High Ceilings and Low Floors

I'm rarely right, but it sometimes happens: In 1996 or '97 I was hired by an encyclopedia company to write a few music entries, and one of my assignments was Alanis Morrissette. Though her latest album was the best selling release from a female solo artist ever, I identified her as a flash in the pan, and I'd say history has borne that out. I called the decline of Oasis pretty early, too, but I wasn't confident: that was largely wishful thinking. (On the other side of the coin, I first heard Tracy Chapman and Living Colour on the same day in 1988, and instantly determined that they'd never catch on.) While those may sound easy - akin to predicting Psy will be a one-hit wonder -an artist's early peak is usually clear only in retrospect. Was it obvious at the time that Hootie & The Blowfish would never approach the success of Cracked Rear View rather than cluttering up the airwaves for years a la Nickelback? (Darius Rucker's subsequent country career proves rather than invalidates the point.)

Evaluation of potential doesn't square with an album-based rating system very well. For example, when I rated the Sleigh Bells debut ahead of Janelle Monáe's The ArchAndroid as the best record of 2010 I was still looking forward to Monáe's followup more than Sleigh Bells', because I had a sense that Sleigh Bells had already maximized their potential and Monáe had room to grow. To put it another way, I think she's at least one hundred times more likely to make a five-star record someday. A more recent example: in 2012 I rated Gökçe's Kaktüs Çiçeği four stars, and Angel Haze's Reservation "only" three and a half, but I'm certain Haze's best future album will be better than Gökçe's.

Where does that sense come from, and what's it based on? Well, sometimes there are obvious, easily fixed problems with an early album: The arrangements and mix on Kaktüs Çiçeği are polished and precise, while the backing tracks on Reservation sound like they were whipped up in a weekend - Haze could make a much better record without improving a whit as a rapper or writer. Similarly, it can be a positive indicator when an artist's reach exceeds her grasp: Treats shows marvelous mastery of a very limited sonic palette; The ArchAndroid reaches into a wide range of genres and approaches but not always successfully, and it's easy to imagine Monáe digging deeper in plenty of different directions. (I try not to talk about Frank Ocean, but by these criteria he's a cinch to make a better album than channel ORANGE one of these days.)

Maybe this makes me an Auteur Theory goon, but I do cherish my suspicion that low floors imply high ceilings... In other words, any Jane or Joe can cut a bad record, but it takes a true original to get far enough away from stylistic norms to make a terrible one. For example, Lumpy Gravy is worse than anything ever put out by early peak/low ceiling icon Liz Phair. So rather than pegging artists by how good they can be on their best day, you might want to hear how bad they can be on their worst.

Chuck Mangione, "Feels So Good" (1977)

Typically this hit instrumental is thought of as 70s AM pap, on a level with "Feelings" or "I Really Want To See You Tonight," and that's fair I suppose: it's catchy and overplayed, with no evident purpose apart from entertaining, plus it has that disco climbing bass bit. But I find the piece interesting for a couple of reasons: One, it's an extremely long melody, going on for about a minute before it repeats. According to some sheet music I found online, it's a 23-bar composition, so not up there with "Unchained Melody" but lengthy compared to your usual 16-bar A section, which usually repeats a four-bar phrase in there somewhere. That's not to say it's complex, because it's at a moderate tempo and can be whistled by practically anybody who was alive in 1977. But it is compelling... I find myself running through the whole melody in my head whenever I hear or think of the opening held notes.

The other odd feature is that Mangione doesn't solo: he states the theme at the beginning (twice on the album version), after the rest of the band solos he states it again, and then after a noodling coda (again, cropped from the 7") we're done. If you're thinking the leader lays out to spotlight his ace band, listen again: they each lollygag through the changes in horrendous clichéd fashion. So why doesn't he play? Because it's not a lead & chord progression to be improvised on, it's a piece to be played straight through. (Not every jazz piece lends itself to improvisation - Monk's "Crepescule With Nellie" springs to mind, and I'm sure some of the Ellington chamber work fits too - but they're the exceptions; they also develop rather than repeat.) To put it another way, the tune is excellent pop but terrible jazz, and if you care about the difference (not that you necessarily should), you can find it on this cut. (DBW)

Wilson & Alroy's UNforbidden Words 2013

Everyone has their own personal list of band names they will never use, some of mine being agitpoppers Larry Holmes and his Pearls of Wisdom, angst-daddy outfit Clairvoyant Doorman, and punk act The Runs (as in "Get The Runs!"). Along the same lines, here are words I've long desired to shoehorn into a review, but could never figure out a plausible way. So updating my 2011 pledge to avoid my worst cliches, next year I promise to use these words somewhere, appropriately or not:

Raiment
Sediment
Countermand
Samite
Paraquat
Vivacious or Vivacity
Kelp
Contumely
Satiated or preferably Satiety
Canter (I may use "cantor" too, but not figuratively)
Tendentious
Tawny (but I promise not to combine the above two into "tawndentious")

Free to be you and me, but maybe try being someone else for a change

For the past month or so, I've been listening to a playlist on my phone that alternates tracks from my favorite album of 2011, tUnE-yArDs' W H O K I L L, and my favorite album so far in 2012, Sıla's Joker. This is partly because I profoundly enjoy listening to each record, and also because I'm sort of checking myself on whether the two are indeed roughly equal in quality (I rated each 4 1/2 stars). I do stand by my high recommendations, but the differences between the two were instructive in a way I wasn't expecting.

Though both are basically solo artists (not to diminish the contributions of tUnE-yArDs bassist Nate Brenner) who write their own material, Merrill Garbus and Sıla Gençoğlu have little else in common: the song structures on W H O K I L L are boldly original where Joker follows pop conventions; Sıla's sound is smooth and sophisticated while tUnE-yArDs is unapologetically unpolished; Garbus multitracks most of the instruments herself while Gençoğlu - at least on Joker - relies on live band interaction. It's overly reductive but not inaccurate to say that Sıla's approach is communitarian while Garbus's is individualistic. It perhaps goes without saying that Joker has been unnoticed by U.S. reviewers, after W H O K I L L was a critics' darling and Pazz & Jop winner. Finally, Garbus has a raw, instantly identifiable vocal approach, and Sıla adapts her singing style to suit each number without binding herself to a particular, locatable identity. That got me thinking (for once).

Film criticism has long differentiated between actors and movie stars, on the grounds that you go to see an actor to see her - Meryl Streep being the most obvious example - or him disappear into the character they're portraying, whereas you go to see a movie star play herself or himself (or at least the same approximation of same that they play in every other movie). And the underlying assumption has been that as great as a movie star may be (Katharine Hepburn, say), the actor is performing at a higher artistic level. What seems curious to me is that rock critics (and me as much as anyone) have tended to assume the opposite, that the sui generis performer is making the authentic artistic statement, while the singer who loses her/himself in the tune is more or less a hack. Someone pointed out to me a while ago that one reason critics dislike Billy Joel so much is that he played characters in his songs, in the musical theater tradition, rather than sounding his own barbaric yawp. I'm not retracting any of negative things I've said or thought about Joel over the years, but it's a good point: while it's one thing to assert that his parade of 70s Brooklyn guys - Joey, Eddie, whoever it is who walked through Bedford-Stuy alone - are too similar to each other, it's bordering on puerile to complain that they aren't authentically him. Without a doubt, Garbus's accomplishment is more audacious, but I think it's equally indisputable that Gençoğlu's inhabiting of received forms is more subtle and in its way more difficult: Self-expression is essential, but I in privileging it over empathy I - and I’d say I’m not alone in this - have gone too far. (DBW)

Steal Wilson's Records!

For the first time, the inner sanctum of a Wilson & Alroy critic (in this case, Wilson) will be opened to the public. More importantly, you can take any of the CDs, LPs, and cassettes you see there. Five winning entries will be selected from comments submitted on the theme "Wilson's Worst Review Ever... And Why."

Speaking of "why," why is Wilson doing such a thing?
1) Out of space. Over the years, Wilson (referring to oneself in the third person never gets old) has kept more or less everything he's reviewed, plus a bunch of stuff he never got around to reviewing. By now he has no room for any of the accoutrements pertaining to, y'know, a normal life.
2) Going digital. As wonderful as cover art and liner note are, the convenience of keeping music on hard disk (not to mention the various cloud options - look for my trenchant analysis of Spotify soon) is impossible to ignore.
3) Can't sell 'em. For four reasons - Wilson tossed his jewel cases years ago to save space (see 1), most people don't buy music anymore (see 2), a variety of cats have torn the LPs to shreds, and most of the library is out-of-favor stuff like The Spinners' Live! - record store guys have advised that the fair market value is approximately nil. Or, as Spinal Tap would say, their appeal has become much more selective.

Application Deadline: 7 October

Golden Ticket Scavenger Hunt Date: 15 October

A few caveats:
a) Wilson's lair is in downtown Jersey City.
b) Two cats live there (see above), so if you're highly allergic you may want to pass.
c) Wilson is keeping a very few physical discs, mostly for sentimental value and a few because they don't seem to be available online. So don't make the trip out there hoping to get Godmoma's Here and go home disappointed.

He Said "Lay Down Your Funky Weapon" But I Didn't Think You'd Actually Do It

Here's something a little different: A response to a piece written by my friend and actual music writing professional Kurt Gottschalk and published by the Brooklyn Rail titled In Which Prince at Last Wins the Battle Against Evil, and Yet Y'all Still Make Fun of Him:

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Personally, I kinda miss having to defend Prince. Back in the 80s, you were always a little guarded when you confessed you were a fan, because it seemed like everyone had something to say about him. "That skinny motherfucker with the high voice? Please!" Hip hop heads and funkaholics wondered why he messed around with falsetto ballads; old-school soulsters wondered why he used programmed drums and samples if he was such a virtuoso. At least one Billboard columnist questioned whether black music should permit effeminate males in its leadership. Religious friends thought it was disrespectful to recite the Lord's Prayer in "Controversy"; atheist friends didn't want to hear "God"; both camps critiqued his calling himself the Messiah (and his spelling) in "I Would Die 4 U." And that was before he wrote "slave" on his face, changed his name to a symbol, and stopped shipping platinum.

But now? After wearing down his critics inside the industry and out with decades of carefully crafted, insistently musical—if inconsistently engaging—albums and tours, Prince announced himself at the 2004 Grammys as elder statesman who could put the young folk to shame, and no one disputed it. The metalheads in Rainbow denim jackets I grew up with in Queens are now the people uploading his Rock N' Roll Hall of Fame performance of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" to YouTube and captioning it "GREATEST GUITAR SOLO EVER!!!" The dudes who wondered why that high-heeled freak was running around with those tall white women are now saying the Black Eyed Peas' bombastic Super Bowl show was a disgrace compared to the tasteful showmanship and serious chops Prince displayed way back in... 2007. At the end of each sold-out Madison Square Garden show, today's most desperately buzz-seeking celebs elbowed each other for a place on stage. He's the hottest ticket in town. Don't get me wrong: I'm happy that Prince is happy, and that he's largely succeeded in making over pop music in his image. I just wish there was still someone around to argue with.

The Second Generation All-Star Band, or, That Last Name Looks Familiar

Maybe I attend too many geezer nostalgia tours, but I've been seeing a lot of bands where the star brings one of their kids onstage. Which ones are cases of nepotism, and which are actually worth hearing? I decided to organize the results as an all-star team; please give me the credit if a promoter puts together a touring combo out of this.

Vocalists

Let's get this out of the way first: there are a lot of pop star kids who have gotten up on stage to sing, and even gotten record contracts, who are just not that great. There's Goffin-King daughter Louise Goffin, Buddy Guy's daughter Shawnna and Nona Gaye among others. Neneh Cherry may have sold more copies of Raw Like Sushi than all of her father's albums put together, but color me unimpressed; likewise, I can't bring myself to care about the Wilson sisters or any of the Wainwrights. Arlo Guthrie and Jakob Dylan were legitimate one-hit wonders, if nothing more.
I don't know if Ronald Bell's son Rachid will ever make a followup to his outstanding debut album, but he's probably the only candidate who could conceivably dethrone Jeff Buckley.

Drums

Los Van Van drummer Samuel Formell is the easy choice, stepping into the shoes of Cuban music legend Changüito and rapidly winning over the band's skeptical and demanding fan base. I've never heard much from Jason Bonham or Zack Starkey but you'd think they have to be in the mix somewhere. Honorable mention for Mother's Finest drummer Dion Murdock, one of the few to play in a band with both parents.

Bass

I know Eddie Van Halen (and Valerie Bertinelli, he mentioned gratuitously) spawn Wolfie is touring with his dad, but I have no idea what he sounds like. I'm sticking with James Jamerson Jr.

Piano

I think this has to be Elio Revé Jr. Not only did he take over his father's renowned charangón, his compositions, arrangements and piano put the group in the forefront of the late 2000s timba scene.

Guitar

As I'm not inclined to pick Dweezil Zappa or Doyle Bramhall II, I'm sure not going to pick Trey Lewd, and I've never heard Teddy Thompson, I'll pick Wendy Melvoin, though her session pianist/arranger dad Mike isn't exactly the kind of front-line performer the competition is all about.

Horns

Got to go with trumpeter Mercer Ellington over tenor saxophonist Ravi Coltrane, based on Ellington's strengths as composer as well as bandleader.

Producer

Dionne Warwick's pride and joy Damon Elliott is the standout.

M.V.P. (Most Valuable Progeny)

Who's the Barry Bonds of the group, the child of a star who becomes a bigger star? Obviously Norah Jones is a much bigger commercial force than father Ravi Shankar, but it's my list and I can snub her if I want to. For "Moon Mist" alone, Mercer Ellington is one of the most accomplished, but he certainly isn't going to make anyone forget the other Ellington. On the other end of the scale, Jeff Buckley made a huge impression during his short career, but it would be a stretch to consider Tim Buckley a star. So I hate to say it, but the winner in the category is probably Bocephus. Please tell me I'm forgetting somebody.