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Felicidades to my San Antonio compañeros John Phillip and Frances Santos on the recent birth of their daughter Francesca de la Luz. What a lovely light indeed. I couldn't think of a better song for her than Santana's "Yours Is the Light," from his 1973 album, "Welcome."
Download 05 Yours Is The Light
Just like every other fan of New Orleans and its music, I was looking forward to HBO's "Treme," a dramatic series that takes place just a few months after Hurricane Katrina. It's been sobering to re-visit the trauma inflicted upon that great city. But it's certainly been a pleasure to see familiar locales and hear all that great music.
But after the first two episodes, there are a few things that are keeping this from being the experience I was hoping for. For starters, some of the characters in the show are over-the-top caricatures. Luckily, for a change from TV norm, that doesn't apply to the black characters. Actors Wendell Pierce (pictured at right) as a hard-luck musician, Clarke Peters as a Mardi Gras Indian chief trying to restore his tribe and his soul, and Khandi Alexander as a bar owner and Pierce's ex-wife, are all turning in riveting performances. But Steve Zahn (left) as a DJ and cultural know-it-all and John Goodman as a self-righteous, liberal college professor are almost too much to watch. Zahn's character, in particular, is so annoying that he makes me want to leave the room whenever he's onscreen. Those stereotypes surely exist in New Orleans, but I'm wondering if the primarily white creative team has gone out of its way to make the black characters more deeply dimensional.
And in their zeal to express their understandable love for New Orleans music, and to introduce a larger audience to some of the city's lesser-known treasures, the filmmakers occasionally present some clumsy exposition. Case in point: in episode two, Pierce's character is headed for a gig when he bumps into the great local musician Trombone Shorty. Pierce greets him thus: "Hey, Trombone Shorty!" That is Troy Andrews' stage name, but the effect is like greeting a friend by his first and last names. I can't imagine any of Andrews' real-life friends addressing him as anything but "Shorty." But the filmmakers are determined to educate the heathens that this is someone you must know! You got that? That's T-R-O-M-B-O-N-E S-H-O-R-T-Y!Speaking of New Orleans musicians, they're as much a part of the cast as the actors. And that's a problem. God bless Allen Touissant and Kermit Ruffins (middle), but they're so self-conscious that it makes their scenes painful to watch. (The same goes for marquee slummer Elvis Costello.)
Finally, there was a scene in episode two in which a pair of white street musicians belittle a trio of visiting college students who request some "real New Orleans music"--"When the Saints Go Marching In." Treme executive producer and creator David Simon was deservedly praised for his handling of race in the fantastic series "The Wire." But again, in this scene he seems to be exhibiting a bit too much deference. How much more interesting, and tense, would that scene have been had the street musicians been black?
All that said, I'll be watching the rest of the series. The good outweighs the bad--if only by a crawfish or two. And, of course, there's great music like this from the mighty Mr. Ruffins:
Download 1-02 Drop Me Off In New Orleans
One of the more hilarious websites I've come across is Look At This Fucking Hipster (http://www.latfh.com), a collection of photos that capture the fashions and hairstyles favored by our favorite urban dwellers. The band Local Natives (Silver Lake based, natch) could, on the surface, easily be labeled as the hipster musical flavor of the month, but there's more to them than meets the eye. Their new album, "Gorilla Manor," is a collection of 12 fine songs, distinguished by great guitar parts, snappy percussion and fantastic harmonies. Perhaps they draw a little too much from Arcade Fire, but they're certainly not as precious as Vampire Weekend. They even have the good taste to cover Talking Heads' "Warning Sign." My favorite cut is "Sun Hands," which has an edgy, almost ominous sound that's driven by a snaky guitar line. And then about midway through, the chorus is shouted over just the drums, which is followed by a psychedelic stomp that sounds like Woodstock-era Santana. What's not to like?
By the way, I've now reached the point where my teenaged hipster-in-training son is turning me on to new music, as he did in this case. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go buy some skinny jeans.
There's only one thing wrong with B.o.B.'s fantastic single from his forthcoming album: it was released too early. "Nothin' On You" has all the makings of a great summer song--something you blast and sing along to with the top down or your sunroof wide open. It revives that singular experience of scanning the dial and coming across a song that makes you smile as you reach for the volume knob. It's hard to describe this jam--it's got a little rap, a little hip-hop, and a little neo R&B a la Raphael Saadiq. But what really makes this song work is the first voice you hear: Bruno Mars' silky tenor. I haven't tired of this yet, which is another hallmark of a great summer song. WIll it hold up for several more months? Will something better come along. That's a tall order.
Download 01 Nothin' On You (feat. Bruno Mars)
Diego Bernal's "Besides..." is a fantastic soundtrack to a movie that doesn't exist. But if that movie were to be made, it would be a cheesy, low budget remake of "The Mod Squad." (Yes, even cheesier than the 1999 version with Claire Danes, Giovanni Ribisi and Omar Epps.) But in this case the white guy would be replaced by a Chicano, and he and the black guy would be vying for the white chick, until they realize that her ultra-cool, detached manner that turns them on so much is actually a form of anemia. Anyway, they wear out-of-time clothes, sport unfashionable hair styles, and drive around in a Camaro, until they get into a wild car chase and crash into a taco truck. (Three hipster bystanders are killed, having paid for, but--tragically--not having been served, their carne asada.) Our trio of crime fighters does ultimately catch the bad guy, but they become disillusioned when he is pardoned by actor-turned-politician, Governor Edward James Olmos. The white chick, tired of slumming, returns to her trust fund lifestyle. The black guy gets a gig playing in Amy Winehouse's band. And the Chicano dude, wracked by guilt, buys and renovates the taco truck he ran into. Patrons will walk out of the theater and say: "Damn! The soundtrack was the best part of that movie!"
"Besides..." is available as a free download, ya'll. For reals:
http://exponential.bandcamp.com/album/besides
This season I have vowed to not contribute one cent to the Frank and Jamie McCourt Divorce Fund, but Tuesday is opening day at Dodger Stadium, which must be acknowledged. So here's to grilling Dodger Dogs at home and popping open a cold one while listening to the inimitable Vin Scully on my transistor radio. The battlin' McCourts aside, I am rooting for Matt Kemp and Andre Ethier to prove they're not one-season wonders. And for Clayton Kershaw to live up to the "next Koufax" billing. And for Manny to regain some semblance of his former slammin' self. And here's a song to kick things off: it's by The Intruders ("Cowboys to Girls," "Together"), written and produced by Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff--kings of The Philly Sound. I suppose they were Phillie fans. Boo.
Download 05 (Love Is Like A) Baseball Game
Malcolm McLaren, who died today from cancer at the age of 64, was often derided as pop music's huckster, but I always admired his cheekiness and imagination. My favorite project of his was "Fans," the 1984 album in which he modernized a half-dozen arias from famous operas. My favorite track is "Lauretta" from Puccini's "Gianna Schicchi." The lovely soprano part is sung by Betty Ann White and McLaren provides the spoken part of "Ricky." Say what you will about McLaren, but he had an appreciation for sheer beauty.
Being in Austin briefly last weekend has me reminiscing...My first visits there were in the mid-'60s when two of my cousins were attending law school at the University of Texas. Later, my older brother Rudy also headed for UT and I'd spend part of my summers with him. I have a distinct memory of the summer of 1970, riding around in his VW bus, with Norman Greenbaum's "Spirit In the Sky" blasting from the radio. We'd hang out on The Drag (Guadalupe Street), watch hippies saunter in and out of Les Amis Café, and grab an ice cream at this crazy, blacklit parlor whose name escapes me now.
By the fall of 1975 I was there too, as a college freshman. I gravitated to the same area where my brother had lived, in a hilly neighborhood west of campus. The music scene was really taking off by then and I caught as many shows as possible at the legendary Armadillo World Headquarters. My musical world was expanding, but there were still major gaps. I briefly taught Spanish to a woman who lived in the Clarksville neighborhood, and she'd often mention her friends who lived nearby--"Townes" and "Mance." I had no idea she was referring to the great singer/songwriter Townes Van Zandt and veteran bluesman Mance Lipscomb.
I was drawn to several local bands, including the zany Balcones Fault, the funky R&B outfit Extreme Heat, the jazzy 47 Times Its Own Weight and, especially, to Beto and the Fairlanes. "Beto" was/is Robert Skiles, a fantastic piano player who had developed a love for Latin music while growing up in San Antonio. He had a crack band, with an amazing horn section anchored by saxophonist Tomás Ramirez, aka The Jazzmanian Devil. They played everything from polkas to cumbias to salsa--and played it all fantastically well.
One night in the Fall of 1977, I went to see Beto & Co. at another popular venue, Liberty Lunch. That's where I met two women who were preparing to drive to Northern California a couple of days later. It was serendipity: I had personal reasons for wanting to accompany them. So I impetuously decided to tag along, which led--three months later--to my first move to California.
I miss Austin. But I have the best memories of sowing my wild oats there. And this was the song--by Beto y Los Fabulosos Fairlanes--that I danced to:
It seems as if I've been hearing about Doug Sahm all my life. In the early 1960s, before I even started school, my brothers would come home from their high school dances, raving about the band that Doug led. I loved the Tex-Mex-inflected rock 'n' roll he made with the Sir Douglas Quintet, but then I lost track of him when he moved to California in the late '60s. By the time I started college in Austin in 1975, Doug had been there for a couple of years, playing blues, rock 'n' roll, and country. As Austin's music scene was exploding, he may have been the original Cosmic Cowboy. But my musical taste hadn't become fully formed yet, so I missed out on the years when he and his band ruled the roost at the Soap Creek Saloon. I "re-discovered" Doug in the late '80s when he put together the Texas Tornados with Flaco Jiménez, Freddy Fender and longtime cohort Augie Meyers.
Appropriately enough, while in Texas over Easter weekend, I read Jan Reid's new biography about Doug. It's a thorough recap of an astounding career that saw him starting out as a childhood C&W prodigy, playing blues as a teenager in black clubs, and incorporating Norteño rhythms into rock 'n' roll in a faux-British Invasion band. He spent his entire life playing--and doing--whatever he wanted. For a guy who certainly didn't get rich playing music, as the book points out, he never had a day job, never had to work at anything else. He was mercurial, demanding and an old-school chauvinist, but he was an absolute original. When he died in 1999 at the age of 58 from a congenital heart defect, he left behind a legion of saddened fans and colleagues.
I had a hard time deciding on a song to pay tribute to Doug and to Reid's book. I thought about something from the Quintet years ("And It Didn't Even Bring Me Down"), perhaps a cover from the songbook of his pal Bob Dylan ("Love Minus Zero/No Limit"), or something by the Tornados ("Who Were You Thinkin' Of?"). But in the end I chose a cut from Doug's last studio album, "The Return of Wayne Douglas," in which he returned to country--the first music he heard, played and loved. And this song is about the place he loved so much. Reading Reid's book, listening to Doug's music on the flight, and being back in my funky, soulful hometown reminded me why I love that place so much too.