'Got some reggae for that other piece, though, by Solomon Jabby, a dreadlocked Caucasian jonesing for the analog '70s dub of King Tubby and Lee Perry. His self-issued Rootical Revelations finds him getting all dubby on tracks of his own creation, with all the aurally hallucinatory reverb and other effects the knowledgeable are gonna want, bass to challenge the mightiest woofers, and intermittent patois-laden vocal snippets seeped in non-Rasta biblicality. Jabby gets in his appreciation of Augustus Pablo's melodica on "King David's Dub" and Dean Frazier's saxophone on "Iyah Messy Dread". Slip Revelations into your CD changer alongside dub reissues from the Trojan and Heartbeat labels, and your "I like reggae...I like Bob Marley and Sean Paul" friends will be none the wiser. They might also ask what you mean by "dub". (learn more)
There's probably no need to explain the lush, contemplative rock of Monarch, whose The Grandeur That Was Rome (Northern) sounds like every sociocultural lesson learned from punk, new wave, modern rock, grunge, indie (whtaever that is...), etc. boiled down to the new corporate rock. But in a good way. That doesn't mean I'm always in the mood for tunes this somber or unified by the concept of some type of quest of the soul. This is Ben Folds, Hoobastank, and Joy Division (their less dancey side) pureed and baked into a mousse that could maybe use a pinch of sweetener. 'Works best for me in small doses, so far. (learn more; learn even more)
As serious as Monarch's musings, but janglier, more rustic, and prone to fun is the prolific Jonathan Rundman. After years of home four-track recordings, Rundman commits his idiosyncratically adult ruminations to a bigger studio on Public Library (Salt Lady). Since first hearing him a few years back, I thought his intelligently geeky voice suited power-pop rocking, but he's more varied and outland than that. With members of '80s Midwestern cult faves The Silos backing him, Rundman goes through a panoply of relationships and emotions. For his Ph.D. wife, there's "Smart Girls", while "Second Language" sympathetically tells—with solemnity and vulnerability—of an Asian-Ameircan teenage mother. "Narthex" and "Cuban Missile Crisis" relate sacred architecture and the Bay of Pigs to communal celebration and marital conflict. "Library" salutes that repositiry of knowledge, and "Every Town's the Same" makes for anti-road song country blues. Rundman makes rock'n'roll for adults and the kids who want to understand them better.
He also teams with friend/sometime-stage companion Beki Hemmingway on Tennesota (Salt Lady). Collaborations of lyrics, music and vocals result in a more consciously folkie/alt country vibe than the Rundman solo. Hemmingway's voice is Alison Krauss as an alto (folk-)rock chick, put to great use on these 11 cuts. Highlights? "Forgiveness Waltz" recalls Emmylou Harris and Graham Parsons' sharing of a mic; "List Of Things To Do" makes for the most raucous celebration of new fatherhood since Tennessee Ernie Ford's "Feed 'Em in the Morning Blues". "Hometown" recasts the proverb about not being a prophet in your own you-know-what to a hecka strong hook. More irreverently, "Consolation Prize" has the same deprecating sass as David Alan Coe at his most ribtickling. "You may be my consolation/but you're no prize" is a line that needs to be on country radio. (learn more, and more, and even more)
On a largely unrelated note: Have you heard that the new old punk rock may just be...gospel? Let me explain. CaseQuarter Records, in Montgomery, Alabama has been (re)issuing material by rough'n'rugged black Southern guitar evangelist guys with the unvarnished passion, dissonant instrumental style, and stylistic revelation that ought to appeal to fans of bluesy, punky duos such as The White Stripes, The Black Keys and Mr. Airplane Man.
As many single and EP cuts by Reverend Charlie Jackson as could be found and mastered from vinyl, in lieu of long-lost studio tapes, have been collected onto God's Got It. Recorded throughout the 1970s, Reverend Jackson's playing could be tremulously pensive with interpolated melodies, down'n'dirty as the dregs of a chitlin' bucket, or pulsed out in steady shuffles and sharp chicken scratchings. Percussion was fulfilled by a board to stomp on or some recording booth clapping and shouting companions. When not accompanying his saintly labelmates on New Orleans' Booker Records, the Rev's voice was as versatile an instrument as his axe: from mellow and falsetto to gutteral baritone wailing.
Isaiah Owens' aesthetic sensibility gets wilder still. A former quartet singer and Coca-Cola plant worker, Owens taught himself his instrument and added dissonance and abundant loudness to bolster his semi-improvisatory stories and songs. Even in the Afrimerican church community, where artistic creativity and ingenuity are encouraged, Owens' alternately noisy and tender music has met with some dumbfounding responses. CaseQuarter founder Kevin McNutt likens Owens' playing to the spasmodic rockabilly of Hasil Adkins, but some of John Fahey's avant-Americana seeps in, too. His singular instrumental technique matched to moanin' and groanin' vocals turn the peppiest of church standards to anguished imprecations to The Almighty. Owens' originals sound is, at once, peaceful and haunted. His bold fashion sense ('zat cowboy hat supposed to be zebra or Guernsey cow print?) and an extemporized commercial by the guitarist's radio benefactrix, Ann Talbert, on the 'AM in Montgomery' from which some of these performances were culled, offers relief from the heavy, idiosyncratic expressions of redemption. (learn more)
Soul gospel is also the new electro-funk. Or so 'tis evidenced by the latest from eccentric San Diegan, Tonex (say "toe-NAY")—Out The Box (Nureau/Verity/Jive). Most of his major label output, prior to this double-CD opus, had me wondering why the buzz on him was at fever pitch. Sanctified Prince, with a wide streak of urban adult-contemporary down the middle? Whatever. But with his choir, The Peculiar People, he has crafted an expansive—if theologically/doctrinally disputable—live/studio-recorded document that begs for crossover on the scale of Kirk Franklin and Yolanda Adams (both make cameos). The electro-funkiness comes on "Ain't", as spooky and self-referential as Timbaland's finest. "Syng" and "Thank Q" take down the beats-per-minute and up the peacefulness for alt r&b heads for whom Musiq and Philip Glass(!) are heroes. Elsewhere, he and the People take salsa, The JBs, Isleys metal-soul and Golden Age quartet gospel on his own terms. The adult contempo grooves most apt to be spun by gospel DJs are above the genres' norms, too. Fun fact: Tonex is likely the first act I've covered, here, who's marketing his own cologne. 'Keeps the guys smelling sweet while getting their praise on, 'eh? (learn more; learn even more)
patsymooreDOTcom home page