Categories
Music Record Reviews

Short Cuts

18

Moby

(V2)

In the three years since Play was released and slowly took over the sonic universe, Moby has emerged as arguably the definitive pop musician of the era. He s the Prince of the electronica age a diminutive, eccentric, Christian dance-music hero, a multithreat talent and bedroom/home-studio sound scientist obsessively and single-handedly realizing the majestic music in his mind. And, in the process, he s also emerged as one of the most decent, most humane, and most compelling celebrities the culture industry has churned up. (As near as I can tell, Moby is the only person ever featured on MTV Cribs whose home isn t crassly ostentatious and actually contains books.)

A product of his mix-and-match era, Moby is still a remarkably catholic musician, assimilating virtually every strand of pop punk, hip hop, blues, gospel, soul, disco, traditional techno into his records. But the man s truest gift is for taking the spiritualism that undergirds disco and other dance music (last night a DJ saved my life) and making them explicit. And so, after the rave epiphanies of Everything Is Wrong and the willful iconoclasm of Animal Rights, the blues-and-gospel-sampling Play was his genius move an electronica gospel album in which vintage vocals and techno beats joined forces and reached for the heavens.

18 continues in this vein, perhaps a bit too much (some tracks sound like Play outtakes), though it s a more modest and more subdued affair. The intense, earnest, and lengthy political and ethical treatises that previously filled liner notes is here reigned in and the album s lead track/first single, We Are All Made of Stars, assuages any concern that his newfound fame has gone to his head. A philosophical sequel to David Bowie s Heroes, it s the sound of Moby offering a communal new-wave hug to all his listeners.

But after that left turn, Moby gets back to what made Play such a bust-out hit. In This World brims with intense gospel-style, sampled vocals (first line: Lordy, don t leave me all by myself ) over a track consisting of disco/hip-hop beats, stately piano chords, and a symphonic overlap. This is followed by In My Heart, in which a member of the Shining Light Gospel Choir (which also made an appearance on Play) reaches for pure vocal ecstasy amid a similar sonic arrangement. The greatest moments on both songs come when the vocals transcend content into pure sound, and Moby pushes the tracks to meet the challenge. It s all extremely familiar, but the formula is all his (though Fatboy Slim might claim authorship of the style for his reworking of Praise You ) and it still works.

But for most of the remainder of the album Moby changes it up. The Great Escape is a frail, lovely chamber ballad featuring vocals from Azure Ray, while Sinead O Connor makes an unexpected appearance on Harbour. Moby takes the vocals himself (as he does on several songs) for an exaggerated report from the celebrity wars on Extreme Ways. And Jam For the Ladies is a decent idea turned into a merely serviceable techno/hip-hop jam. The presence of MC Lyte is always welcome, but Angie Stone s opening One things f sho/Moby got soul must be the low point of the man s career.

In all, 18 is a solid retread and consolidation of what Moby has done before but a minor disappointment from a major artist. In contrast to Play, the emotional palette here is more mournful and moody than ecstatic, with the album s penultimate track, Rafters, the only time Moby reaches for the delirious, uptempo pleasure that you ll find on Play and Everything Is Wrong. Chris Herrington

Grade: B+

Rings Around the World

Super Furry Animals

(XL Recordings/Beggars Banquet)

Super Furry Animals fifth album mixes the band s signature kaleidoscope of sounds with a U2-sized social conscience and a promise to turn all the hate in the world into a mockingbird and let it fly away. Such a blend is nothing new: In 2000, the band released Mwng, which was not only a startling act of millennial anticolonialism but also the highest-debuting Welsh-language album in British history. Still, with Rings SFA tip the scales toward social commentary, and the result is a mostly sluggish album with a deficit of real insight.

Lyrically, songs like No Sympathy and Receptacle for the Respectable are blustery and condescending, not to mention sadly dated. No one really needs a song about Lewinskygate, but Presidential Suite induces cringes with its first couplet: Monica and naughty Billy/Got together something silly. This scandal was old news when Rings was released in Britain last July, and just eight months later, with a Republican president and a new world disorder, it is all but forgotten.

Presidential Suite follows the album s first single, Juxtapozed With U, a standout track. With its memorable cheese-lounge chorus, Juxtapozed With U is high kitsch: fun, off-kilter, spacey, and original. It s what SFA do best, and it s how they will someday leave their mark on pop culture once they outlive this disappointment. Stephen Deusner

Grade: B-

Wonderue

Little Wings

(K Records)

Finally, for better or worse, rock is the new rock again (the recent same-night/same-network phenomenon of the White Stripes and Clinic appearing on late-night talk shows, the growing unpopularity of baggy clothing, etc.) and individualistic singer-songwriters can shed the pressure of quiet being the new loud and concentrate on their craft. Kyle Field, aka Little Wings, concentrates enough on the craft that I am willing to overlook that this is indeed not a concept album about extremely flammable pajamas and appreciate the strip-mall angst and heartbreak that calmly rises from Wonderue.

Field drops a bomb with the third track, a paean to the golden age of waterproof Walkmans and factory cassettes, so skip the first two tracks of y allternative fake country for Shredder Sequel, a continued tale of a has-been skater who has Had enough/ Concrete s unkind, he sadly sighs/Behind the wheel of his hatchback he cries. From that point on, Wonderue shows its love of both Harry Nilsson at his most minimal and Will Oldham (Palace) at his most on. In fact, if Oldham were struggling in California instead of howling from the comforts of deep pockets and marble-floored hotel lobbies, he would make a nice sonic twin to the Little Wings sound. The whole approach to songwriting (and instrumental backdrop) on Wonderue (the third in a loosely penned Wonder trilogy) owes more to the West Coast, daydream-on-the-couch aura of Buffalo Springfield, Tim Hardin, Gene Clark, or Bread than it does to anything on the Bloodshot Records roster. It wouldn t bother me to see emo fans snatching America records out of the dollar bins, and if whatever people are calling emo were actually this emotional, or this good, then life might be a tad less irritating. n Andrew Earles

Grade: B+

Categories
Music Music Features

Sound Advice

Back during the mid- 90s indie-rock boom there were plenty of bands hipper and more fawned-over than North Carolina s Archers of Loaf, but I can only think of one or two that were better. The likes of Guided By Voices, Sebadoh, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, and so many others may have courted more admiration by being more conceptual, more aloof, cooler. But it was the Archers of Loaf, with their heavy-machine-factory drums, icky-metal guitar riffs, wisecracking redneck bass player, and perpetually croaking lead singer Eric Bachmann, who came on as rock-and-roll true believers and found a home in the heart of this Replacements/Hüsker Dü fan for their explosive, messy, smart, and witty punk-pop.

So I wasn’t that excited, initially, by Bachmann s much more subdued post-Archers project, Crooked Fingers. I don’t want Tom Waits, I want the Clash. I don’t want atmospheric soundscapes, I want rock-and-roll. But Bachmann s innate musical smarts have made it work, and the band s latest, the all-covers EP Reservoir Songs, is a winner. The Kris Kristofferson ( Sunday Morning Coming Down ) and Bruce Springsteen ( The River ) covers are gems, but Bachmann s slowed-down, banjo-spiked reading of Prince s When U Were Mine (one of the very, very best pop songs of the last quarter century, and that s no exaggeration) is one of the finest things I’ve heard all year. It s better than Cyndi Lauper’s game version on She s So Unusual and isn’t far from the original itself. Bachmann s deeply committed vocals and novel arrangement allow the listener to appreciate just how durable and how fantastic the song really is. It makes you wish Bachmann would do a whole album of Prince covers.

Crooked Fingers will be at the Hi-Tone Café on Saturday, May 18th, along with local boys Lucero, whose punked-up rock-and-roll has always reminded me more than a little of Bachmann s old band. Should be a great one. Chris Herrington

I’m having a Tim Sampson moment. That is to say, I don’t know you and therefore I don’t give a rodent s rump what you do this week. Actually, I do. But everybody playing around town is either someone I’ve pitched in this column a zillion times before or someone I wouldn’t send a dog to see. Naturally, The Subteens will rock when they play with Little Rock scorchers Go Fast at the Young Avenue Deli on Friday, May 17th. Andy Grooms, who plays the Deli on Wednesday, May 22nd, will dazzle you with his songwriting prowess. Lucero’s back in town, which is always good news, and Barbara Blue never left, which is also good news. But if you, like me, are having a case of the same-o-same-o blues, then maybe we should hook up at the Lounge for the Jason D. Williams show on Saturday, May 18th. Oh sure, I’ve seen Jason D. a zillion times, and (if you are the least bit savvy) you have too. But the only thing predictable about Jerry Lee Lewis piano-beating doppelganger is his unpredictability. He’ll jump up and down on his piano and scream Red Hot, and then he will brag in glorious song about how he got so out of control the night before that he dyed his hair and chartered a Lear jet to L.A. It s good, unwholesome fun for everyone. Chris Davis

Categories
Sports Sports Feature

City Sports

The Killing Field

Is there any defense for the “Sport of Kings”?

By Ron Martin

A friend called the other night after watching an interview with a representative of Showtime discussing the Lewis/Tyson fight. She was appalled after hearing the bout would be the biggest financial windfall in the company’s history.

With a quiet, almost solemn, voice she said, “God must be looking down on us and shaking his head. He must be thinking he made us better than this, paying millions of dollars to watch human beings try to kill each other.” Then came her clincher: “I don’t think God would be proud of us for letting this happen.”

I tried defending the “Sport of Kings.” I threw in the fact that a lot of youngsters born into the deepest holes of poverty are able to fight their way out and make something of their lives. And, of course, there’s the ole ace in the hole: Look at what Muhammad Ali has meant to the world. Ali shook his fists and fought for peace and harmony without ever fighting a war.

My comeback was this: Boxing is a sport; those who fight are not forced to participate.

A couple of days later I spoke with Stacey McKinley, Mike Tyson’s trainer. Once we got past the hype regarding Tyson being in the best shape of his life and how he is at peace with himself for the first time in 10 years, McKinley hit me with a left hook and slipped in an uppercut that sent me reeling.

My question: “Lennox Lewis said this is a fight between good and evil. Your response?”

His answer: “I think he is forgetting the boxing ring is what we call the killing floor.” Speaking as though he could not say the words fast enough, McKinley added, “He (Lewis) says it’s evil because he is going into the ring with a cold-ring killer.”

McKinley’s voice rose an octave as he described his orders for Tyson: “All I want Mike to do is break ribs, break his jaw, and crack the back of his head hit him in the front of his head and crack it all the way to the back.”

Still thinking there’s a shred of redeeming value in the sport as Stacey McKinley defined it? Keep listening: “Boxing itself, inside the ring, is a vicious sport. Don’t let anybody fool ya, it’s mean inside that ring. I try to keep that killer spirit in Mike. I try to tell him every day to go in there and try to break something.”

I sat stunned, connected via the phone line to a man in Maui who had just destroyed some great youthful memories — of my dad and me watching the Friday night fights on television. The memory of us lying on a bed listening to a crackling radio as Cassius Clay beat Sonny Liston had just lost some of its glow.

My friend was right. God can’t be happy with what we’ve done with his world.

Flyers Former Memphis RiverKings GM Jim Riggs leaves town realizing that his forte is that of a “start-up guy.”

“I didn’t know it six years ago or six months ago, but I guess that’s what I do best,” says Riggs as he explained why he is leaving the ‘Kings to become commissioner of the Atlantic Coast Hockey League.

Is it a coincidence that Riggs leaves as Robin Costa attempts to buy the RiverKings and the Explorers from Horn Chen? The negotiations have never included Riggs. He denies it but says, “I would’ve thought someone would have come to me and asked me what was needed, how things were going, or something, but they didn’t,” adding, “I’ve always wanted to work at the league level.” Did his lack of confidence of a contract renewal play a factor? He denies that as well. “I can only say the timing couldn’t be better.”

St. Jude’s Target House is $1,000.00 richer after Bruno Junqueira won the Indy 500 pole. The Indy car team donates $1,000 for each pole, $5,000 for each win, and $25 for each lap led.

Rambling Is Rashaad Carruth a good gamble for the Tigers? Only if they want someone to disrupt the program Am I the only one who thinks Shane Batttier is good for Memphis, even if he wasn’t a great basketball player? FOR SALE: big house owned by a big man. Lorenzen Wright’s Memphis home is on the market. His agent was surprised when I told him but said it doesn’t mean the Grizzlies have put him on the trading block. n

Who Cares?

Life in the AFL2 is all about the next step.

By Chris Przybyszewski

ESPN’s “Pardon the Interruption” the other day showed the prevalent attitude that many sports writers (and sports fans) have about arena football. A letter writer asked co-host Michael Wilbon why the “50-yard war” didn’t get more respect. Wilbon’s answer: “Who cares?”

Such is life. In a world too full of professional sports, many worthy and fan-friendly entertainments are swept under the rug. Whatever regard the mainstream sporting media has for the AFL, the AFL2 gets even less. And while places like Quad City and Tennessee-Valley (wherever those two places are) seem to enjoy winning and popular teams, in a larger pond like Memphis the AFL2 Xplorers are off the radar.

No, the league isn’t important, not in the grand scheme of professional sports in this country, but it does serve a purpose — developing professional athletes. Sure, the players are there to put on a show, entertain the fans, play for the love of the game, and all that. But for the players, minor leagues exist so they can have a chance to get to the big (or bigger) leagues.

Some guys will never make those steps. Some guys have been there and want to get back. The Xplorers’ Russell Copeland (6’1″, 205 lbs.) is one of those guys. Copeland’s a University of Memphis alum who played six years in the NFL for the Philadelphia Eagles, the Green Bay Packers, and with the Buffalo Bills in the Super Bowl. Copeland leads the AFL2 in receiving with 53 catches in six games for 755 yards and 15 touchdowns.

But Copeland’s presence on the team is also about leadership. “That’s in my contract,” he says. “Here’s a guy who has played in the Super Bowl, who has played in the NFL for six years. I have to bring that kind of leadership. To be honest, some of the guys are in awe of me, saying I can’t believe I’m playing with Russell Copeland.”

He’s not bragging. The AFL2 is not used to talent like Copeland’s and he probably is not long for this league. According to first-year Xplorers coach Danton Barto (also a UM alum), Copeland’s leadership is invaluable. “Russell has been a true professional and leader for us on and off the field. He calms us down when we need to calm down. He’s great for our team. He’s been there, he’s done it.”

The team has seemingly responded to Copeland’s leadership, with a 4-2 record after the first third of the season. Last season, the Xplorers only won three games. According to Copeland, this team is just beginning to find what it takes to win.

“As a young team you have to come out of the gates firing,” he says, referring to the squad’s 46-57 loss to the Tennessee-Valley Vipers. “We came out slow,” Copeland says. “And when you’re playing a high-caliber team like that, you have to have every phase clicking.

“Experience is a big key to that. Fortunately for me, I’ve played at the highest level. I’ve played in the big games. But not everyone has played in big games like that. It takes games like this for us to see what real teams are about.”

But Copeland is used to losing as a professional as well. “We have to learn to forget mistakes,” he says. “Don’t dwell on it, don’t repeat it. We’re a young team, but we’re doing pretty well overall.”

Some might consider his current job a cake-walk compared to the NFL. But Copeland keeps his situation in perspective. “I’m playing pro ball,” he says. “Do I think I should be playing at this level? No, I don’t. But God has blessed me in so many avenues. This is an opportunity to play football again. So I come out here every day to use my God-given talent. That’s what I tell these guys. I say, look, this is where you are. If you want to move up the next level, you have to perform and you have to produce. I have to perform as if I were in the NFL. Because this is what I do.”

Copeland’s attitude is partly professionalism but it’s also realistic. He knows that the personnel blade of sports can be sharp, and he’s vocal with his team about that. He’s speaking from personal experience. “There’s only so many eggs that can go in a basket in the NFL,” Copeland says. “There’s a lot of talent that gets missed. There’s a lot of talent on an NFL team that doesn’t play until someone gets hurt.”

So Copeland goes out every day and plays. He hopes that one of his tapes gets sent to some higher-level team that needs a receiver who can catch. He does it because he knows he can play at the highest level and that his time on the playing field is not yet done.

So who cares? Copeland certainly does.

Categories
Editorial Opinion

Freedom From Compulsion

Prominent in this week’s local news have been two notable circumstances — the primary elections for local countywide offices, which have been accompanied here and there by the usual o tempora! o mores! rhetoric decrying low voter turnout and an apathetic citizenry, and the surprise action by an 8-to-1 vote of the Memphis school board to institute a mandatory uniform policy for all public school students, grades K through 12. We are going to be somewhat out of lockstep on both counts.

First of all, the freedom to vote in America is very much on the same order as our constitutionally protected freedom of religion. Stress is on the word “free.” Each of us is free to practice this or that religious creed or not to do so, as our consciences dictate. The electoral franchise is, in our view, quite similar.

The right to be counted on matters of governance and other important public issues is guaranteed to all American citizens, regardless of sex, race, or political persuasion or any other factor save the common-sense ones of age, residence, or felonious conduct. No one, however, is required to vote; the supposition of our forebears, we like to think, was that those citizens who were informed on public matters and interested in the manner of their resolution had the right to influence the shape of them. Let us not deceive ourselves: Not all who vote can be considered “informed” by any stretch of the imagination. It is a fact requiring no labored proofs that votes are often cast on the basis of whims, misinformation, and just plain folly. They are not — at least in theory and, for the most part, surely, in practice — cast on the basis of any sort of compulsion.

Voting was mandatory in the republics of the late, unlamented Soviet Union, and failure to cast a ballot there was, presumably, dealt with severely. Those “elections” were sham exercises, of course, and not just for the reason that choices in most cases were limited to a single candidate. By definition, the exercise of free will cannot be made mandatory.

In 1991, Memphis voters came to the polls in record numbers to express their sense of whether the mantle of power should be shifted to a chief executive of African-American origin. That was a huge issue, one calling for a large turnout. All elections since then have summoned much lower numbers of voters, and that tells us something about the choices being made. For example, we find it revealing, even reassuring, that two of the leading prospects to become Shelby County mayor were an African American and a woman and that no large segment of the eligible voting public seemed hot and bothered about it.

Our thinking on the issue of student dress is quite similar. While we are suspending judgment for the time being, we are not quick to jump aboard the school-uniform bandwagon. We rather suspect that diversity of choice and freedom of expression, within obvious and proper limits, are valuable preparations for the active citizens of the future. Yes, it is true that gangs seem to require uniforms of their members. For that very reason, a dress-by-the-numbers code should not be required of students at large. Compulsory behavior and sameness of expression are not qualities to be desired in a democracy.

“As the twig is bent, so shall it grow”? Then we’re content to go light on the bending.

Categories
Opinion

Primaries 2002

Vote For Who?

by Janel Davis

Candidate DeAndre Forney: Republican and proud.

DeAndre Forney proudly held up his campaign sign, which read, “Republican Forney County Commission.” The election was three hours over, the votes tallied, and Forney’s primary bid was over. But Forney was not discouraged. His signs have no date on them, he said, so that they can be reused during his next run for office.

Forney was one of four candidates for the county commission in District 4, Position 2. While he only garnered about 4 percent of the overall vote, nothing could diminish his optimism.

“I am very pleased with the 4 percent I received. I ran in a 92 percent Caucasian district. I ran as a Republican,” said Forney. “Every single one of my opponents has held an elected office, and with that comes name recognition, something I didn’t have. When I started out, only two people knew my name. To get 4 percent of the vote is great.”

The 19-year-old University of Memphis political science student, who graduated from Houston High School last spring, got interested in politics back in fourth grade. After a series of school-related voter-registration and education drives and a congressional summer internship, Forney decided to run for the commission seat on a platform that included no property-tax increases, no consolidation of schools and governments, and no increase in county commission salaries.

While he raised only $1,000 and spent about $7,000, Forney believes next time will be different. “[During this campaign], I made mistakes daily,” he said. “Next time around, I won’t be the new kid on the block. I guarantee, if we were starting out today and I had the support that I have now, our conversation would be totally different.”

Although he doesn’t plan to be a career politician, Forney says his future will definitely include more campaigns. Ultimately, he hopes to run for the 9th District congressional seat currently held by Harold Ford Jr.

Forney was just one of last night’s unheralded losers, candidates without a big name or bank account. While winning candidates were busy posing for photos and doing television interviews, the losers went door-to-door meeting people, standing on street corners holding posters, and passing out pamphlets.

During a Republican gathering hosted by incumbent Bill Key, who himself was unopposed in the primary election for Criminal Court clerk, several lesser-known Republican candidates gathered to watch election results.

Key, whose campaign slogan was “If It Isn’t Broke, Why Change It?,” has held the position for eight years and presides over 100 employees. “The office is not a fee-collecting office,” said Key, “but during my tenure, we have returned $7 million to the county in indictment charges.” Key’s résumé includes positions as teacher, coach, and athletic director in Memphis City Schools, former Memphis police officer, and CEO of Juvenile Court. Key will face Democrat Ralph White in the August general election.

Mary Taylor-Shelby was one of the more unusual Republicans present. She is a former Cleveland, Ohio, welfare mother who ran for Shelby County mayor.

“Where [a situation] might appear to be a negative, if you extract the good stuff, that can empower you to be a better person,” said Taylor-Shelby. Although her mayoral bid ended in defeat with only 2.2 percent of the Republican vote, she calls her campaign a victory.

“I ran to get the African-American community to get more involved with the issues going on in their communities and to get them to see that they don’t have to be stereotyped into one political party,” she said. “I wanted them to see that they could make a difference in any political party.”

A grandmother, Taylor-Shelby is no stranger to politics. Since 1986, she has run for various positions and is also a candidate for Fred Thompson’s U.S. Senate seat. When not running for office, Taylor-Shelby works nights at Federal Express and is a part-time U of M student.

Beverly Farmer closely watched the results of her county commission race. After her first political run, she said she was beginning to understand the system. Although unopposed in the Republican primary for the District 3, Position 1 commission seat, Farmer will face a tough challenge in August against Democratic incumbent Michael Hooks. “I don’t feel like I will do well [in the general election],” said Farmer. “It seems like the people are determined to keep the same candidates in position regardless whether they are doing anything or not.”

Her platform includes community and economic development through establishing and assisting small businesses. If elected, she hopes to provide community residents with knowledge about how the government works and improve on weak areas like education and voting procedures.

The August election will be the final one for Jayne Creson. The incumbent county clerk has held the position since being appointed in 1993. Her political background includes stints as campaign manager for several other candidates and membership in the Young Republicans.

If elected, Creson’s main objective will be to fully update her office’s computer system to integrate online automobile registration for Shelby County residents. Creson will face Democratic candidate and radio personality Janis Fullilove. The Republican post-election party was abuzz with candidates, each with his or her own platforms, agendas, and hot topics. The losers congratulated the winners and pledged their full support for the August elections, but all of them seemed to be keeping their options open. “If I am not successful [in August], I have no plans,” said Chris Thomas, incumbent Probate Court clerk. “I’m going to take it a day at a time.”


Day In the Life

by REBEKAH GLEAVES

At 6 a.m. on May 7, 2002, John Freeman begins one of the longest days in his life. The Democratic candidate for county register starts bright and early, having slept at a desk in his campaign headquarters. Wearing shorts and a white T-shirt with his name emblazoned in bright red, Freeman is out visiting polls and pressing the flesh of early voters by 7. By 10 a.m., he is back in his Midtown office, where red-and-white streamers hang from the ceiling, the walls are hung with campaign posters, and the radio plays classic rock.

Around 10:30 a.m., Property Assessor Rita Clark stops by. She and half a dozen of Freeman’s friends and campaign workers are abuzz with discussion of county commission District 3 candidate Tori Noel’s ballsy ballot switch. They explain that African-American candidates often align themselves with other candidates on promotional ballots distributed to voters. Noel, who did not receive the endorsement, altered the “official” ballot so that it showed her, not Cleo Kirk, receiving endorsements from Joe Ford and A C Wharton. They say that this is typical of last-minute election-day behavior.

By 11 a.m., Freeman is behind the wheel of his red Dodge Ram and driving from polling place to polling place. The truck elicits a few good-natured Fred Thompson campaign comparisons from Freeman’s friends. Thompson, a Republican, made news when he drove a pickup truck across the state and then to Washington, D.C., in his successful effort to win a Senate seat. Freeman is quick to remind everyone that he owns his pickup and that Thompson’s was a rental.

As he drives, Freeman says he’s worked on lots of campaigns, but being the candidate is a totally different experience. Having spent 10 years working on various Ford family campaigns, he knows where all the polling places are because he’s had to visit them so many times. At each polling place, Freeman passes out campaign materials and bottles of water to voters and poll workers, entreating each person to send their votes his way. At polling places in New Chicago and Frayser, he hears that turnout has been extremely low, with only 20 or 30 people having voted thus far. Freeman takes this to mean that he needs to personally greet each person who shows up. As cars stop and voters approach, he introduces himself, asks for votes, and casually informs each person that he is the chosen candidate for the Democratic Party, that he has the official endorsement of the Ford family, and that he currently works for Bishop William H. Graves, a prominent African-American religious leader.

Freeman knows it’s important that black voters realize his affiliations because he’s in a race that will likely be decided on race. The voters he needs are black, and Freeman is white. One of his African-American campaign workers says that when she called black voters to ask them to vote for Freeman, many asked her if he was black. When she said no, they told her they wouldn’t vote for him. Otis Jackson, who is Freeman’s biggest competition and is running as an independent, is black and a former University of Memphis basketball player. Freeman doesn’t say so explicitly, but he worries that pigment will be pivotal in this race.

So he keeps making stops and passing out Cokes and bottles of water. In Melanie’s, a soul-food restaurant on North Watkins, he meets every single employee and customer, asking all for their votes. The only white man in the building, Freeman is often met with skepticism.

Talking about the impact barbers and hairdressers can have on the outcome of an election, he stops by Warren’s Original Hair Styles on Thomas near Chelsea. Warren Lewis, the proprietor, knows Freeman well, and as the mayor of Warrentown — the community the city council named after him — Lewis makes sure all his customers know Freeman too.

At 4 p.m., Freeman is back at his headquarters and decides to make a quick run to pick up bags of ice to cool the drinks for the planned celebration party. But on the way back from the store, he receives word that Otis Jackson is still out soliciting votes. Not to be outdone, Freeman heads out to hit more polling places.

At 6 p.m., he’s at Corry Middle School in South Memphis talking to a young woman who says she’s excited because this is her first time voting. At 6:20 p.m., he’s at the Graceland Community Police Substation working the voters. With the polls set to close at 7 p.m., poll workers for all the candidates are making last-ditch efforts to scare up votes, yelling candidates’ names and practically begging. Freeman manages to drop by two more polling places before they close, then he stops by Ophelia Ford’s campaign headquarters on South Third Street. Ford’s not there, but her campaign workers are trying to stay optimistic.

Back at his own headquarters, Freeman’s supporters gather around a rented television set, sipping wine and beer and nibbling at the huge spread of food laid out for the celebration. But as the early returns come in, the mood darkens. Jackson is leading by a considerable margin. Over the next hour, the margin will close somewhat, but it soon becomes clear that Freeman has lost. Gracious but tight-lipped, he smiles and says he’ll get it done next time. But his friends and campaign workers are not so diplomatic. All are clearly frustrated, with some even remarking that Freeman, a long-time friend and supporter of Harold Ford Jr., had not been shown the same courtesy by the congressman. They believe that if Ford had been more vocal in his support, Freeman would have won.

As the hours creep by, candidates and campaign workers from other races appear. A tired and somewhat dejected-looking Carol Chumney expresses her belief that Tennesseans are hesitant to vote for women and remarks that we are behind the rest of the nation in that regard. A jovial E.C. Jones, who faced no primary opposition in his bid for the county trustee’s office, arrives and chats with others present.

Eventually, the party moves on to Zinnie’s East, where upstairs in the Full Moon Club a young woman is squeaking out ’80s pop tunes. Joe Cooper arrives to cheers from all. He has just won by the narrowest margin imaginable — one vote — and has taken to calling himself “Landslide” Joe Cooper. Pat Vander Schaaf calls to congratulate him and express her disbelief at the evening’s events. Her ex-husband and close friend Clair Vander Schaaf has just lost the county commission seat he held for nearly 26 years; Joe Cooper has won the primary after running for various offices unsuccessfully for years. And Freeman, despite receiving the endorsement of many of Memphis’ top politicians and the Democratic party, has lost.

But nobody wants to dwell on that. As the clock turns to the wee hours, Freeman supporters take the karaoke stage to sing. E.C. Jones croons an impressive rendition of Sinatra’s “My Way.” But no song was more fitting than the duet Freeman and local Democrat David Upton sang — Elvis’ “All Shook Up.”

All shook up, indeed.

Categories
Music Record Reviews

Short Cuts

Alice

Blood Money

Tom Waits

(Anti-)

Like the last opium dream of a drowned sailor oozing up from the bone-laden depths of Davy Jones’ toilet, Tom Waits’ Alice will give you night sweats and make you nostalgic for the days when ghosts were imaginary and innocence seemed possible, if not exactly obtainable.

Unlike his last album, 1999’s acclaimed Mule Variations, which yanks you up by the lapels with the first notes and doesn’t let go until an hour or so after the disc has finished playing, Alice sneaks up on little cat feet and chokes you to death with a satin hankie. Blood Money, the second album Waits is releasing on the Anti- label this month, is not nearly as engaging. It is an interesting if monotonous affair that contains some of Waits’ darkest and most desperate lyrics, but taken as a whole, it is his most disappointing effort since the forgettable One From the Heart soundtrack.

Both Alice and Blood Money, like the jarring psychotic freak show of 1993’s The Black Rider, are the result of Waits’ and his wife/writing partner Kathleen Brennan’s collaboration with Robert Wilson, a lanky Texan famous for staging visually stunning avant-garde theatricals. Also, like The Black Rider, both new releases wallow in the seedy, Teutonic jazz pioneered by Kurt Weill — a sound Waits first introduced on his album Swordfishtrombones, heralding his graduation from mumbling laureate of the narcotic American night to citizen of the world and chief barker at the carnival of the doomed.

Alice is, to a certain degree, based on the life and works of Alice in Wonderland author Lewis Carroll, but don’t expect any songs about white rabbits or vanishing cats. Instead, Waits has embraced Carroll’s own proclivity for taking rope-skipping rhymes and other bits of childhood nonsense and filtering them through a sinister sieve, resulting in lines like the title song’s “Arithmetic, arithmetock, turn the hands back on the clock/How did the ocean rock the boat?/How did the razor find my throat?” Shortly after announcing that “the dish ran away with the spoon,” in “Everything You Can Think,” Waits offers, with only the faintest trace of morbidity, “We are decomposing as we go.”

Throughout Alice, commonplace activities become arcane rituals. Who knows what might happen should you trace someone’s name twice while ice skating? It might invite love or madness. And there is plenty of old-fashioned phantasmagoria as well. “Poor Edward” jauntily recounts the well-known tale of Edward Mordake, an English nobleman born with a second face — or “devil twin” — on the back of his head. According to legend, the twin’s lips “jibbered” constantly and never slept but spoke “forever of such things as they only speak of in hell.”

Of all the fine songs on Alice, the bizarre “Kommienezuspadt” leaves the most lasting impression. It combines complete foolishness with something unknowably vile, like an abandoned ice cream truck painted top to bottom with clowns and balloons but filled with the refrigerated limbs of dead children.

To achieve the timeless sound of a haunted 19th-century midway, Waits has once again pulled out the trombones, trumpets, vibes, pump organ, and pneumatic calliope. Many of Alice‘s finest moments, however, come courtesy of the Stroh violin, a special instrument fitted with a brass bell for amplification. It slices jaggedly through the mix like an aluminum shiv and is capable of shivering even the sturdiest timbers.

Blood Money sounds less like a Tom Waits recording and more like a collection of outtakes from Bertolt Brecht’s Threepenny Opera with a little Henry Mancini thrown in for good measure. It is, front to back, a cynic’s litany that abandons Waits’ rumbling, disconcertingly subtle street poetry for Brecht’s vicious pedantry. “No man’s happy ’til he dies” and “all the good in the world, you can fit in a thimble” are typical of Blood Money‘s lyrical content. Twisted rhumbas and wicked waltzes remind us that “the Devil knows the Bible like the back of his hand” and that nobody, especially not a woman, can be trusted. Unfortunately, the songs are too similar musically, making each of the recording’s wonderfully dark parts far superior to the whole. Only the sweet waltz “Coney Island Baby” and the seemingly sweet (but dark at the corners) “Lullaby” offer any sonic diversity. On the other hand, when Waits grumbles lines like “I want that beggar’s eyes, a winning horse, a tidy Mexican divorce,” it hardly matters what the band is doing. — Chris Davis

Grades: A (Alice); B (Blood Money)

Yankee Hotel Foxtrot

Wilco

(Nonesuch)

If nothing else, it’s a damn good story. Small band with big cred makes arty, ambitious album. Big, bad record company doesn’t hear a radio single and won’t release it. Band raises $50,000 to buy back the masters, releases the album to fans online, and gets a sweet deal from a label (actually owned by the same parent megacorporation as the first label) known to be artist-friendly.

Such are the events that befell post-alt-country kingpins Wilco during the last year or so, but the story’s not over just yet. Officially and enigmatically titled Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, the arty, ambitious album that freaked Reprise out has finally been released by Nonesuch, and its reception — both critical and commercial — will surely cast this story in a new light. If Foxtrot is a disappointment, the story is pointless, but if it’s a triumph, the story ascends to David-and-Goliath legend.

Fortunately, Foxtrot sounds like Wilco’s career album. The songs here buzz with an energy that is simultaneously earthy and spacey, suggesting an American Radiohead equivalent but with a broader emotional palette and a better grasp of songcraft.

The production is, predictably, more sophisticated, resourceful, and original than that on previous Wilco efforts — including 1999’s florid Summerteeth — thanks to the influence of Chicago musician/producer Jim O’Rourke. Occasionally, he and Wilco overreach, as on the leadoff track, “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart,” which overflows with errant pianos, keyboard squiggles, ambient synth washes, echoing feedback, and arrhythmic percussion. But the tracks that follow are much more restrained, even minimal at times. “Kamera,” for example, shambles along on a bare-bones drum shuffle, while an ominous, echoing piano haunts the bleak “Ashes of American Flags.”

Singer Jeff Tweedy has always had an easy intimacy in his voice as well as a unique Midwestern soulfulness that most alt-country golden boys lack, but here it seems stronger and more commanding, more personal and emotional. His impressionistic lyrics, unrushed chorus, and laid-back delivery give “Jesus, Etc.” its lite-A.M. ambience and “Poor Places” its strange, uplifting hopefulness. On the standout “Heavy Metal Drummer,” he waxes wistfully nostalgic for “the heavy metal bands we used to go see at the landing in the summer.” It’s a sincere, sweetly unironic reminiscence, capped with a near-perfect couplet: “I missed the innocence I’ve known/Playing KISS covers, beautiful and stoned.”

So it looks like this story will have a happy ending. In its first week of release, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot debuted at number 13 on the Billboard Top 200 album chart, selling approximately 56,000 copies — nearly half as many as Summerteeth has sold in three years. Such unexpected commercial success is a middle finger to Reprise, but it’s not as impressive as the creative triumph: This record marks the first time Wilco have managed to assimilate all their strong influences into a wholly original, completely idiosyncratic sound. — Stephen Deusner

Grade: A-

Testament: The Complete

Slash Recordings

The Blasters

(Warner Brothers/Rhino)

After listening to the two-CD Testament: The Complete Slash Recordings, it’s easy to hear why the Blasters’ music remained out of print for so long. It has nothing to do with the band’s creative output either. For in spite of the lost, mythical early rock-and-roll pleasures the band offers — short, punchy songs, crisp and tightly structured lyrics that trade metaphorical meaning for plain old human truth, and an elastic, relentless piano-saxophone-drums rhythm section that trumps the pickup band who successfully kept up with a demonic Jerry Lee Lewis on Live at the Hamburg Star Club, 1962 — the Blasters’ aesthetic was as anachronistic then as it is now.

With the exception of their rereleased debut LP, Testament blazes through the Blasters’ whole catalog at warp speed: three full albums, a live, expanded all-covers concert EP in London, and a handful of worthy outtakes. Disc one includes their finest album, 1983’s Non-Fiction, and features guitarist Dave Alvin’s loveliest lyrics, many of which dwell on uncomfortable places to sleep — ditch, Cadillac backseat, bus station, in bed next to your girlfriend. Disc two contains their last album, 1985’s Hard Line, and its snazzy production suffuses the songs with the melancholy of a failed sellout. Yet it also acts as a courageous, belated answer to Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A., complete with songs featuring affable losers and assaults on racism and politics that even Reagan couldn’t have misread.

Perhaps their anonymity stems from the fact that the Blasters played vintage rockabilly, R&B, and roots-rock as though it had developed along the lines of funk: Every instrument, including Phil Alvin’s hiccuping drawl, registered as a beat before it registered as a signifier. And, really, where can you go with that? Straight to the dance floor, I say. — Addison Engelking

Grade: A

Lost In Revelry

The Mendoza Line

(Misra)

Maintaining healthy intimate relationships in one’s 20s often seems tantamount to nursing an ailing bonsai tree — a tediously detailed affair with a grim prognosis. The Mendoza Line, a group of transplanted Southerners in Brooklyn, are the type of overcerebral, alcoholic kids who, despite themselves, are continually channeling all their energies into disengaging from whatever amorous briar patch they find themselves ensnared.

Timothy Bracy, one of the co-founders and principal songwriters, recently found himself cast as cuckold after their last record, when longtime girlfriend and fellow group co-founder Margaret Maurice left him (and the band) for a cabinetmaker in his 30s referred to as “Uncle Michael” by Bracy in a recent edition of the group’s alarmingly confessional promotional manifesto. And if I haven’t gotten Dynasty enough for you already, enter new co-songwriter Shannon McArdle from stage left. The intensity level doesn’t dip at all as the emotional volleying between her and Bracy present them as embittered heirs of Richard and Linda Thompson’s doomed bedroom dramas. You know, but in a more WB, “rebound-y” way.

All of the pair’s rawboned “misunderstandings” are couched in grad school obliqueness and scruffy country-rock. McArdle’s standout twang is especially effective on “Something Dark” and “The Way of the Weak.” And, yes, the songs are as morose as their titles. The opening track on this exercise in shambling Americana, “Damn Good Disguise,” obviously originated as a counselor sing-along at that summer camp where they used to groom all the New Dylans. But the fact that the Mendoza Line are sharp enough to dissect a hopeless one-night stand on the beery lament “Mistakes Were Made” doesn’t mean they can do one damn preventative thing when love, or just sex, threatens to get all raspy and sad.

But what kind of optimism can we expect from this group of “beautiful losers,” as Leonard Cohen would have called them? They cast their lot with all the sad sacks when they chose to name themselves after a sweetly lyrical baseball statistic, a batting average below .200 or .215 (depending on who you talk to) held by the spirit-crushingly sub-par Mexican shortstop, Mario Mendoza.

David L. Dunlap Jr.

Grade: B+

Buzzkunst

ShelleyDevoto

(Cooking Vinyl/spinART)

Caveat emptor: This is not a Buzzcocks record in any shape or form. For those of you who may remember the first Buzzcocks EP, Spiral Scratch, from 1977 (one of the very first U.K. punk records) with any measure of affection, this is not a follow-up to that recording. This is a screech-off between two shrill middle-aged men (Pete Shelley and Howard Devoto from the version of the Buzzcocks heard on Spiral Scratch) who should never have reunited for musical purposes.

This collaboration is much more like a successor to the dull mess that singer Howard Devoto purveyed with his first post-Buzzcocks group, Magazine. Except this time, Devoto drags poor old Pete Shelley along for the misguided trip. Horrible songs, miserable lyrics, new-wave yodeling that devolves into frog-like croaking, and that awful synth sound that you thought died with Cabaret Voltaire, Human League, Fad Gadget, Depeche Mode, and other knob-twiddling tea bags. It’s all here, and Devoto sounds completely undiminished in every sense. Hopefully, Shelley and Devoto won’t be back for another installment. This is perhaps the worst new-wave revival record ever or the best album Gary Numan never made. Gentlemen, please stop. — Ross Johnson

Grade: D

Categories
Music Music Features

sound advice

The latest indie buzz band to emerge from Teenbeat Records, the same D.C.-based label that made Unrest and Versus college-radio staples in the mid-’90s, Aden make music as cerebral and drowsy as you might expect, sort of like a more folky version of Versus. The band’s latest album, Topsiders, is a solid set of smart, slightly bent guitar pop that evokes the likes of Big Star, the Byrds, and Steely Dan (Aden named their previous album after the band’s dirty-old-man anthem “Hey Nineteen”) as much as it does their many equally fey contemporaries. With the sweet, gentle, often falsetto vocals of singer/guitarist Jeff Gramm leading the way, the band is also vaguely rootsy, making room amid the intertwining indie-pop guitars for some Hawaiian slack-key warble, a few stray bluesy riffs, and some bluegrass banjo.

The band will be appearing at the Madison Flame on Friday, May 10th, with Aden-offshoot Currituck Co., who make the band’s bluegrass leanings explicit, and locals The Villains. The latter bunch is a “supergroup” of sorts, made up of members of the Grifters, the Simple Ones, the Neckbones, and the Porch Ghouls. The band’s pitch-perfect cover of the Bonnie Tyler “classic” “Total Eclipse of the Heart” is purported to be a show-stopper.

And speaking of Big Star-ish pop, Ken Stringfellow, one-time Big Star sideman and founding member of alt-pop cult faves the Posies, hits town this week on a tour in support of his fine solo debut, Touched. Fans of Stringfellow’s collaborations with the Posies, Big Star, and R.E.M. likely won’t be disappointed by the new rootsy pop selections Stringfellow will be offering up. And be sure to show up early to hear Stringfellow’s Seattle-based backup band, The Long Winters, play the opening set. Listeners who like a little more crunch with their pop should dig the Long Winters, who evoke Neil Young, Built to Spill, and late-era Hüsker Dü on their impressively hard-charging debut, The Worst You Can Do Is Harm. Stringfellow and the Long Winters will be at the Young Avenue Deli on Monday, May 13th. — Chris Herrington

If The Pawtuckets have proven anything, it’s that you can make great Southern rock without ever referencing Lynyrd Skynyrd and you can make good Americana without imitating Gram Parsons. Another local group that proves this again and again is The Great Depression. While certainly influenced by alt-country instigators Uncle Tupelo and various Uncle Tupelo derivatives, the Great Depression mix country picking with big indie-style guitar meltdowns circa 1992. They also toss in the occasional rhythm stick, strung and played like a banjo, just to keep things nice and wrong. Their songs tend to be slow-burning odes to heartache, and straight-up rockers are few and far between. Even so, the band’s sound is big enough to grab you by your lapels (should you be fool enough to wear such things) and sad enough to live up to their name. They will join the Pawtuckets and The F-Holes at the Hi-Tone Café on Friday, May 10th.

Also on Friday, Neighborhood Texture Jam will be at the Young Avenue Deli for their annual reunion gig. They’ll join Jack Yarber’s amazing Tearjerkers and a new group called The Inevitables. Don’t let the name of this last group fool you. The Inevitables aren’t a revved-up garage band pumping out blue-eyed R&B. In fact, I’ve never heard a more alt-radio-ready band than this piano-driven group. Their melodies are lush and complex with a big-voiced post-Vedder frontman issuing such popular rock platitudes as “Pay attention but don’t do as I do.” The Inevitables are quite the talented bunch, but how they fit on a bill with a couple of rough-and-tumble bands like NTJ and the Tearjerkers is beyond me. — Chris Davis

Categories
Sports Sports Feature

City Sports

“I will promise you that I will work my fanny off.” That quote

from Jerry West was his way of introducing himself to the horde of media and

VIP types gathered at The Peabody to welcome him as president of basketball

operations for the Memphis Grizzlies. You have to like a guy who earns a

multimillion-dollar salary and can use the word “fanny” in a sentence.

West quickly proved true to his word when he hopped on a jet for

Chicago some 18 hours later to evaluate the talent at the NBA pre-draft workout.

When denied a private look-see at the highly touted 7’5″ Chinese center

Yao Ming, West appeared ready to tackle the Chinese officials by wondering aloud

if they were trying to steer their human currency to cities with large

Chinese populations. Of course, that would mean bigger endorsements and a bigger

payday for the Chinese, because they collect almost half of everything Ming

earns. West was clear that if he felt Ming could help the Grizzlies and if he is still

available at draft time, he would call his name, saying he didn’t think a team should be

blackmailed.

It’s no wonder NBA insiders are now looking at the Grizzlies as though they are

a real basketball team. West said he was not the messiah, and he isn’t. But he is

respected and feared by those who compete against him.

Fox Sports Net NBA analyst Jack Haley told SportsPlus 790 WMC, “No disrespect

to Memphis, but before Jerry West, the Grizzlies weren’t a factor.” He added, “Today, you

have to respect them and expect that they have now become a factor.”

It’s possible the Chinese government will learn just how big a factor and how

much respect West deserves next month when NBA commissioner David Stern says, “The

Memphis Grizzlies are on the clock.”

Flyers A source close to the bidding

process to bring the TSSAA Spring Fling to Memphis is telling the

Flyer the deal is done, despite the fact no one is confirming it.

Tiffany Brown of the Memphis Sports Authority would only say she felt confident

their proposal was more than adequate to beat Chattanooga, Jackson, and Nashville.

TSSAA director Ronnie Carter denied that any city had an advantage over the

other but did say Memphis’ offer was attractive. Carter said his staff has only reached

the venue-evaluation stage and nothing would be final until the bids were presented June

3rd through 5th. The Spring Fling features an estimated 5,000 high school athletes and as

many as 30,000 fans during the annual event.

Brown said the event “would surpass

the SEC and the C-USA tournaments as far as economic benefits are concerned.”

Memphis’ offer is worth $125,000. Chattanooga paid $50,000 last year.

Ramblings If the U of M’s Antonio

Burks and Chris Massie are guilty of violating the NCAA extra-benefits rule, who is to

blame? The media for bringing the matter up or the players for committing the violation?

U of M signee Rodney Carney was named

The Indianapolis Star‘s Player of

the Year as a 6’6″ small forward. He averaged 21.5 points per game and 13.5

rebounds. He was quite the track star as well, with

a high-jump record of 6’10”.

If Memphis fans think John Calipari has problems with the media, they

should see what his pal Rick Pitino is going through in Louisville.

Lexington Herald-Leader columnist Mark Story called

the University of Louisville the “U of P,”

or the “University of Pitino,” in a recent story.

Judy Stanley has been named president of the AXA Liberty Bowl for

2002/2003, which means, along with Tiffany Brown, Memphis now has two

women in prominent sports positions. We’ve come a long way.

Memphis can now also boast two of the finest minor-league facilities in

the nation, AutoZone Park and the stadium at the Mike Rose Soccer Complex,

home of the Memphis Mercury and Express. Jim Riggs, general manager of

the CHL champion Memphis RiverKings, is watching his contract expire.

“After winning the title, I would like to have

a chance to build on it,” Riggs said the morning after.

Question: Does the owner of the ‘Kings realize Riggs

is Memphis hockey? Sign him. n

Mull and Void

Should the Grizzlies build a Ming dynasty?

By Chris Przybyszewski

As the playoffs mature and things start getting serious for

NBA 2002, the Grizzlies’ front office is just getting warmed up. Actually,

“warmed up” is too early a phrase, since team

president Jerry West doesn’t know the team’s June 26th draft position.

Instead, the Grizzlies are going through mental preps, like Shaq

sitting in an easy chair and imagining himself shooting 1,000 free throws. (Of

course, he does.) The Grizzlies are officially

mulling. That’s right, mulling. Not to be confused with mullets, which are also

popular in these parts.

One of the Grizzlies’ biggest objects of mullification is Yao Ming, the 7’5″

center from China you might have heard about. By all accounts, Ming has the goods.

The big man can work with either hand, has excellent near-the-basket footwork,

can knock down shots from all over the floor, exhibits a Tim Duncanesque bank shot,

has some passing ability, and is very, very tall. West, in a widely noted quote, said, “For

a guy this size, he can shoot the ball. He has a wonderful feel for the game. This is not

a kid without talent.”

Fair enough. If you overlook Ming’s relative lack of weight, his abysmal

defensive skills, and his unknown durability and mental toughness, the 21-year-old looks

to have the abilities to justify going one or two in the upcoming draft. And the

Grizzlies — if they own that first or second pick — have every right to pick him.

But, at the risk of sounding like a contrarian, ignore for a moment that

Ming could perhaps be a future All-Star or MVP. The truth is that the Grizzlies don’t

need Ming to turn the franchise into a winner.

Ming is not his own player. The Chinese government has made clear that

whichever team takes him will have significant

obligations to the player and must allow near-unheard-of latitude.

The Chinese government — at any time — reserves the right to pull their kid from

the bench. China has already said that Ming must miss some preseason and rookie camps

because he will be training and playing for the

Chinese national team.

So let’s say the Grizzlies have 20 games left in the season and must win 12 or so

to make the playoffs. Ming, unfortunately, has to go and train with his brethren for the

upcoming world basketball trials. What happens if the Grizzlies are in the playoffs

during the 2008 Olympic Games (which are in Beijing)? Will he be in teal and black

during the Grizzlies’ best-of-five with Dallas? Of

course, no one talks of these

ridiculous-sounding scenarios, but the possibility is there.

These complications pale in comparison to Ming’s financial obligations. The Chinese

government gets half his salary. His Chinese team — the Shanghai Sharks — gets a piece of

the remaining 50 percent, and then Ming would have to pay U.S. taxes. Ming won’t have

enough money left for a decent haircut (and we all know where that leads: mullet city).

Money becomes important because Ming will have to play without being

compensated nearly as much as other players of his

stature. Can West inspire Ming to play for 80-plus games a year if he has to go home to an

apartment he shares with three Chinese government assistants?

And, really, the Grizzlies don’t need

Ming. His game resembles Pau Gasol’s in that both rely on a combination of inside and

outside scoring moves and both play matador

defense. Having both on the defensive end of the

floor would be a liability against the Western Conference and its cadre of excellent big men

like Chris Webber, Tim Duncan, Dirk Nowitzki, and Shaquille O’Neal. The Grizzlies need a

legitimate center (no offense, Lorenzen Wright, but you need to add four inches and

60 pounds to keep the job).

But the Grizzlies have no salary-cap room and already have an abundance

of too-young talent and dead-weight players. West no doubt appreciates Ming’s

abilities, but he must consider his team’s immediate needs. Using the first or

second pick to get a maybe star and his governmental baggage is a risky move.

I say to Jerry West — like he needs

my advice — grab one of those primo guards like Duke’s Jason Williams or

Memphis transient Dajuan Wagner and then trade some of our own deadwood for

serviceable big men who can get the job done.

Categories
Music Music Features

TOP 10 Profiles

1. The North

Mississippi Allstars

A year ago, the North Mississippi Allstars were facing down the sophomore slump. Their rapturously received debut, “Shake Hands With Shorty”, had made them national names and a self-conscious music scene’s great hope.

The band’s nimble, exploratory take on the hill-country blues tradition brought a regional music home to jam-band kids across the land, but you can only cover R.L. Burnside and Fred McDowell for so long before people begin wondering what else you’ve got in your arsenal.

But the Allstars answered whatever doubts may have existed in the opening moments of their sophomore album, 51 Phantom, when singer-guitarist Luther Dickinson lets loose some trademark slide-guitar runs and then growls out lyrics that prove the band has mastered the verbal tradition of the blues as well as the musical one: “Late in the evening, ’bout this time of night/51 Phantom gets to feelin’ right/Memphis to New Orleans, the 51 I ride/White lightning flashin’ cross the Mississippi sky.” And then he punctuates the line with a little ghostly howl to seal the deal.

Though locals — and this is a band that Memphis cares deeply about — seem split on whether they prefer the slightly new-look Allstars to the world-boogie missionaries that everyone had grown so accustomed to, there’s little doubt that 51 Phantom, with its crisper, more rock-oriented sound and reliance on original material, has confirmed the band’s staying power, even if it’s unclear whether it’s expanded their audience. The record has met with a strong response from national media outlets and the video for “Sugartown” has been airing on MTV2 and HBO’s Zone.

The band’s past year began with a massive performance at the 2001 Beale Street Music Fest, and their incessant touring schedule hasn’t let up much since. But, in addition to the band’s busy touring in support of 51 Phantom, much of the past year has been spent adding some of that world-boogie spirit to other projects. First, Luther and Cody Dickinson lent their talents to Smiling Assassin, a solo album from Widespread Panic keyboardist John Hermann, and subsequently toured with Hermann. Then the whole band joined jazz keyboardist John Medeski (of Medeski, Martin, & Wood) and steel-guitar virtuoso Robert Randolph on the instrumental gospel project, The Word, bringing yet another regional and subcultural style to a mass audience that may have otherwise never discovered it. Most recently, both Luther and Cody can be found on Keep It Coming, a new album from 20 Miles, aka Jon Spencer Blues Explosion guitarist Judah Bauer.

— Chris Herrington

Next local show: Friday, May 3rd, at the New Daisy Theatre.

Voter comments:

What a surprise. Jim Dickinson’s kid can play. Luther has had a big part in bringing the younger crowd back to the blues. A little bit Muddy and a little bit Garcia. Wow! — Brent Harding

Although I prefer it when they channel old, salty bluesmen instead of Duane Allman, these guys are still the saltiest young dogs on the scene. — Lisa Lumb

Well, it ain’t my thing, but they’re top-notch people. They’re also helping out other hometown homies like Lucero. I hope they get rich.

— Chris Walker

2. Richard Johnston

For the crowds of tourists who stroll down Beale Street on Friday and Saturday nights and find themselves captivated by this guy in front of the New Daisy Theatre playing drums with his feet, guitar or diddly bow with his hands, and hollering out blues standards with his mighty lungs, Richard Johnston could be just another street musician — which, on these nights, is what he so proudly is. But how many of them know they’re watching one of the true rising stars in Memphis music?

The past year has been one long coming-out party for Johnston, the former member of the Soul Blues Boys (the house band at the late Junior Kimbrough’s Mississippi juke joint) and struggling Beale Street performer. A year ago, Johnston was fresh off winning the Blues Foundation’s International Blues Challenge — becoming the first artist in the talent search’s 17 years to win the main competition as well as the Albert King Award for the most promising guitarist — and was preparing to showcase his unique one-man-band approach to the blues world at the Handy Awards.

Johnston’s breakout year climaxed in January with the incandescent release party for his lovely self-produced debut, Foot Hill Stomp, a show at which Johnston played ringleader for an all-night, revue-style celebration of the area blues scene that has nurtured him, bringing friends and influences such as Brad Webb and Blind Mississippi Morris, the Burnside Exploration, the Soul Blues Boys, and, most memorably, Othar Turner. Johnston has also drawn hill-country matriarch Jessie Mae Hemphill back into the public eye through her crucial contributions to Foot Hill Stomp and recent joint appearances.

The Handy exposure made Johnston a popular draw on the blues festival circuit — he’ll be touring Norway and Finland in July and August, playing a couple of dates in Norway with fellow Memphian Robert Belfour — but when he’s not on the road, Memphians have the pleasure of seeing him and sometimes his new band, the Foot Hill Stompers, at his standing Wednesday night shows at the Flying Saucer downtown and his frequent weekend performances on Beale.

— Chris Herrington

Next local performance: Sunday, May 5th, at 2:15 p.m. in the NBA Yahoo Blues Tent at the Beale Street Music Fest.

Voter comments:

If there was ever an artist to say that he did it his way, R.J. is the man. Not only is he an uncompromised, raw talent, but his story is amazing. He has suffered for his craft and broken new ground along the way. In the past, he left everything to live in the presence of the living greats like Junior Kimbrough and R.L. Burnside and to learn what it meant to live the blues, not just play them. He knew that he had to get inside the mind of the hill-country men to really understand what they were playing and how to make it work. And he did. The lesson here is almost biblical: “Take up your Lowe Bow and follow me, you will be a fisher of men and song … . ” Look out for the lightning.

— Wayne Leeloy

What Johnston’s doing is not original — combining aspects of Junior Kimbrough, Joe Hill Louis, and Lonnie Pitchford, among others — but few have ever done it as well as Johnston. He’s simply a badass guitarist (or diddly bow-ist), he sings with more passion than just about anyone else in town, and the Johnny Depp look-alike has got charisma to spare.

— Mark Jordan

Since Beale Street reopened in the early ’80s, no one [on the street] has commanded the attention that Johnston [has]. His unique hill-country style is popular with all ages. Johnston’s approach to the record industry is trendsetting, with a Handy Award and Grammy awaiting. — Dennis Brooks

Setting the blues establishment on fire. Not good at all but significant for this reason.

— Eric Friedl

3.(tie) CORY BRANAN

Cory Branan’s The Hell You Say isn’t just the best Memphis record of the past year. It’s the best record about Memphis, although it’s hard to believe he wrote about a bar where “Everyone except the band looks like a rock star/And everyone except for you can go to hell” before he started playing the swank confines of the Gibson Lounge.

With all due apologies to Lucero and the Subteens, who have fruitfully mined similar territory, “Pale Moon On Paper Town” is the greatest song anyone’s gonna write about wasting another night in a Midtown bar (where “You hear the girls/You know just where you are”). On that song, Branan looks up from “a table full of empties” and muses that “it’s never a good sign when the whole state line is outlined in chalk,” while on “One of Theirs,” he similarly captures local bar culture in vivid strokes, catching a glimpse of “local girls with imported beers … sinking in their chairs.” But the clincher is the epic “Green Street Lullaby (Dark Sad Song),” an utterly serious anti-love song to the city that comes with a deadly humorous edge. It begins with a sketch of a local singer playing a regular gig, one who “Starts a song about the highway/But it ain’t going anywhere.” It’s a song about the struggle against entropy in a city of stifling comfort and the sense that, whatever music heritage the city has, you have to head elsewhere to get anything done. It’s a song about trying to make it as a musician in a town where “Mosquitoes hum like window units/But you gotta move if you want a breeze.”

And it’s that song that seems key to Cory Branan’s year. Last spring, Branan was fresh off winning the Premier Newcomer Award at the local music industry’s annual Premier Player Awards and on the verge of releasing his astonishing debut album. On the surface it doesn’t seem like much has happened since. But Branan has been busy. After talk of some Nashville-based labels getting involved, The Hell You Say will finally be released nationally later this year by local label MADJACK. Branan recently spent a month in Los Angeles working with a new publicist in anticipation of the release, returned to Memphis last month to perform and present at the Premier Player Awards (and to record some new tracks for the album), and will soon be headed to New York for a club residency. So it’s taken a while, but it looks like The Hell You Say will finally get a shot at the larger audience it deserves. — Chris Herrington

Next local show: A solo gig on

Thursday, May 2nd, at the Hi-Tone Café and on Sunday, May 5th, at 5 p.m.

on the Gossett Volkswagen Stage at the

Beale Street Music Fest.

Voter comments:

Some might say Cory is so “last year,” but I say there’s more to him, musically, than we’ve seen yet … more than he even knows about. My recommendation? Take it on the road, way out there, and see what happens. — Posey Hedges

Cory’s ability to weave a poignant story or simply laugh at himself lends his songwriting a refreshing quality. And with his recent sabbatical in L.A., one can only think that his repertoire will continue to grow. — Deni Carr

[Branan is here for] the vitality of his songwriting expertise, which I feel is essential to the local music scene, because this ultimately serves to fuel the musical and lyrical educations of all the other artists around him and raises the bar for everything that comes after him.

— Richard Cushing

With his debut album about to be released nationally, Cory Branan could just sit back and enjoy the accolades, but we all know that he ain’t that type of guy. Keep an eye — and both ears — on this one, and you’ll be able to say, “I knew him when … ” — Andria Lisle

3.(tie) THE REIGNING SOUND

The Premier Player Awards are a source of constant frustration to those of us who actually listen to virtually every local release. The fact that the Reigning Sound was not nominated for best band is a shame, and the fact that Greg Cartwright has yet to receive a nod as best songwriter is a borderline crime. Not that he would even care. Perhaps Cartwright’s work with the Compulsive Gamblers was too raw to meet certain standards, and there can be little doubt that while the Oblivians were big enough to merit a spread in Variety, lyrics like “I’m not a sicko, there’s a plate in my head” were punk enough to insulate them (and thereby him) from a typically Bealecentric clique of voters. But by the time Cartwright started recording with the Tip Tops in the mid-’90s, his softer side had begun to show. The punk facade dropped away and what remained was nothing short of astounding. Here is an artist able to merge garage rock, pure country, gospel, folk, blues, and soul and imbue this hybrid with the finest qualities of mid-century pop. Here is also a songwriter confident enough to step out from the camouflage of noise rock to embrace complexity and polish without fear of being labeled a sellout.

Break Up, Break Down, Cartwright’s first disc with the Reigning Sound, is a “hot damn” record filled with beautiful anthems to shattered nerves and castles made of lies, with Alex Green (early Big Ass Truck) contributing on the keys and bassist Jeremy Scott and drummer Greg Roberson laying down luscious R&B-inspired grooves. When Cartwright opens up his gut, converting lyrics like “You never call, though the pain is often grievous/You just lay there paralyzed” into the soaring melodic epiphany of “Since when do you apologize?/It was there all along in your eyes,” it’s easy to see why they call themselves the Reigning Sound. They sure as hell don’t need anybody’s seal of approval.

Word has it that the next disc — Time Bomb High School on In The Red — is even better and due out soon. Not soon enough.

— Chris Davis

Next local show:

Heading out for the West Coast

in May, with the Hives, but they’ll be back at the Hi-Tone Café

on Saturday, June 8th, with

Mr. Airplane Man.

Voter comments:

I like my roots rock to point to the Byrds, the Gun Club, ’60s L.A. folk, and real country. The Reigning Sound do this like a walk to the drugstore. — Andrew Earles

A highlight of my year was hearing the Reigning Sound cover the Guillotines’ “I Don’t Believe” and Tommy Burk and the Counts’ “Stormy Weather” at Robert Gordon’s It Came From Memphis reissue party. It’s great to have a good old-fashioned garage band in town and even better to hear them paying homage to the garage greats before them. — Pam McGaha

Listening to Greg Cartwright and his R&B edge-cutters pumping out blistering original material and breathing new life into standards like “Stormy Weather” makes all too clear what Beale Street is so sorrowfully lacking. — Dan Ball

5. SALIVA

Flamboyant lead singer Josey Scott and his band of hard-rock heroes had the kind of year a Memphis rock band hasn’t seen in decades, if ever. The band’s major-label debut, Every Six Seconds, had the requisite post-industrial darkness and hip-hop-bred interest in beats and rhymes to fit in with the current metal boom, but it also had the glammy, feel-good swagger of the ’80s metal the band came up on. And with the full power of the corporate entertainment complex behind them, the band became massive, selling gold and landing a Grammy nomination for the lead single “Your Disease.”

Along the way, the sound of Saliva has become a ubiquitous fixture on television commercials and Hollywood soundtracks (Resident Evil, Not Another Teen Movie, The Fast and the Furious, WWF Forced Entry, and Spider-Man, for starters). And Saliva have toured nationally with some of hard rock’s other buzz bands, including Nickelback and Sum 41. The band, winner of the Recording Academy’s Premier Player Award last month for the city’s best band, has begun working on material for its follow-up album, tentatively titled Back Into Your System, and should begin recording in Vancouver later this year.

A year ago, Saliva played a coming-home party at the Beale Street Music Fest. This year, they’re back but on the festival’s main stage, playing just before Kid Rock. Should be a party. — Chris Herrington

Next local show:

Friday, May 3rd, at 9:10 p.m. on the AutoZone Stage at the

Beale Street Music Fest.

Voter comments:

Not so good but significant nationally. Memphis is not Midtown. — Eric Friedl

[They belong because] I feel it is absolutely essential for any music market (and especially for Memphis!) to export the best of what it has to offer to the worldwide public through incessant touring, national and international releases, Grammy nominations, and TV and radio exposure. — Richard Cushing

They were nominated for a Grammy and still hang out in the Memphis music scene. Gotta love that. — Deni Carr

6. ALVIN YOUNGBLOOD HART

It’s a bit of a mystery how Alvin Youngblood Hart failed to crack the Top 10 of this poll last year, since he was riding the wave of his wonderful, Jim Dickinson-produced Start With the Soul album. But whatever the reason — more frequent local gigs, the use of Memphis musicians (the Pawtuckets’ Mark Stuart and the Star-Crossed Truckers’ John Argroves) in his backup band, the city coming to its senses — Hart seemed to be embraced by his adopted city more in the past year than he had before.

Part of a brave new school of blues performers (see also Corey Harris), Hart is just as likely to drop into his sets a torrid classic-rock cover (Neil Young, Jimi Hendrix, and the Rolling Stones being particular faves) or a bit of cosmic country (Doug Sahm’s “Lawd, I’m Just a Country Boy In This Great Big Freaky City” always a highlight) as he is to rely on vintage country blues. And Hart demonstrated this streak of stylistic adventurousness at The Orpheum last month when, performing as part of the Premier Player Awards tribute to Sun Records, he delivered a souped-up version of the Johnny Cash classic “Folsom Prison Blues.”

It’s been a while since Start With the Soul, but fans aching for some new music from Hart shouldn’t have to wait long. Hart recently hooked up with Dickinson again to record Down In the Alley, a country blues record set to be released later this summer by the new Memphis International Records, a label co-founded by Memphis-based entertainment consultant David Less.

— Chris Herrington

Next local show:

Nothing scheduled now, but keep eyes peeled.

Voter comments:

From W.C. Handy to Al Green to Jeff Buckley, some of the more interesting chapters in Memphis music history have been written by artists who aren’t native to the Bluff City but who wound up following or finding their muse here anyway. In a town that has often encouraged and inspired its musicians to blend their influences and blur the lines between musical styles, is there a better musical alchemist in Memphis right now than Alvin Youngblood Hart?

— Steve Walker

Hart had a good thing going as a neo-traditional bluesman when he decided to record an album of Hendrix-drenched rock. Then, when he was asked to play a song by a Sun Records artist at this year’s Premier Player Awards, he didn’t pick Howlin’ Wolf but Johnny Cash, turning in a James Gang version of “Folsom Prison Blues.” In a town that segregates itself often without thinking, it’s great to have someone around again who so willfully crosses borders. — Mark Jordan

Just finished a CD on Hart with Jim Dickinson. Alvin played some old dobros and banjos he has around the house. Furry Lewis would have been as amazed at Alvin’s music as we were.

— Posey Hedges

7. THE BLOODTHIRSTY LOVERS

Why would Dave Shouse, whose bands the Grifters and Those Bastard Souls earned a national reputation much larger than record sales begin to suggest, put together yet another group? After all, during the indie heyday, every other music ’zine in the country made it clear — the Grifters are one of the best rock-and-roll bands on the planet. Shouse’s side-project-turned-main-trick, Those Bastard Souls, sporting as much glam and polish as the Grifters had grit and power, likewise burst on the scene to glowing reviews.

“I follow a compulsive muse and she had new tricks up her sleeve,” Shouse says, explaining that his new material didn’t fit with the five tracks already in the can for Those Bastard Souls’ next outing. Also, core Bastard Souls players are scattered from New York to Australia, which makes jamming a logistical nightmare. Also, the loops and sequences crucial to the new sound would, according to Shouse, “deny [fellow Grifters] Tripp [Lampkins] and Stan [Gallimore] the ability to work their own special brand of rhythm-section magic.” So it was time to go back to the drawing board.

The Bloodthirsty Lovers’ sound — pop-rocktronica, bordering on prog — may be far removed from previous efforts, but Shouse’s plaintive lyrics continue to mine pop culture, finding gritty commentary in some unlikely places. When he sang with the Grifters about being kidnapped by spacemen, it was always closer in spirit to Hank Williams’ “You’ll Never Get Out Of This World Alive” than The X-Files. Now when he sings about “Plastic Man” with the Lovers, images of a hero stretched to the limits prevail over Jack Cole’s zany comic book. Add to Shouse’s peculiar genius the classical sensibilities of the Satyrs’ melancholic Jason Paxton and the virtuosity of peripatetic rhythm ace Paul Taylor and you have the Bloodthirsty Lovers in all their glory.

Booking agent Robin Taylor, who handles such groups as Modest Mouse and Beachwood Sparks, scored the Lovers The Village Voice party gig at the most recent South By Southwest music festival in Austin, and they recently did four dates with Dayton’s finest drunks, Guided By Voices. The group’s eponymous release can be found at your finer record stores.

— Chris Davis

Next local show:

A tempting Music Fest

alternative on Friday, May 3rd, at Young Avenue Deli,

with Picked-To-Click

chart-toppers Snowglobe.

Voter comments:

Former Grifter/Bastard Soul Dave Shouse has been listening to a lot of Radiohead and U2 lately and using them to make his own great, distinct music. But when he teams with Shelby Bryant, Jason Paxton, and Paul Taylor in the all-star live version of this project, it is simply transcendent. — Mark Jordan

Just signed with one of the best booking agents in the business. Will be very popular, very fast.

— Chris Walker

The latest project from David Shouse moves him deeper into his prog-/glam-rock musings while simultaneously maintaining his unique, contemporary, and decidedly un-Memphis concerns.

— Dan Ball

8.(tie) THREE 6 MAFIA

The past year has been up and down for this Memphis rap dynasty. First lady Gangsta Boo, soon after the release of what promised to be a very successful sophomore album, changed her name to Lady Boo and disowned the band’s hardcore persona in favor of gospel-inspired music. Then the debut album from gangsta-moll-in-training La Chat failed to drum up much excitement. Finally, the group’s biggest current star, solo rapper Project Pat (Patrick Houston, the brother of Three 6 leader Jordan “Jazzy J” Houston) was convicted in March of being a felon in possession of a firearm.

But, on the positive side of the ledger, the group continued to produce hits, most prominently with Project Pat’s Mista Don’t Play and with the summertime single “2-Way Freak.” The group also branched out into new territory with the straight-to-video feature film Choices, a gritty morality play cum gangster flick that went platinum.

The next year will be a crucial one for the city’s most prominent music enterprise. With a new Three 6 Mafia album on the horizon and possibly a follow-up to Mista Don’t Play (the release of Project Pat’s new album has been delayed several times), we’ll soon find out how relevant the Three 6 crew are on an ever-changing hip-hop landscape. — Chris Herrington

Next local show:

Sunday, May 5th, at 5:40 p.m. on the AutoZone Stage at the

Beale Street Music Fest.

Voter comments:

With Project Pat in jail and Gangsta Boo doing the Lord’s work, one might think Memphis’ primary rap dynasty was on the skids. But La Chat easily filled Boo’s position, and, if the release of last year’s Choices is any indication, Three 6’s work is more compelling and creative than ever. “2-Way Freak” is a masterpiece.

— Andria Lisle

They’re still an incredible force to be reckoned with in Memphis, but you almost have to wonder if they’ve got any new tricks up their sleeves, anything to help them stay relevant in a rap world where most hardcore gangsta rappers are watching their record sales dwindle away. A group at the crossroads. — Steve Walker

8.(tie) THE SUBTEENS

“The [Young Avenue] Deli doesn’t seem to mind,” says the Subteens’ charismatic yet vaguely Frankensteinesque frontman, Mark Akin, of his retina-damaging proclivity for stripping down to nothing but a stoopid smile. “But I imagine if we quit selling beers for them, they’d mind a whole lot more.”

Bassist Jay Hines has said of his bandmate’s famous exhibitionism: “We’re probably the only rhythm section that can play an entire three-song encore with our eyes closed.”

But skin and sin aside, the Subteens continue to earn their ever-growing crowds with a stand-and-deliver ethos that translates into the sweatiest rock-and-roll show the Bluff City has to offer. The band’s combination of shimmering pop and punk allows them to cover the Ramones and Billy Joel in the same set — and with a straight face. In the boredom-drenched world of a Subteens original, girlfriends exist only to provide a reason for young men to go wrong, and it’s hard to tell whether the stumbling alcoholics they essay should be the object of pity or envy. Theirs is the same accidentally existential landscape that Big Star defined in their teenage anthem “In the Street,” a never-ending parking lot filled with equal parts possibility and disappointment. Every big score, like every big heartbreak, is a big excuse to rock, and with Bubba Bonds maniacally banging away at the drums, rock is the word.

Since recording their 9-song CD Burn Your Cardigan in 1999, the Subteens have gone from power trio to powerful quartet by adding Terrence Bishop on guitar. “We actually thought a triangle player would be just the thing,” says Hines of the change in lineup, “but we couldn’t find anyone.”

Triangle or no, the beefed-up group is currently working on their next release, a full-length CD with the dubious working title Cory Branan’s Broken Heart. Since signing with local bookers Snax Memphis and a new management company out of Atlanta, the boys spend most weekends on the road, so catch them when you can.

— Chris Davis

Next local show:

Friday, May 17th, at the Young

Avenue Deli, with like-minded

Arkansans Go Fast.

Voter comments:

Their eye-popping live shows and ear-catching songs have created a buzz for these guys for a long time. And their ballsy approach with covers (AC/DC’s “Whole Lotta Rosie” and Billy Joel’s “You May Be Right,” for example) helps keep the Subteens worry-free when it comes to packing a club. But, with no follow-up to 1999’s Burn Your Cardigan, fans have to wonder about their prolificacy. — Nicole Ward

Hey, the Ramones are gone (R.I.P., Joey), and it’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it. — Lisa Lumb

These guys embody all that is rock-and-roll, and while it might not always be pretty, it’s always gritty and it’s always real, live, sweaty, heady, raucous, raw, ruthless, raunchy, bare-assed mayhem. Enter at your own risk! — Pam McGaha

10. THE LOST SOUNDS

“This town is filled with reasons to kill/But everybody wants to play the blues,” the Lost Sounds’ Alicja Trout croons near the outset of the band’s most recent, and best, album, the epic Black-Wave, and nothing else so poetically captures the band’s place in relation to Memphis music’s polite society. More so than anyone else on this list, the Lost Sounds are on the outside looking in, but they probably wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yet the pop climate could be turning in the band’s direction. The relative commercial success of bands such as the Strokes, the White Stripes, and (more relevant to the Lost Sounds’ sonic concerns) Clinic and And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead hints at a growing dissent from the guitar-rock status quo. If there’s a rock revolution, this is one band you’d want leading the troops into battle. Led by the guitar/synthesizer/vocal mega-duo of Trout and Jay Reatard, the Lost Sounds may offer the loudest and most blisteringly confrontational live show in town, but they’re also a far more serious and accomplished lot than those taking a passing glance might think.

Black-Wave, easily one of the strongest local records of the past year, is a home-recorded tour de force that deepens considerably with repeated listens, with emotional and melodic undercurrents as forceful as its full-on noize-rock exterior.

The ultimate termite artists, this extremely prolific band just keeps digging deeper into their own music with a torrent of releases planned for a variety of indie labels, including the song “Total Destruction” on the new Fields and Streams compilation from Olympia punk label Kill Rock Stars, an outtakes-and-demos LP on the Italian label Hater Records, the live album Rats’ Brains and Microchips, Radio Waves and Bloody Lips on a new label out of New York, and, later this fall, the official follow-up to Black-Wave on Seattle’s Empty Records. Do your best to keep up, because this bunch won’t be slowing down for you.

— Chris Herrington

Next local show:

Friday, May 24th, at the Hi-Tone Café, with New York’s Oneida.

Voter comments:

The dynamic duo of Jay Reatard and Alicja Trout could kick the White Stripes’ asses any day. These Memphis no-wavers may look — and sound — dead-serious, but they have a darkly entertaining side as well. (Check out the cover of last year’s Black-Wave LP.) Not music for the masses, but they never fail to get a reaction from anyone within hearing range. — Andria Lisle

From synth-driven, scuzz-punk singles to double-record gatefold self-indulgence in less than two years. Who knew that dystopian prog-rock was where Jay Reatard and Alicja Trout were headed all along? — David L. Dunlap Jr.

Categories
Music Record Reviews

Short Cuts

Uninvisible

Medeski, Martin & Wood

(Blue Note)

Miles is grinning in his grave.

If any album has come close to capturing something akin to what Miles Davis created out of the ether in the late ’60s and early ’70s — such fusion crucibles as Big Fun, On the Corner, and Get Up With It — I think Medeski, Martin & Wood’s Uninvisible is probably it. And from three white boys. Crazy, ain’t it?

What Davis always said he was doing at that time was channeling the cool of the New York City streets, the metasexual ecstasy of the heroin plunge. You know, the shit that makes your hair stand up and makes the squares run. And with Uninvisible, MMW have — forgive the pun — tapped that vein of luscious grooves punctuated by the hyperrhythmic, sometimes cacophonous approximations of the city’s sounds: frenetic automobile traffic in all its noisome glory, Latin music jumping from the high windows of the barrio’s apartments, funk and soul rolling out of Harlem’s, the stop-and-go rush of millions of souls, and the hypnotic color of it all, the merging of it all, the trip of it all.

But absent are some of Miles’ extremes — beautifully distortion-box-crippled guitars, tornadoed riffs, time signatures lost in space, and quadruple-time drums skittering off to the asylum — and present are turntablists (yeah!) and vocalists (uh, Colonel Bruce Hampton tells a tale, and the guy from the Crash Test Dummies hums and grunts, but I guess it’s okay). Throw in flugelhorn, bass clarinet, and congas, not to mention all kinds of saxophones and guitars, and you’ve got as original a mix of instruments as you’re likely to encounter any time soon.

With nine albums in 10 years, MMW have built themselves a nice little oeuvre. Throughout their time together, they have collectively and separately worked with artists running the musical spectrum: Iggy Pop, Cibo Matto, David Byrne, John Scofield, Bob Moses, John Zorn, Chocolate Genius, the Word, Gov’t Mule, and Either/Orchestra, to name a few. It seems to have paid off. The metamorphosis of their sound is a joy to witness, since the road they take is not heavily traveled, and these guys only get cooler with every fantastic album.

And if you think you’re the coolest cat around, or you just like to feel that way, this is the music to which you need to be driving through the summer nights. If it’s to be classified properly, you need a limber tongue: Uninvisible is, to put it mildly, a deliriously groovy trip-trance jazz-funk fusion … oh — I’m so sick of these confusing, fumbling, hyphenated descriptives — let’s just call it “tripjunk” and be done with it.

Though a bit muddled, the powerful influence of Booker T. & the MGs and the Meters is still coming through in many of the tracks (especially on the title track, featuring the horns of Afro-beat band Antibalas), which is the usual on MMW albums. Medeski’s organ seems to be mixed lower than Wood’s bass throughout Uninvisible, so what was once organ-driven has become more bass-driven, the lower register mixed high and mighty and driving, with Martin’s drums and assorted percussion falling somewhere between.

From the title track’s first fat bass-riff drop into funked-up organ to the drums-and-turntable-driven “Pappy Check” to the African space walk of “Retirement Song” to the twisted dream of the six-and-a-half-minute “Nocturnal Transmission,” this album charts new territory for the new urban jazz, taking its cues from hip hop and the mind of the hustler as it lays it down.

In place of DJ Logic, who’s been considered the unofficial fourth member on the last few albums, are DJs Olive and P Love turning in some progressive scratching, though “Off the Table,” the last tune, wouldn’t suffer in the least if Olive’s sampled Ping-Pong session were mercifully cut from it. It’s a pretty arbitrary end to an album, formed in the free sessions of MMW’s new Brooklyn studio, that otherwise comes across tight and controlled. But, hell, that’s about five seconds of nearly an hour’s worth of impeccable tripjunk. You know, the kind that gets up in your soul. — Jeremy Spencer

Grade: A-

Conscious Contact

Jerry Joseph & The Jackmormons

(Terminus)

It’s no surprise that — despite his Western connections — Jerry Joseph landed on the Atlanta-based jam label Terminus Records. Widespread Panic have been covering Joseph’s “Climb To Safety” for years, and the Jackmormons have spent the last few years touring extensively with Gov’t Mule, so the Southern boogie-rock connection seemed inevitable.

But Joseph’s music isn’t really jam-based. Even when the group cuts loose with a funky organ riff (“Little Boo’s Fireworks”), they rock much harder than they roll. The Jackmormons straddle a no-man’s-land on the music scene, part posturing alternative rockers, part jangling balladeers. It’s a world that accomplished musicians like Tom Petty have successfully bridged. While the Jackmormons aspire to Petty’s tongue-in-cheek aphorisms, they don’t — yet — display the creativity necessary to reach that level.

Nevertheless, Conscious Contact is full of bright moments: The clever opener “Coliseum” has a catchy riff that sticks around long after the song is over; the hard-rocking “Ching-a-Ling” is tailor-made for the dance floor; and the swirling, jangling rhythms of “The Kind of Place” seem destined for heavy rotation on college radio stations nationwide. The autobiographical “Pure Life” and “The Fastest Horse In Town” show off Joseph’s songwriting talents; moody and allegorical, both numbers cut deep into his soul.

Pianist Chuck Leavell (who’s played with the Rolling Stones and Eric Clapton) and organist Randall Bramblett (Traffic) augment the Jackmormon trio on several numbers, while Vic Chestnutt holds down the backing-vocal duties on the sentimentally soulful “Your Glass Eye.”

Tellingly, Conscious Contact was produced by Dave Schools (of Gov’t Mule and Widespread Panic fame) and engineered by Sugar’s Dave Barbe. Armed with this group of pedigreed musicians, Jerry Joseph & the Jackmormons are well on their way, and Conscious Contact is a decent start.

Andria Lisle

Grade: B

Jerry Joseph and the Jackmormons will be at the Young Avenue Deli on Thursday, April 25th, with Mofro.

Project Human

Dieselboy

(System)

From the title of Dieselboy’s latest mix CD, you might think he was dropping the squelching-robot textures and overdriven bass splotches of its predecessors in favor of some old-fashioned blood, sweat, and grit. No such luck. The Pittsburgh drum-n-bass DJ is dropping tracks as dank and growly faced as ever. Project Human is cleaner-lined than 2000’s The 6ixth Session, but for the most part it’s missing the earlier set’s intimations of a possible revival within drum-n-bass of old-school rave’s giddy sense of possibility.

That doesn’t mean the disc is entirely devoid of fun, from Dylan + Ink’s jumpy “California Curse (Technical Itch Remix),” whose N.W.A. samples give it some fun, to Kernal + Rob Data’s “Hostile,” whose super-speedy percussion starts resembling log drums. And the woozy, dizzying filtered drums on Robbie Rivera’s “Harder and Faster (Weapon vs. E-Sassin Remix)” hearken to the way The 6ixth Session rode the cusp between drum-n-bass and Goa (or psychedelic) trance. But too often the disc’s mood is monochromatic: Drum-n-bass used to be a big kaleidoscope of emotion; now it’s mostly just dark and scary, and, as a result, fairly boring.

Michaelangelo Matos

Grade: B-

Dieselboy will spin at Headliners on Saturday, April 27th.