hope you'll enjoy Summertime. I hate getting sentimental, but this one is so good it never fails to bring tears to my eyes as soon as she opens her mouth after the intro. Her voice is something else. Detached and nonchalant in her phrasing, yet precise and with great timing. Well... It's like Stevie Wonder sang in Sir Duke: "With a voice like Ella's ringing out, there's no way the band could lose". And in the seventies, Stevie was still very right about many things.

To demonstrate just how different versions can be, just as a curiosa, also have a listen to this version by a gentleman named George Benson. Just goes to show that re-makes can be far from pointless.

Which of the two is best?

Bertje, that's jazz III

One of the jazz records I've been listening to most over the past two years is one by Chet Baker. Chet Baker is someone who's been considered a second- or even third class jazz musician, and everyone is always comparing him to Miles Davis, and many people say he's a wee short of the mark in his lyricism. Now I wouldn't be me if I didn't disagree.

Firstly, aside from moments of brilliance, Miles has produced a lot of crap in his life time too, but secondly I think that Chet Baker's detached, cool swing sound hits the spot for me, even if it isn't as "complex" as some other contemporary trumpet-players. I again refer to walking down the hill as opposed to running.

All this aside, I think that Chet Baker is a thouroughly enjoyable singer. The album that taught me that was "It could happen to you - Chet Baker Sings". However the soundtrack to the movie "Let's get lost" is also quite good. It was hard for me to choose a track from "It could happen to you" though, because 9 out of 10 tracks are utterly brilliant. His fragile yet cool voice and simple delivery are quite remarkable, and the backing band produces a driving swing that even makes the ballads head-boppers.

Now his voice and delivery are something that many people might have to get used to, but I love it. Then again, I've been known to like such strange things as Donald Fagen's singing. But on this album it all just all works. The swing, the cool, the driving rhythms and his timing on the vocals as well as certain intervals he chooses just really cook up a jazz record that suits most moods I can think of ever having. And every standard he renders instantly becomes owned by Chet, which is quite the accomplishment in and of itself.

As said, it was a difficult choice. "Do it the hard way", "The more I see you", "Everything happens to me" "Dancing on the Ceiling" (no, *not* the fucking awful Lionel Ritchie song), and for that matter the rest of the album are just great tracks. But I wanted to pick one that features both Chet's singing and his trumpet playing. So I'm kind of hoping I picked th right one. You tell me.

Please enjoy You're driving me crazy by Chet Baker. I never said *all* white people were clueless when it comes to Jazz. As far as I'm concerned, this track has pretty much got all it's about nailed down.

Bertje, that's Jazz II

Now I'm all jazzed up about jazz. That must have been the lamest pun since Arne Hegefors, but it's true. I've been listening through some stuff and found a good quartet to continue this with. Mr. Oscar Peterson also recorded a lot of cuts with his Trio. He started out playing boogie woogie and swing in the late thirties, and was a great fan of Nat King Cole. Usually when he got together with Ed Tighpen on drums and Ray Brown on bass, they produced some of the most swinging stuff around. He is one of the best jazz pianists I know about, also due to his ability to hold on to a groove even at 100 notes a second.

Now sometimes they would collaborate with others. One of the people they cut an album with was Milt Jackson. That guy is the prime Vibraphone jazz player of all times, and he is a bit of a legend in and of himself. He played with them all. Cotrane, Davis, Gillespie, Monk, you name 'm. So in '61 he joined Oscar Peterson and his trio for the album Very Tall.

And that title is very very fitting indeed. It's a tall order, but we're taller, the Streets would say. Great stuff. And all of the tracks on the album have that Swing that is Peterson's trademark. Now usually I find the vibraphone to be a bit of a geeky instrument. It reminisces of Elevator music. But in this case, I can definately live with it.

So the second track on my crusade for Jazz is the Oscar Peterson Trio with Milt Jackson, off the album Very Tall I present my favourite track: Work Song. Seven minutes and thirty-five seconds worth of instrumental jazz that's completely happening.

Knock yourself out.

Bertje, that's jazz I

There's a kid I mentioned earlier on this site. He's the twelve year old son of a buddy of mine and he means quite a lot to me. His mother hates jazz, but yesterday I had the opportunity to watch him and the band he's in play at a jazz contest. Six kids between 10 and 15 playing very nice funk-ridden jazz in a competition which featured eight other bands with kids between 15 and 19 that all played modern jazz laced with angry bebop and, worse, fusion.

Now I liked Hugo's set. So did the crowd. Obviously they didn't win, because I guess the jazz was not jazz enough according to the jury. But let me tell you, last years winners were there and played while the jury debated the winner, and they spelled out who was gonna win this year too.

Picture, if you will, four middle-class white kids with blue eyes and blonde hair that rip through Coltrane pieces with flawless precision. Coltrane was on heroine, Coltrane was angry at the world. Coltrane was an idiot who played panic-music. Even if you want to emulate that, don't do it at age 17. Four introverted teenagers, no contact with the audience, looking at eachother as if they were so goddamn cool. As if they wanted to say "Look guys, I can play 100 notes a second an make 'm all sound kind of angry! Aren't I a wizz kid?"

No, boys. You're idiots. Technically sound idiots, but idiots nonetheless. But then again, that's what you get when you hand over quintessential black music to a bunch of middle aged white people in the sixties. They start intellectualising it, turn it into dung and voila, thirty years later whole generations of white boys are dazed, confused and way out there.

So his mother, Liisa, and I looked each other in the eyes, and I understood perfectly why she "hates jazz". It's because they over-feed you this kind of crap. Instrumental masturbation. Yuck. So today I was also at a jazz gig with some friends. And a 66 year old guy called Svante Turesson played standards with his four fellow musicians. The band was older. Didn't have much to prove. Didn't think their penis-size would increase if they played fast. Jazz the way jazz is supposed to be... With a groove, feeling and swing.

This all reminded me of a story about two bulls, one young and one old, sitting on a hill overlooking a heard of cows. The young one says to the old one "Let's run down the hill and fuck us a cow!", to which the old one replies "How about we walk down the hill and fuck 'm all?". It's the same thing with Jazz, people. Why not walk and fuck 'm all? There is no need to run. And these youngsters were running so fast that I'm figuring by the time they stop, they didn't get any at all.

So in order to prove to Liisa that there is jazz that is not like what we experienced yesterday and to give Hugo something to think about, I'd like to offer some of what I consider to be good jazz on this site. And I'm starting off in the Forties. With a gentleman called Nat King Cole. Back in the day when he was still recording music with his trio consisting of him on vocals and piano, one bass-player and one guitarist. That's all. That's his best stuff. So in December 1940 that trio recorded this cut of a song that has been heard in many versions since then. This is one of the best ones.

Please enjoy listening to the Nat King Cole Trio's Sweet Lorraine. It's a simple tune. It's a great tune.

Billy Connolly on Funk

While browsing around for information on the Average White Band, I found this little MP3 on their home-page which they seem to use as an opener for their concerts.

AWB and Billy Connolly are all Scots, maybe that's why they chose it. I just find Billy Connolly one of the best comedians around. The man is hilarious. Have a listen to this clip. The man is on the money... Fo'sho'.

Lee Dorsey...

Recently I've been buying melancholic, depressing and generally low-key music. Turin Brakes, Ben Folds, Kings of Convenience... All very good, but not really party music. So to lighten up a bit I've been digging into Lee Dorsey's catalogue.

Now, in accordance with Arno's tip and some reviews I read, I'm still looking for the 2005 re-release of Yes we can/Night people, which features two of his 70's albums with Allen Toussaint with the Meters backing Dorsey up. If anyone has an idea for a Dutch or Swedish site that has it, please let me know. The man just has a cool voice. And he plays cool songs.

Lottie Mo was his first hit in 1961, but this take is a version done in 1968. I don't know much about it except that it feels like the Meters were playing on this cut. So have fun with the 1968 version of Lottie Mo.

Rockin' the Suburbs...

To be honest, I've never payed attention to Ben Folds Five. I don't know why. But recently I copied the MP3's of "Songs for Silverman" from Alex, and was so impressed that I ran off and bought the album promptly.

A lot has been written about "Songs for Silverman", some find it sappy, some love it, some hate it... I think that Ben Folds has matured, and it suits him well. Period. So I was a wee worried about ordering "Rockin' the Suburbs", but for 7 Euros who cares really?

The result is however that I'm really really impressed. So impressed as a matter of fact that I'll delve into the Ben Folds Five catalogue and order some of that too. Alex was indeed right.... The man is brilliant. His two solo albums provoke a lot of emotions and both feel genuinly very human in their own way. Additionally I just like the fact that he's a bit of a geek. A multi-instrumentalist with very little rock-star attitude and a lot of talent, not to mention big glasses.

So please enjoy the song Fred Jones Part 2. It's bleak, depressing and totally beautiful.

Fred Jones Part 2
fred sits alone at his desk in the dark
there's an awkward young shadow that waits in the hall
he has packed all his things
and he's put them in boxes
things that remind him that life has been good
twenty five years he's worked at the paper
a man's here to take him downstairs
and i'm sorry mr jones, it's time

there was no party and there were no songs
cause today's just a day like the day that he started
and no one is left here that knows his first name
yeah, and life barrels on like a runaway train
where the passengers change
they don't change anything
you get off
someone else can get on
and i'm sorry mr jones, it's time

the streetlight it shines through the haze
casting lines on the floor
and lines on his face
he reflects on the day...

fred gets his paints out and goes to the basement
projecting some slides onto a plain white canvas
and traces it
fills in the spaces
he turns off the slides
and it doesn't look right
yeah, and all of these bastards have taken his place
he's forgotten but not yet gone
and i'm sorry mr jones
and i'm sorry mr jones
and i'm sorry mr jones, it's time