Voyagers and Glory Fires: The Top 14 Albums of 2014 (unabridged)

Hello! It's been a while since I've written here. As I imagine most readers know, I've been busy writing for Boise Weekly this past year. It's been a lot of work, but overall, it's been great.

This article was originally published in an abridged version in the Weekly on Jan. 7, 2015 (an apparent upload mishap made it even more abridged). I decided to publish the full version here--with the kind permission of BW, I should add--because I worked hard on it and, God help me, I actually think the writing's pretty good. Hopefully, you good people will feel the same. More importantly, I hope you like the albums I picked and maybe discover something you didn't know about.

Also, I thought that this could serve as notice that I intend to write more for HCTD in the coming year. Admittedly, 2015 has already been keeping me busy: On top of working four different paying gigs, I'm looking into contributing to a Boise-based music website that's being set up (stay tuned for info on that). Nonetheless, I do miss writing stuff here. Leaving alone the freedom to write whatever I want however I want, I have by no means forgotten that this crude-looking, stupidly named blog has been the source of nearly everything good that has happened in my life over the past three years. For that and for your readership, I will always be grateful.

Okay, enough preface. Hope you enjoy!


Tough times call for tough music--music that challenges, surprises, enlightens and delights. Whether it came from young upstarts staking their claims or old lions roaring once again, a lot of this kind of music came out last year. Here are 14 of the best albums of 2014.

Lee Bains III & the Glory Fires, Dereconstructed

The Clash is alive and well and jamming with Lynyrd Skynyrd in Birmingham, Ala. As unlikely as this description may seem, it's really what Dereconstructed sounds like.

Birmingham-raised, NYU-educated Lee Bains proclaims his undying love for the South while railing against some of its--and America's--many ills: racism, homophobia, thieving businessmen, regressive politics, blind consumerism. He and the Glory Fires back up these fighting words with snarling guitars and a rhythm section that can handle sludgy stomp, mid-tempo boogie and full-throttle blitzkrieg.

The Bitter Southerner declared that this punk-Southern rock hybrid "may be the most important record about the South ever released." It may also be the best rock album of 2014.

Jenny Lewis, The Voyager

Many reviews of The Voyager reference the rough patch that Jenny Lewis went through over the past few years. These experiences--the death of her father, the breakup of her band Rilo Kiley, struggles with insomnia--may have influenced the album, but focusing on them can distract you from the wit, empathy and complexity of her songwriting.

With production help from Beck and Ryan Adams, Lewis depicts women making their own mistakes, learning their own lessons and speaking their own minds. These concise tales of sexual and chemical experimentation feature some of the sharpest melodies and slyest vocals of her career, making The Voyager and almost perfect pop-rock album.

Run the Jewels, Run the Jewels 2

At Treefort 2014, Run the Jewels' Killer Mike got a crowd full of Idahoans to shout, "Fuck Ronald Reagan!" With their second album together, he and partner El-P pull off something equally audacious.

Run the Jewels 2 mixes social protest, trash talk and blunt-and-booze glorification without shortchanging any of them. Killer Mike and El-P deliver it all with slamming beats, razor-sharp rhymes and quicksilver flow. Add it up and you have an album that can support cameos from both ex-Rage Against the Machine frontman Zach de la Rocha and ex-Three 6 Mafia rapper Gangsta Boo. The latter, incidentally, comes on a sex rap that practices equal opportunity while piling on raunchy details.

Seun Kuti, A Long Way to the Beginning

As Jakob Dylan or Sean and Julian Lennon could tell you, making music under the shadow of a legendary parent isn't easy. As the youngest son of Afrobeat creator and political firebrand Fela Kuti, Seun Kuti's cross would seem especially hard to bear. He's managing just fine, though, in part because he inherited Fela's band. He's also absorbed his dad's vision and, in some ways, improved on it: "Black Woman," the soulful closing track on Beginning, helps clean out the bad taste left by Fela's condescending "Lady."

Seun's taste in producers helps too. While From Africa with Fury: Rise (2011) featured production from Brian Eno, the Nigerian musician turned to jazz-hip-hop cross-pollinator Robert Glasper for his latest album. Together, they concoct a denser, faster and more abrasive take on the elder Kuti's meld of funk, jazz and High Life. You might think of it as Public Enemy to Fela's James Brown.

Drive-By Truckers, English Oceans

The Drive-By Truckers have gone through two major crises in the course of their 18-year career. The first, which led to the firing of singer-guitarist Jason Isbell, produced the masterpiece Brighter Than Creation's Dark (2008). The second, which caused bassist Shonna Tucker and guitarist John Neff to quit, produced English Oceans, the Truckers' best album since Brighter.

It's tempting to infer that the band's internal struggles seeped into the album's songs: More than usual, Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley's lyrics focus on fraught, complicated relationships. What's more important, though, is that the two songwriters delineate those relationships with humor, wisdom, respect and solid tunes. Two acidic portraits of political hustlers provide some socio-cultural perspective. The two songs that bookend Oceans--Cooley's tough-talking, hard-rocking "Shit Shots Count" and Hood's majestic "Grand Canyon"--provide uplift.

John Nemeth, Memphis Grease

If you like your soul music with two dimensions or less, go ahead and buy St. Paul and the Broken Bones' much-hyped Half the City. If you want the real thing, pick up the latest release from one of Boise's favorite sons.

On Memphis Grease, John Nemeth joins forces with The Bo-Keys, whose members have played with Rufus Thomas, Al Green and Otis Redding (bassist Scott Bomar also scored the great 2005 hip-hop film Hustle and Flow). Nemeth's smooth, nuanced vocals almost steal "Crying" away from Roy Orbison. Also, you might wonder who wrote songs like "If It Ain't Broke" and "Keep the Love a Comin'" until you check the album credits and see that the man did himself. (Sidenote: Nemeth didn't write this one. Otis Rush did.)

St. Vincent, St. Vincent

Annie Clark, a.k.a. St. Vincent, has been dropping so many jaws lately that her music and videos should come with a warning label from the American Dental Association. She stunned viewers and critics with her cover of Nirvana's "Lithium" at the 2014 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Last February, she released her most accomplished and accessible album to date.

On St. Vincent, Clark wraps her idiosyncratic lyrics and playful, alluring vocals in bumptious beats, mind-warping noises and loads of irresistible hooks. It's too bad that Lady Gaga already used the title Artpop: This album embodies the concept better than almost any in recent memory.

Sylvan Esso, Sylvan Esso

While St. Vincent kicks down the door, Sylvan Esso sneaks in through the window. Amelia Meath's sweet coo and grounded lyrics ride atop Nick Sanborn's waves of sinuous beats and quirky synthesizer hooks. This spare, clever electro-pop may seem unassuming at first, but these songs will stay stuck in your head for days if not weeks.

Wussy, Attica!

Is Wussy, as Robert Christgau claims, "the best band in America?" It's debatable, but the case for this Cincinnati, Ohio-based indie-rock band gets stronger with each new album.

Wussy's latest, Attica!, is its best yet. Front-people Lisa Walker and Chuck Cleaver have never sung with more confidence or delicacy. A beefed-up rhythm section and some distorted slide add heft and bite to the duo's surefire melodies and droning guitars. Thanks to the power and beauty of the music, Walker and Cleaver sound triumphant even when they compare their apartment to a prison cell or sift through the ashes of their burnt-down home.

Angaleena Presley, American Middle Class

Sturgill Simpson may sound like Waylon Jennings, but his hit record Metamodern Sounds in Country Music has more in common with Youth Lagoon's The Year of Hibernation. Both albums let listeners indulge a fantasy of escaping from this mean old world.

With Angaleena Presley's American Middle Class, such opiates for the masses aren't on the menu. Instead, you get 12 songs that combine the down-home feminist sass of Loretta Lynn (or Presley's Pistol Annies cohort, Miranda Lambert) with the tough-minded yet compassionate class-consciousness of Merle Haggard. Presley may have sweeter tunes and vocals, but she hits just as hard as Lee Bains III or the Drive-By Truckers.

Jessica Lea Mayfield, Make My Head Sing

Great rock and roll takes risks. On her latest album, Jessica Lea Mayfield takes a couple of large ones. Singing softly and carrying a big guitar, she ditches her earlier folk sound and unleashes all the grungy thoughts and noises in her head. She gets support from husband Jesse Newport's steadfast bass and Matt Martin's muscular drumming. Make My Head Sing is raw, tender, brave and beautiful.

Tennis, Ritual in Repeat

"Night Vision," the lead track on Tennis's latest album, fuses the sensual and the spiritual over a hypnotically simple, syncopated drumbeat. It's one of 2014's sexiest songs, but that's just Alaina Moore's warm-up. Drawing from '60s folk and girl groups as well as '70s new wave and disco, Moore and husband Patrick Riley stand up for tender-hearted bad girls and craft affectionate portraits of Vivienne Eliot and a Fundamentalist grandmother. Throughout, they turn three-minute pop songs into odes to female desire, strength and independence.

Various Artists, A Tribute to Bob Dylan in the '80s: Vol. 1

2014 had two excellent Dylan-related releases. One was The Bootleg Series 11: The Basement Tapes Raw. The other was this tribute album, which applies just the right balance of respect and irreverence to the great songwriter's most uneven period. Highlights include Built to Spill's anthemic "Jokerman," Craig Finn's down-and-out "Sweetheart Like You," Aaron Freeman's goofy "Wiggle Wiggle" and Lucius's transcendent "When the Night Comes Falling from the Sky."

The Old 97's, Most Messed Up

"We've been doing this longer than you've been alive," Rhett Miller sings on the first song. You wouldn't know it from the way these alt-country stalwarts kick out the jams on their tenth studio album. With amped-up tempos and unfailingly catchy tunes, they get drunk and get it on like a bunch of freshly minted 21 year-olds. Is it really better to burn out than to fade away? Looks like The Old 97's will find out.

Honorable Mention
Wovenhand, Refractory Obdurate
Frazey Ford, Indian Ocean
Dave Alvin & Phil Alvin, Common Ground
Bob Mould, Beauty and Ruin
Robert Plant, lullaby and... The Ceaseless Roar
Desert Noises, 27 Ways
The Both, The Both
Eyehategod, Eyehategod
YOB, Clearing the Path to Ascend
tUnE-yArDs, nikki nack
White Lung, Deep Fantasy
Brandy Clark, 12 Stories
Peter Murphy, Lion
Badbadnotgood, III
Thompson, Family
Aan, Amor Ad Nauseum
Azealia Banks, Broke With Expensive Taste (note: This one came VERY close to making the top 14 list. If you have any feel for hip-hop, check it out. Aside from a surf-rock parody near the end--seriously, WTF?--this album is stunning.)

You can find info on Facebook and elsewhere online. And if you haven't done it already, follow HCTD on Facebook to keep track of what I'm up to. (You'd think it would've dawned on me to mention that a couple years ago...)

Afrosonics, Rosa dos Ventos and Henchmen for Hire @ Neurolux (12/17/13)

I caught Afrosonics' set at the Boise 150 Sesqui-Party back in July and liked what I heard.  Upbeat, multicultural funk--just the thing for a James Brown-enamored music writer who gets awfully tired of the same old surf-garage stuff.  I was also impressed with bandleader Dayo Ayodele's nonprofit Global Lounge, which seeks to help immigrants adjust to living in the Treasure Valley.

I got the chance to write a Boise Weekly feature about Afrosonics and Global Lounge.  When some free time came up on my calendar, I decided to come down and check out the band's new lineup.  I also looked forward to checking out two local groups I'd never seen before, Rosa dos Ventos and Henchmen for Hire.

I counted about 40 people at Neurolux when I arrived.  When Afrosonics played, I counted 65.  I'd like to think that my article helped persuade some of these folks to come down, but that's probably a little hubristic.

Henchmen for Hire opened the show.  This band's soul- and reggae-tinged sound had an adult alternative feel to it--Dave Matthews, Counting Crows, like that.  I'm sure that's enough to make some readers run screaming for the hills, but really, this group wasn't as bad as all that.  For one thing, their lead guitarist was sharp--terse, tasteful but capable of letting off some fireworks.  For another, lead singer Gabe Hess managed to deploy some soul mannerisms (some moans here, a little melisma there) without embarrassing himself.  The band sounded stiff and nervous at times, but a few more gigs should limber them up.  Also, any group that can do all right by Ben E. King's "Stand By Me" and Van Morrison's "Sweet Thing" (not to mention cite James Brown and Marvin Gaye as influences on its Facebook page) has its heart in the right place.

Rosa dos Ventos played next.  This Portuguese/Brazilian/Latin American music group sure didn't need to limber up.  Their horn-like keyboard, fluid rhythm section and snarling guitar hit so fast, tight and hard that they could've been auditioning for the JB's.  Kristine Nunes's warm, low voice had some impressive power, but like the rest of her bandmates, she didn't feel the need to show off her chops too much.  It took the crowd a little while to get on its feet, but the dance floor had filled in pretty well by the end.

Afrosonics closed out the show.  "Rhythm is the key," Dayo Ayodele said at the start of the set, and his band's funk/jazz/reggae-inflected grooves proved him right.  Malleable, hard-driving bass and drums weaved with manic guitar and quirky, dexterous keyboard solos.  The rough, friendly vocals added a nice human touch.  At times, the whole mixture called to mind one of my favorite groups, Sly and the Family Stone.  I don't know if the folks in radio-land caught Ayodele's closing admonition to support local music, but hopefully, they at least caught his opening shout-out to the late, great Nelson Mandela.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.

Charles Bradley & His Extraordinaires and Aaradhna @ the VaC (8/29/13)

As I've written elsewhere on this blog, I LOVE me some old-school soul/R&B/funk.  Stax, Motown, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, Al Green, Curtis Mayfield (with or without the Impressions)--I could go on all day.  This show caught my attention, then, because I'd heard talk of Charles Bradley being one of the best modern keepers of the old-school flame.  Admittedly, I did have some reservations after hearing his latest album Victim of Love, but they weren't enough to dissuade me from checking this out.

There were about 150 people at the VaC when I arrived.  I have no idea how many were there when Charles Bradley performed.  One thing's for sure: I'm definitely not the only one who digs the old-school stuff.

New Zealand singer Aaradhna opened the show.  This lady had me right when she sang the line "I don't wanna take that sh*t for granted" in her first song.  And with her other songs about getting bullied by the cool kids when you're younger and turning Miss Lovely's pretty smile into a frown, she kept me.  She had a whole lotta muscle in her sultry voice, but she was smart enough not to flex it too hard.  The medley that combined Willie Nelson/Patsy Cline's "Crazy" and Sam Cooke's "Nothing Can Ever Change This Love" was just gravy.  As for the song that borrowed the chorus from "Pressure Drop," hey, I love Toots and the Maytals too.

Charles Bradley played next.  This set was an object lesson in how live shows can sometimes top recordings.  While Bradley's massive vocals sounded a little one-dimensional on Victim of Love, they were just the thing to cut through the roars of applause here.  His high rasp and self-abasing scream bore the clear influence of James Brown, but he topped the Godfather of Soul for warmth and friendliness.  The same went for Bradley's whole stage act; while the set featured three costume changes, you never sensed any of Brown's vanity or control-freak egomania.  Instead, I actually believed the man when he said he loved the audience "to the bone" and "from the soul."  Meanwhile, the band couldn't match Maceo, Bootsy, Clyde et al., but 1) that's asking way too damn much and 2) they clearly learned their lessons well from Stax and Motown.  I may not have gotten a hug from the "Screaming Eagle of Soul," but this was still one of the best shows I've seen this year.

Sidenote: I feel like I should mention that I listened to Charles Bradley's 2011 album No Time for Dreaming afterwards and liked it a lot.  It features quite a few lyrics about being black and poor in America.  Now that's worth screaming about.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Duck Club Presents.

The Weeks and Jonny Fritz @ Neurolux (4/9/13)

I was having coffee with a friend when the subject of this show came up.  My friend lit up like a roman candle as she started talking about the Weeks.  I took that as a sign that I should check this deal out.  Also, I was curious to see Jonny Fritz a.k.a. Jonny Corndawg, having missed the show with him and the Devil Makes Three at the VaC last November.  I just hoped the crowd wouldn't be too massive (the previous show had sold out).

Well, it wasn't massive, anyway.  I counted a little over twenty people when I got to Neurolux.  When the Weeks played, there were about thirty.

Jonny Fritz opened the show.  He and fiddle player Joshua Hedley may have looked like the sh*t-kicking rednecks of arty liberal jokes/nightmares, but their clean tenor harmonies were pure and true enough for the Louvin Brothers.  Meanwhile, Fritz's lyrics took old-school country tropes down the road apiece; one song featured him telling a married lady to text him if she wants to hook up.  Not up there with James McMurtry but still among the better Americana acts I've heard lately.  Highlights included Fritz's original "Time Marches On," which encompasses three or four decades of familial and societal changes in three minutes, and Hedley's solo cover of George Jones's "A Good Year for the Roses."  The latter was so lived-in and quietly devastating that I could've cried into my Mutton Buster (the hole in the can was a bit too small for that, though).

The Weeks played next.  It figured that these guys hailed from Mississippi.  Their blend of country, southern rock, soul and funk might have gotten the nod from Ronnie Van Zant hisself (yeah, I know he was from Jacksonville, but you know what I mean).  I couldn't make out many of the lyrics, but their fiery guitar, limber rhythm section, sparkling keyboard and smooth, stolid baritone vocals were so appealing that I didn't much care.  What I heard sounded pretty good, though: grounded, class-conscious, all that nice stuff.  Anyway, the modest crowd whooped, clapped and boogied it up.  Plus, Neurolux got to put its sweet new light show to use.  Dig that twirling, multicolored circle.

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.  Special thanks to Eric Gilbert and Radio Boise.  If you like what you've read and would like to help keep it going, click the "Give" button in the upper right-hand corner and donate whatever you can.  Every little bit helps.

Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears @ Alive After Five; The Prisms, Edmond Dantes and The Dirty Moogs @ Neurolux (7/11/12)

Normally, I try not to schedule seeing more than one show on the same day.  I just figure that it's good for my mental, physical and financial health.  This past Wednesday, however, presented two opportunities that I couldn't pass up.  Last year's Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears show at Neurolux was one of my favorites of 2011, so I got excited when I saw that they'd play Alive After Five.  Also, the good people at Go Listen Boise (who, coincidentally, organize the local openers for Alive After Five) had arranged an intriguing all-electronica show at Neurolux later this evening.

I was glad to see that so many folks braved the 100-degree weather and made it down to Grove Plaza.  I gotta admit, though, that I don't understand how people can drink beer when it's so friggin' hot outside.  It's not like they need help getting dehydrated.  Oh well, to each his/her own...

Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears took the stage around 6 PM.  Their performance would've generated plenty of sweat without the sun's help--one part Stax soul/funk, one part juke joint blues, one part punk rock.  The Honeybears' soulful horns and swaggering rhythm section got the people close to the stage moving.  Black Joe Lewis delivered the songs in a raspy shout and slashed out tornado-like riffs and blistering solos on his guitar (whose dirty yet sharp tone doesn't sound quite like any other guitar that I've heard; it's like a rusty stiletto stabbing your ear).  I'm very glad that I got to see these guys again; they might be the closest thing in spirit to Hound Dog Taylor and the Houserockers going nowadays.

Unfortunately, I needed to run a last-minute errand and couldn't stay for the entire set.  I'd have liked to have heard them play "Livin' In the Jungle"  and seen if they'd had the balls to play "Mustang Ranch" (about their misadventures in the titular Nevada brothel) or "Bitch, I Love You" with all those kids around.  At least I got to hear their funked-up cover of Robert Johnson's "Stop Breaking Down" again.

I took care of my errand and got down to Neurolux before the show started.  The crowd started out decent and grew as the night progressed.  That was good to see: Go Listen Boise has been supporting the local music scene for years, and the folks there deserve all the support that they can get.

First up at Neurolux was local trio The Prisms.  As you might expect from a group that features Spondee's Clint Vickery, their lightly funky synth pop had more hooks than Cabela's.  The multicolored light and laser show added yet another level of fun to the sharp drumming, super-catchy synth and guitar lines and endearingly mild vocals.  It took a little while to get the people dancing (with the exception of a lissome, short-haired brunette and her friend), but a playful cover of "Always Something There To Remind Me" did the trick.

Next up was duo Edmond Dantes, who may or may not have changed their name to Barbarian Princess after this show.  Whatever they choose to call themselves, they're well worth checking out.  Their spare, elegant, seductive synth-funk/soul would've sounded right at home on the soundtrack to Drive or Miami Vice.  The strong, yearning tenor of the lead singer made me think of Pickwick's Galen Disston.  They remade Elvis Presley's "Devil In Disguise" and Kim Carnes's "Bette Davis Eyes" in their own image, and their originals didn't sound any worse for it.

All-synth trio The Dirty Moogs closed out the night with a wonderfully goofy, highly danceable set.  Between their leader's mock-German accent and songs with titles like "Tight Tight Pants," "Julie's An Android" and "Nintendo" (which really did sound like it could've come from an old 8-bit Mega Man game), they sounded like Kraftwerk or Gary Numan on laughing gas.  Not coincidentally, they included a Kraftwerk cover in their set and went out on that supreme anthem of alienation, Gary Numan's "Cars."

You can find info for all of these groups except Edmond Dantes/Barbarian Princess on Facebook and elsewhere online.  For info on upcoming Alive After Five shows and more, go to www.golistenboise.org.  Give 'em a couple bucks too, if you can spare it.

Pickwick and Grand Falconer @ Neurolux (6/22/12)

I've been looking forward to this show since I first heard about it.  One of my favorite Treefort groups returning after a mere three months?  Of course I was gonna check it out!

I got down to Neurolux at a little after 7:30 pm.  Even though showtime was advertised as 8 (which, in rock and roll time, translates into 8:30-40), it seemed prudent to get there well ahead of time.  Boy, was I right: the place was jam-packed by the time that Pickwick hit the stage.  The large audience was fantastic, though I wished that the people closer to the bar had shut the hell up during the opener.

Local band Grand Falconer opened the show.  On their Facebook page, they list their genre as "Indie/Folk/Rock."  The "folk" part comes not so much from their songcraft as from their choice of instruments (acoustic guitar, banjo, accordion, cello).  Take those out of the equation, you'd have a straightforward indie-rock band.  A very good one, I should add--ethereal melodies, warm lead vocals, pensive lyrics, gorgeous three-part harmonies, driving bass, Edge-y electric guitar, steady-rocking drums.

After Grand Falconer came Pickwick.  I wrote in my Treefort Top 10 post how their recorded material had started to leave me cold after a few listens.  Seeing them live again makes me think that my problem had to do not with their songs as much as with their EP's slightly chilly production.  From their playful, self-deprecating banter to their transported, Mussel Shoals-worthy groove, there definitely wasn't anything cold about their stage presence.  And good God almighty, what a singer that Galen Disston is!  It's not just the faultless pitch, the spine-tingling power or the dreamy falsetto, it's the brain that puts it all together.  The man can find the sweet spots to a song, and he knows how to hit them just right.  He proved himself worthy of the Marvin Gaye and Al Green that played on the PA system before the show.

By the time that Pickwick played their encore, my skin felt sticky from all the body heat.  The crowd had grown positively ecstatic: they danced, clapped, screamed, waved their hands in the air.  Disston shook and jumped and shouted as the band hit overdrive.  This was easily one of the greatest shows I've seen this year.  I only wish that I could've gotten some pictures of Disston jumping off the stage and crowd-surfing.

You can find info about Grand Falconer and Pickwick on Facebook and elsewhere online.

Manimalhouse @ Grainey's Basement (4/27/12)

This post is gonna be a little short because it's only about one (really awesome) band.  Some more substantial posts will be coming soon!

It's hard out here for an unemployed, music-crazy blogger.  Lately, I've been trying to drum up support for a worthy local band, working on a couple of different posts and, oh yeah, looking for a job that'll help finance my show-going and writing and that won't make me want to smash my head against a wall.  Last night, I decided to take a break and just wander around downtown for a bit.  I was not prepared in any way for what I found when I stepped inside Tom Grainey's and went down into the basement bar.

It can no longer be ignored: I am calling for a full-scale investigation into the astonishing rise in funkiness in the Pacific Northwest.  The eight-person band Manimalhouse said that they were from Portland, OR, but they sounded like they could've hailed from Memphis or Augusta.  They served up some slick, tight, hot buttered soul and funk with a dash of disco and a side order of cool jazz.  Petite, sexy Reyna Mallare belted out the songs in a gritty, sultry voice that evoked both Etta James and Donna Summer.  Nattily dressed Brody Lowe backed her up on vocals and moved to the beat with some sly, restrained, James Brown-derived footwork.  Bassist Jeff Tummond, saxophonist Reid Neuman, trombonist Jon Ramm, guitarist Dan Lee and keyboardist Dave Dernovsek each got off at least one mind-blowing solo apiece.  Last but most definitely not least, drummer Mark Blanding provided the backbone for the group, pounding out the rhythms with spot-on precision and unflagging energy.

The concrete bunker that serves as the concert space for Grainey's Basement was simultaneously too small for Manimalhouse's massive sound and just the right size: stepping inside, it felt like I'd wandered into the Chicago/ Southern juke joint of my dreams.  The band blasted through one song after the next with unmistakable enthusiasm, and the steadily growing crowd responded in kind by dancing their asses off.  The setlist was a combination of playful, rock-solid original material and inspired covers--En Vogue/ Salt N Pepa's "Whatta Man" and TLC's "Waterfalls" sounded right at home next to "I Can't Stand the Rain."

You can find more info about Manimalhouse on Facebook and elsewhere online.  And for those of you in the Boise area, I should mention that they're playing again at Grainey's Basement tonight.  Trust me: you won't regret it if you go see them.

The One: The Life and Music of James Brown by RJ Smith (2012)

I remember reading an essay by my favorite music critic Robert Christgau quite a few years ago.  He described a poll that he and his fellow critics had taken.  They were asked one question: who did they consider the greatest musician of the Rock and Roll era?  Nearly every single person gave the same answer: James Brown.

If you want to better understand how all those guys could reach that decision, I strongly recommend reading RJ Smith's magnificent new book, The One: The Life and Music of James Brown.  In just under 400 pages, Smith delineates the many tribulations of Brown's life and makes clear that without him, a huge portion of popular music as we conceive it today would not exist.  Superbly paced and focused yet brimming with vivid analyses, incidents and characters, this is the biography that this titan of American music deserves.

James Brown's musical career began in the chitlin circuit in the 1950's.  It took off with the evolution of soul in the 1960's and helped give birth to funk, fusion jazz and disco in the 1970's and hip-hop in the 1980's (and that only covers American music; Smith notes briefly in a later chapter Brown's influence on reggae and the music and culture of numerous African and South American countries).  Brown attributed much of his success to his discovery and embrace of "The One," a concept which had historical and even mystical significance for him.  In purely musical terms, it means emphasizing the first and third beats or "upbeat" in a measure rather than the second and fourth beat or "downbeat."  He describes it this way in his 2005 autobiography I Feel Good:

The "One" is derived from the Earth itself, the soil, the pine trees of my youth.  And most important, it's on the upbeat--ONE two THREE four, not the downbeat, one TWO three FOUR--that most blues are written in.  Hey, I know what I'm talking about!  I was born to the downbeat, and I can tell you without question there is no pride in it.  The upbeat is rich.  The downbeat is poor.  Stepping up proud only happens on the aggressive "One," not the passive Two, and never on lowdownbeat.  In the end, it's not about music--it's about life.  (p. 72)

Starting with "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag," James Brown made the One the rock upon which he built his music.  It gave almost everything that he recorded from 1965 on its relentless, hard-driving beat.  It became the eye of his hurricane of bass, guitar, keyboards, horns, shouts, screams, raps, chants and, most of all, drums.

Smith seems to take a cue from his subject, turning loose a tremendous amount of information and centering it all around the one and only Hardest Working Man in Show Business.  He takes the reader to northwest Siberia in the 1890's and describes a persuasive archetypal precedent for Brown's cape act (i.e. the part of the show where Brown collapses and a guy rushes over, covers him with a cape and starts to lead him off-stage only to have Brown toss it off and stagger back to the mic).  In the book's introduction, Smith links the power of Brown's funky drumming to the largest slave rebellion in the eighteenth century.  Of course, these passages would seem like mere flights of fancy without Smith's detailed depictions of the people who helped make Star Time possible.  This group includes not just musicians like prototypical hype man Bobby Bird, dynamic-duo drummers Jabo Stark and Clyde Stubblefield and freewheeling bassist Bootsy Collins but obscure figures like Brown's boyhood idols, 30's boxer Beau Jack and preacher/huckster Sweet Daddy Grace.

While Smith eloquently describes the progression and power of his music, he doesn't shy away from the less savory aspects of Brown's life and character.  He shows that the same drives and instincts that fueled Brown's audacious, groundbreaking recordings and stellar live show also led him to run his band like a tyrant, brutalize his women, fight or shoot people at the slightest provocation, develop an addiction to PCP that went unchecked until his death and support such less-than-charitable political figures as Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan and Strom Thurmond.  However, without excusing or apologizing for anything, Smith also enables us to see how Brown's drives and instincts stemmed from growing up dirt poor in a volatile, violent, segregated society.

Probably knowing that a dry, scholarly tone would go against the spirit of James Brown's music, Smith writes in a conversational, sharp-witted style that belies the prodigious amount of work that went into the researching and crafting of The One.  He makes it look so easy, so effortless.  In this too, Smith seems to take a cue from the man himself.

The One is available now in hardcover.

My Treefort Top 10

It's been about two weeks since Treefort (funny, it feels longer than that, somehow).  I've spent a good deal of time re-listening to the music of the different groups I saw.  Upon repeated plays, some bands/musicians stood out from among the 33 acts that I caught.  That's where this list comes from.  I was gonna go all in on the Nick Hornby/High Fidelity nerd bit and do a Top 5, but that proved far too constricting.  Similarly, I decided to exclude Boise groups because their inclusion would muscle out some worthy non-locals.  I might devote a post to my favorite local groups later.

Anyway, for your reading and musical enjoyment, here are my ten favorite Treefort groups.

10)  Tartufi

Whether it's Youth Lagoon or amelodic screamo metal, a certain regressive strain seems to run through a lot of recent indie music.  The music of these various groups evokes an inchoate, almost childlike state that overpowers whatever meaning their lyrics may have (if any at all).  You could possibly reach back and find the roots of this in Whitman's barbaric yawp or the English Romantics' idealization of emotion and childhood.  If you wanna get socio-cultural with it, maybe it's the product of people like me who were Reagan-era (or Bush Sr.-era) babies and are wrestling with some memory of that mirage of "Morning In America" (yearning for it, decrying it or doing some mixture of both).

In any case, Tartufi would seem to fall squarely within this trend.  What makes them distinctive for me is how they bring together the opposite ends of the spectrum.  While the New Age atmospherics and filtered, androgynous vocals call to mind singer/guitarist Lynne Angel's namesake, the brute force of their rhythms and riffs honors the Black Sabbath that they played before their Treefort set.  In the end, they hit me in much the same way that pre-Document R.E.M. does: their music is so effective, it suggests rational meanings that may or may not be there.  It's good stuff, though personally, I've always preferred post-Document R.E.M. (i.e. music that kicks ass and takes names).

9)  Pickwick

In a way, Pickwick reminds me of a group that I really liked, the Darkness: they tweak the nose of their chosen musical tradition, but they emulate that tradition so well that they could play it totally straight if they wanted to.  While the Darkness favored 70's/80's hard rock and hair metal, Pickwick taps the much richer vein of 60's/70's R&B and soul.  Singer Galen Disston's ironic-yet-ecstatic soulfulness is the stuff that Mick Jagger's dreams are made of, and the musicianship suggests a cooler, more streamlined Swampers.  Their lyrics about grisly murders and channeling the dead both draw upon soul music's blues and gospel roots and slap them in the face.  I found all of this irresistible for the first dozen or so listens to their EP Myths.  After that, though, it started to feel a little cold and mean.  Maybe they could do like their man Lou Reed (or the Darkness, for that matter) and mix a little heart in with their brains.  If they could pull off a "Sweet Jane," a "Rock and Roll" or a "Coney Island Baby" (and the energy and good humor of their live show suggest that they could), I could go all the way with this group.

8)  Tennis

Tennis' oldies-music sources run a bit more vanilla-flavored than Pickwick's do--I hear some folk-rock, some British Invasion pop, some Beach Boys, some Phil Spector.  Sometimes, the sweetness of their sound and the occasional awkward phrase and rhyme on their album Young and Old get on my nerves.  Something always sets me straight, though--the way the music can shift suddenly and suggest the Pixies or Sonic Youth, for instance, or the big stick that seems to lurk behind the softness of Alaina Moore's singing.  As for those awkward phrases and rhymes, they lend a journal-poetry intimacy to the lyrics' intimations of dysfunctional relationships and of young women learning to stand up and speak out.

7)  K Flay

It doesn't seem right, in a way, to place K Flay so low on this list.  As I wrote in my post for Treefort Day 2, her socially conscious raps satisfy the part of me that loves the Clash and Public Enemy, and that's a VERY big part of me.  Maybe it's that, after a few plays of her EP's K. Flay and Eyes Shut, the detailed despair and anxiety of her lyrics, the fearsomeness of her flow and rhymes and the harsh catchiness of her hooks and samples strike me as less Clash and more Gang of Four (i.e. powerful and incisive but sorta low on warmth and charity).  Don't get me wrong, I love Gang of Four.  Not as much as I love the Clash, though.

6)  Koko and the Sweetmeats

Husband Garett van der Crimp plays loud guitar and sings, wife Laura van der Crimp plays primal drums.  Yeah, I know what you're thinking--like the White Stripes.  And yeah, Koko and the Sweetmeats do kinda sound like them. They're lighter on their feet than the White Stripes tend to be, though, and more sophisticated lyrically.  My favorite song of theirs, "My Brain Came From a Factory" (off their most recent release, Sacrifice) lays bare industrialized society and its discontents with a rough-hewn eloquence worthy of the Minutemen:

My brain came from a factory
Along with the rest of my anatomy
Built to last some seventy odd years
Built to live and die in fear

Thanks to the lyrics and touches like the gutbucket sax that spices up "Factory" and a good chunk of their other songs, Koko and the Sweetmeats feel less like pure formalists and more like the real postmodern folk blues.  "Are we moving forward?/ Are we breaking ground?" they ask in another song.  Yeah, I'd say that they are.

5)  Cheyenne Marie Mize

Cheyenne Marie Mize's blues/jazz/country-infused songs pull off a neat trick: they're arty, catchy and commonplace all at the same time.  Lucinda Williams, one of my favorite artists, does something similar in some of her more recent work (Essence, West).  While Mize's plainspoken lyrics aren't quite as sharp as Williams' plainspoken lyrics can be, they connect anyway thanks to her clear, strong vocal delivery, which retains plenty of guile and bite even on her slow songs.  Rock and Roll animal that I am, though, what really get me going are Mize's fast songs: the all-percussion "Wishing Well," the strutting rocker "Keep It," the gospel-piano rave-up "Going Under" (all of which, incidentally, are on her download/vinyl-only EP, We Don't Need)  Taken as a whole, she shows more promise that almost any other act that I saw at Treefort.

4)  The Soft White Sixties

I half-thought for a while about moving these guys down to the Honorable Mention category below because I already knew about them before Treefort.  In the end, though, I said screw that--they're two for two on the live shows I've seen, and their recorded music effectively captures their high energy and good-times vibe.  The Soft White Sixties may not break a lot of new ground on the MC5 psychedelic hard rock/soul template, but hey, who says you gotta reinvent the wheel every time out?  The tough, hooky songs on their self-titled EP honor their influences rather than just imitate them, which is accomplishment enough.  It's worth noting too that, unlike the MC5, they can actually pull off a slow, soulful ballad.

3)  Janka Nabay



If I based this list solely on live performances, Janka Nabay would be #1.  No other set that I saw at Treefort matched Nabay's for excitement, joyfulness and warmth (the Soft White Sixties came in second).  While I'm a little disappointed that a lot of the stuff that he sang live isn't on the CD that I bought at his show (it's all stuff he recorded before moving to the U.S.), it should hold me over just fine until Nabay and his Brooklyn-based band release their new album in June.

After reading a little about Janka Nabay and his history, I'm even more amazed and grateful that he actually played at Neurolux, the modest hipster bar that I frequent.  In his homeland of Sierra Leone, this man single-handedly led a revival of bubu, the country's indigenous music.  He played sold-out stadium concerts there, and his recordings blasted out everywhere from big cities to tiny villages.  The decade-long civil war in Sierra Leone forced Nabay to flee to America, where he had to start over at the very bottom.  Eventually, he managed to build some connections and got together with the musicians who play with him now.

"I will play this music to my last breath," Nabay said in a 2010 Village Voice article.  That passion and dedication come through loud and clear in both his live show and his recordings even though I don't know what he's saying most of the time.  The rapid polyrhythms, the elements of jazz and hip-hop and the spirited call-and-response vocals of his Treefort set bespoke celebration, outreach and community (they retain a good amount of their power on his most recent EP, An Letah, which you can hear on Spotify or download cheaply at Amazon).  I'm also encouraged by the English-language song "Good Governance" from his Sierra Leone recordings, in which Nabay speaks out in favor of human rights, democracy, the rule of law and women's education.

2)  Lost Lander



Man shall not live by the Clash alone.  I like to have some softer, mellower stuff around when the right mood strikes me.  Unless it's something like Miles Davis' In a Silent Way or Sketches of Spain, though, that part of my music collection typically falls into my guilty pleasure section (Donovan's Greatest Hits?  Really?).

Some elements of Lost Lander's music--the cute little celtic/oriental-sounding riff on one song, the bogus British accent that leader Matt Sheehy affects here and there--would seem to mark their album DRRT for that very section.  However, if their live performance hadn't clued me in already, listening closely would've made me realize that this group isn't as soft and mellow as they may seem.  In fact, they manage to satisfy both the part of me that likes Donovan and the part of me that loves the Clash.

For starters, there's Matt Sheehy's singing.  Although that fake accent makes me wince a little, I don't hear much of the self-involved swoon that afflicts so many moony, folky types.  He doesn't sound like he wants you to feel his mood; he sounds like he wants you to PAY ATTENTION.  Likewise, the album's production doesn't wrap the voices and instruments in gauze but polishes them to a fine shine.  The opener "Cold Feet," for example, compliments Sheehy's lyrics about turning the world off for a while with some blaring synthesizer and some punch-you-in-the-ear-and-sternum drums.  Finally, Sheehy's suggestive, imagistic lyrics are more akin to R.E.M.'s "The One I Love" or Lucinda Williams' "Car Wheels On a Gravel Road" than they are to "There Is a Mountain."  Thanks to these strengthening agents, the songs' lovely melodies feel restorative rather than narcotic, their cute touches funny and rousing rather than simpering.  Here's hoping that Lost Lander can maintain their edge, because DRRT has earned a spot in my Grade-A section right next to Nick Drake's Bryter Layter.

1)  Snake Rattle Rattle Snake

Some voices just do it for you.  For some people, it may be David Bowie's.  For others, it may be Christina Aguilera's.  For me, it's Al Green's.  And Aretha Franklin's.  And John Doe's.  And, now that I've listened several times to Snake Rattle Rattle Snake's Sineater, Hayley Helmerick's.

This doesn't mean that Helmerick sounds like any of the people I just named.  Her contained, low-pitched singing places her more in the company of Nico, Kim Gordon and Shirley Manson.  Unlike those three, though, I don't really hear much ice-queen in Helmerick's delivery.  It's more like she wants to tell you a secret, but you need to come closer to hear it.  She might open her heart to you, or she might knife you in the stomach.

Helmerick's lyrics match her singing.  Lines and images stick in your mind, suggest explanations and stories that seem tantalizingly close yet never fully reveal themselves.  The words are made flesh by Snake Rattle Rattle Snake's music, which manages to be at once ominous and entrancing.  To my ears, SRRS's songs are like Bauhaus without the archness or Joy Division without the suicidal despair.  Not only will I take them over groups like Interpol and She Wants Revenge (a group that I actually like quite a bit, incidentally), I might even take them over Siouxsie and the Banshees.


Honorable Mention

The Shivas
Wild Ones
Dude York
Sauna
Mr. Gnome
Talkdemonic
Dinosaur Feathers
Hot Bodies in Motion
Buffalo Death Beam

You can find information about all of these groups and hear their music on Facebook, Spotify and their various websites.  I highly recommend doing so.