2015’s Raves & Faves

Taylor Swift probably sold the most records this year, an entity named The Weekend apparently wrote and produced many of the bigger hits, and Kendrick Lamar made a lot of people hear hip-hop differently. Still, 2015 continues the ongoing diffuseness of pop music. No one singer or song or genre really defines the age. Further, no central medium (i.e. TV, Youtube, radio) speaks to the needs of all or most. It’s a buffet where we pick and choose what appeals to us and hope for some nourishment.

 As the year winds down November is a great time to reflect on the music that stood out as well as books and films worth adding to your collection. 2015’s Riffs, Beats & Codas Raves & Faves:

 Best BIG POP song of the year: “Uptown Funk” Mark Ronson featuring Bruno Mars

 The biggest radio hit/pop song of the year is also the best. On this Morris Day& The Time/Prince inspired slice of mid-1980s style funk Mars, one of contemporary pop’s greatest pastiche artists, struts his stuff. As a vocalist and performer Mars and his entourage of performing singers (singing performers?) bring out all the song’s colors in full force delivering some of the more dynamic TV performances in ages via a Westside Story-ish strut + call-and-response interplay. 


Most Notable music on film:

Documentary film: Amy (directed by Asif Kapadia)

 Amy, a documentary about Amy Winehouse’s career rise and descent into addiction and ultimately death, is as much about the voraciousness of celebrity as it is about the musician.  In the film success amplifies Winehouse’s vulnerabilities to addiction, and breeds a willful callousness and indifference among many in her entourage toward her wellness.


Narrative film: Love & Mercy (directed by Bill Pohlad)

 Love & Mercy (starring Paula Dano and John Cusack) upturns the traditional static rags-to-riches biopic by bringing viewers into some of the touchstones of Brian Wilson’s life including sketches of his compositional prowess, his gentle rapport with musicians, especially in the studio, and his complex relationships with his family. By showing you Wilson as a young man in his creative prime, and as an older, more confused man seeking to balance creativity with the need for stability as he pulls through debilitating co-dependence, the film brings you closer to understanding the whole man with refreshing efficiency.


 Most Notable new books on music:

Billie Holiday: The Musician and the Myth (Viking) by John Szwed

 Szwed’s book is one of the more incisive and original takes on Holiday’s storied life and influential career. He probes beneath the surface of established myths about her life to reveal new layers. Further, by focusing primarily on the impressive range of musical innovations she pioneered, including her sophisticated rhythmic prowess and advanced melodic embellishments, he provides a fresh take on a legendary figure.

 Who should sing Ol’ Man River? The Lives of an American Song (Oxford University Press) by Todd Decker

 Cultural appropriation remains a vital issue and Decker raises compelling questions about the oft-recorded standard “Ol’ Man River” sung most famously by Paula Robeson in Showboat. After exploring the song’s origins, he analyzes the different approaches vocalists and musicians have employed in their interpretations of the song across genres and era. In doing so he unpacks the complex evolution of racial attitudes embedded in popular culture over the 20th century.

 Most Listenable Album: Pageant Material (Kacey Musgraves; Mercury Nashville)

Country musician Kacey Musgraves has one of the clearest and boldest voices in popular music. Proving her debut Same Trailer, Different Park was no fluke she has made a funny, poignant, and well-observed album premised on the virtues of integrity and authenticity.  Musgrave is a warm, appealing personality whose album has a near perfect balance of melodic and textural variety, smart wordplay, and rhythmic range.


Best Party Album: Dee Dee’s Feathers (Dee Bridgewater, Irwin Mayfield & the New Orleans Orchestra; Okeh Records).

 Dee Dee’s Feathers teams jazz’s finest vocal improviser with Irvin Mayfield and the New Orleans Jazz Orchestra. Bridgewater and company take on the classic New Orleans repertoire including Louis Armstrong classics like “Do You Know What it Means to Miss new Orleans” and “What a Wonderful World,” as well as a highly personalized, stretched out “St. James Infirmary” with a full complement of brass, and a “New Orleans” featuring an extended vocal plunger solo from the singer.   Her duet with Dr. John on “Big Chief,” the “Treme/Whatcha Gonna Do” medley, and the throbbing “Congo Square” are especially fun, uniquely New Orleans performances that make full use of the band. There are also interesting detours including Bridgewater’s take on Ellington’s “Come Sunday” and the charming original title track. At turns wistful but mostly jubilant she and the Orchestra are playing at full blossom making it the most festive vocal jazz record of the year.


Less-is-More Awards: Just You Just Me (Karen Marguth; CD Baby); The Silver Lining: The Songs of Jerome Kern (Tony Bennett and Bill Charlap; Columbia Records)

 Voice + Piano: After his cycle of rather gimmicky duet sets Bennett finally released a solo album with The Silver Lining where he and jazz pianist Bill Charlap, and on some tracks a trio, record some of the signatures from Kern’s formidable songbook. Bennett is at his best navigating the tricky melodies, complex harmonies, and unusual modulations of songs like “All the Things you Are,” and capturing the essence lighter fare like “I Won’t Dance” and the wistful “Yesterdays.” His vocal flexibility and interpretive focus yield some of his strongest, most jazz-oriented performances ever.


Voice + Bass: On Just You Just Me vocalist Karen Marguth and bassist Kevin Hill build from the promise of previous efforts and tackle classics like “You’d Be So Nice to Come Home To” “I Got it Bad,”  and “Imagination” perfectly capturing their melodic and rhythmic contours, and emotional essence in the sparsest of settings. She makes her greatest impact on her scat-laden rendition of the title track, a surprisingly blues-y and quite humorous rapid fire “Blues My Naughty Sweetie Taught Me,”  and fresh songs like her loping version of Phoebe Snow’s “Harpo’s Blues” and the charming Johnny Mercer tune “Love’s Got Me in a Lazy Mood.” Other inspired choices include takes on Nellie Lutcher and Rickie Lee Jones. Marguth is quite assured in a variety of modes, and she and Hill have faultless chemistry. 


Most Memorable concerts:

Angelique Kidjo (May 15, 2015 @ the Weis Center for the Performing Arts, Lewisburg, PA): She sings, she dances, she inspires, she soars: the ageless Kidjo, an eclectic writer and performer originally from Benin, can galvanize a whole room with her energy and simultaneously make everyone in her audience feel welcome and loved. Kidjo and her band, with whom she has delicious chemistry, delivered an eclectic multi-lingual program of riveting pop music.

 Gregory Porter (February 20, 2015 @ the Weis Center for the Performing Arts, Lewisburg, PA): Porter is the most exciting male singer in vocal jazz. He is one with his instrument which he uses with astonishing force and finesse. Running through his relatively small but deeply personal repertoire he stuns on his rendition of Oscar Brown’s “Work Song” and brings you deeply into his soul on personal anthems like “Painted on Canvas” and “Musical Genocide.”

 Best live TV performances:

Alabama Shakes “Don’t Wanna Fight,” on Saturday Night Live (3/1/15): 

 Mark Ronson featuring Bruno Mars, “Uptown Funk,” on Saturday Night Live (11/23/14):


BEYOND MUSIC media favorites:

 Essay collection: Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates (Spiegel & Grau)

 Coates blends an epistolary format with autobiography to address his teenaged son. Coates details an American pathology that consistently renders black bodies vulnerable to exploitation and violence ranging from 17th century enslavement to current struggles against police brutality. Boldly defying our predilection for optimistic endings, especially regarding cultural divides, his outlook is jaded, cautious, and bracing.


Film: 99 Homes (directed by Ramin Bahrani)

 In this narrative films set in Orlando circa 2010 construction worker Dennis Nash (Andrew Garfield) and his family are evicted from their home and the real estate vulture who savors this moment is Rick Carver (played with delicious contempt by Michael Hannon), a hard boiled, unsentimental agent who uses the mortgage crisis to his advantage, acquiring properties from evictees and exploiting abandoned properties for wealth. The desperate and jobless Dennis ends up working for Carver making quick cash through performing various duties but questioning the moral price of his newfound fortune. Bahrani’s story balances the topical with the philosophical depicting the roots of the mortgage crisis and the perverse range of moral pathways crises engender in even the best of men.


Memoir: Negroland: A Memoir by Margo Jefferson (Pantheon)

 Jefferson delves into her personal history growing up in an upper middle class family in Chicago in the late 1940s to illuminate larger questions that haunt the black elite. While tacitly acknowledging the hard work and good fortune of many enterprising African-Americans Negroland frequently asks readers to consider how colorism and classism shaped the ascent of many blacks who gained some modicum social acceptance, and depicts the emotional toll the pressure for respectability has had on the mental wellness and self-esteem of generations.  

 Novel(s): Loving Day by Mat Johnson (Spiegel & Grau); The Sellout by Paul Beatty (Farrar, Strauss, & Giroux)

 In these hilarious, searing, and clever satires Beatty and Johnson create fictional worlds whose inventive humor is based in poignant realities about navigations of racial identity in the U.S. Johnson’s depiction of a half Irish-half African American man returning home to Philly to a rundown mansion purchased by his late father and discovering a daughter he never knew in Philadelphia is a fertile playground laced with characters and scenarios that raise lingering questions about the construction of race and the perils and pitfalls of racial authenticity. Beatty’s depiction of a fictional all-black community in L.A. is narrated by a young man raised by a radical intellectual, killed by police, who proposes a radical idea to bring back segregation. Beneath Beatty’s brilliant wordplay and often absurdist scenes lie some illuminating truths about embodiments of race in 21st century U.S. life.  



2015 R.I.Ps


AT songbook.jpg

Ornette Coleman (jazz musician)

Andrae Crouch (gospel musician)

Lesley Gore (pop musician)

B.B. King (blues musician)

Ben E. King (R&B musician)

Mary Murphy (jazz singer)

Percy Sledge (R&B musician)

Clark Terry (jazz musician)

Allen Toussaint (pop/rock/R&B musician)




What I saw this summer: Music at the movies

One of the more transcendent moments of this past summer was Meryl Streep’s rendition of Dobie Gray’s 1973 classic “Drift Away” in the film Ricki and the Flash. Though the movie, a story about an aging musician who reconnects with her children, is muddled and incomplete, there is a startling clarity about the power of music in the scene. The deliberate pacing, the soulful crevices of her voice, and the communal feeling among the dive bar’s spirited working class patrons resonated strongly. After the movie I went home and made a playlist of songs celebrating music ranging from “Drift Away” to the O’Jays’ “I Love Music” to standards like “I Hear Music” and “Without a Song.”

 Depicting music’s impact and the music making process is a difficult feat for most films to capture. Film is a filter that can stifle the crackling energy and insinuating vibration of live music. This barrier is why so many musical biopics are emotionally unsatisfying.  Hearing actors’ overdubbed voices while they lip sync or mimic playing an instrument, and play to the camera is so staged it usually feels perfunctory. Several recent films including the documentaries What Happened Miss Simone and Amy, and the narrative film on Beach Boy Brian Wilson, Love & Mercy stood out for me recently. A similar and slightly older film I viewed recently, All Is By Side, a 2013 film about Jimi Hendrix, also enchanted me. Each film succeeds in letting viewers into whom these musicians were and how they experienced the world.

 A few notes on what I saw:

 Love & Mercy (directed by Bill Pohlad) vacillates from portraits of Wilson circa 1967, during the recording of what eventually became Pet Sounds, and his vulnerable status in the late 1980s as a near hostage of therapist Eugene Landry who had guardianship over the depressed, vulnerable singer-songwriter. Though much of Wilson’s story is well-known and well-documented (i.e. The 1995 Wilson documentary I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times) the film’s most compelling scenes focus on music making. In addition to snippets of Wilson (whose genuine whimsy and bubbling artistic frustrations are captured by Paul Dano’s nuanced performance) singing at the piano, the movie shows him working through arrangements in the recording studio with the “Wrecking Crew” (also the subject of the 2008 documentary of the same name) a group of highly gifted session musicians who played on countless pop records in the ‘60s and ‘70s.

 The scenes depict Wilson’s layered, neo-symphonic approach to harmony as a product of countless hours working with the musicians to create complex backings that would later be complemented by dense vocal harmonies. Central to the film’s dramatic tension is the conflict between Wilson, who is chasing the sonic innovations of the Beatles’s seminal Sgt. Pepper, and Wilson’s notoriously unsupportive father Murry as well as Beach Boy Mike Love who want the group to continue recording sun-drenched surf music. The struggle of an aging, controlled Wilson to lead a functional, autonomous life under Landry’s domineering “therapy” (with ace performances by John Cusack as Wilson, Elizabeth Banks as his wife Melinda Ledbetter, and Paul Giamatti as Landry) comprises half the film.

 But, I was most taken by the film’s ongoing portraits of the often laborious but frequently rewarding and surprising process of recording. Several scenes showcase little moments where Wilson hears a small variation by a musician that opens him up to textures beyond his initial compositional and sonic visions. Though the Beach Boys’ records are meticulously produced, the film illustrates how “live” recording and spontaneous moments transformed Wilson’s music.



I saw What Happened, Miss Simone?  (directed by Liz Arbus) in Netflix shortly after the Brian Wilson film; both were tortured geniuses for disparate reasons. The title immediately suggests something went awry; in a sense it did as the film documents Simone’s struggles with racism, an abusive marriage, her commitment to civil rights and liberationist politics in her music and the subsequent backlash, as well as mental illness. Like the artist the film is overflowing with eclecticism spanning from her childhood musical intrigue with the piano to her commercial triumphs, personal struggles, and comeback in the late 1980s through her death.

 Simone is widely understood as an influence on many contemporary singers including jazz vocalists like Dianne Reeves and Cassandra Wilson, and experimental R&B musician Me’shell N’degeocello who recorded an excellent Simone tribute in 2013 with guest vocalists. Simone’s repertoire of signature songs is also vast including definitive renditions of “Love Me or Leave Me,” “My Baby Just Cares for Me,” and “I Loves You Porgy,” and notable originals like “Four Women,” and “Mississippi Goddamn.”

 Yet, she always seems underrated and misunderstood to me. Simone is a difficult artist to “capture” because her career was so varied. 1959-1972 is her most notable period as a recording artist, a period characterized by significant social transition and the movement away from jazz-inspired pop as mainstream music toward a greater rock and R&B influence in popular music. At the independent Bethlehem Records she recorded a jazz-oriented album featuring traditional standards sung in her inimitable, almost drone-like style. After the label folded she switched to Colpix Records (1959-63) where she sang everything from Yiddish folk songs to Duke Ellington to TV theme songs. This eclectic approach continued at Phillips Records (1964-67), the label where she recorded her strongest work ranging from “Mississippi” to “I Put a Spell on You” to Chuck Berry’s “Brown Eyed Handsome Man” to the Baptist traditional “Take Me to the River.” Her final major label period was a characteristically diverse set of recordings for RCA from 1967-72 featuring Simone’s political signatures like “Backlash Blues” (a collaboration with Langston Hughes), “I Wish I Knew How it Would Feel to Be Free,” and “To Be Young, Gifted, and Black.” Her RCA stint also includes Simone-ized renditions of (then) contemporary fare like “The Look of Love,” “To Love Somebody,” and “Ain’t Got No-I Got Life” (from Hair).

 After this period her recordings became more sporadic as she struggled to manage her sense of political disenchantment with U.S. politics. She refused to pay taxes and made homes for herself abroad in Barbados, Britain, Liberia, Switzerland, The Netherlands, and France; she was beloved worldwide. During the mid-1970s she mostly lived apart from her husband/manager Andy Stroud and her daughter Lisa. As the film details, she also struggled with bipolar disorder, an important element of her life detailed episodically in Nadine Cohodas’s 2010 biography Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone. She recorded a an assortment of random, mostly live recordings for independent labels before recording 1993’s A Single Woman for Elektra and focusing on touring up until her death in 2003.

 As a Simone fan I was ecstatic Simone finally received documentary treatment. So many of her songs are recycled on commercials and in film without her face that my hope is the film closes this gap. The most stunning element of the film is the live footage, characterized by her warm rapport with her audience. Simone did not suffer fools gladly and commanded a high level of respect. Beneath her stern façade lie a certain playfulness and humor she used to whip her audiences into a kind of adoring docility.  The film features some amazing rare footage; my favorite is a late 1950s/early 1960s clip featuring her languorous drone like approach to the standard “For All We Know” that feels like a profound meditation on mortality sung with enough melodic distortion and retardation of tempo to feel wholly original. Later scenes feature her performing in front of primarily black audiences in the late 1960s, including a performance in Amherst, affirming their humanity in her stage patter.  

 One of the film’s more interesting narrative threads is the morphing of her image. Simone aspired to make her living as a classical pianist but was unable to continue her classical training and played and sang to make a living. Her earliest recordings feature standards mostly, but in the mid-1960s social tumult inspired her to move from cocktail jazz and saloon music repertoire toward more topical material. This generated tensions between her and Stroud who wanted her to stick with more emotionally neutral commercial music. Her daughter Lisa is interviewed throughout and it’s amazing hearing her daughter describe her family’s place within an intimate circle of black activists, artists, and scholars of the time including close relationships with Malcolm X and Betty Shabazz’s family and luminaries like Langston Hughes. Interestingly in a televised interview (from the 1980s I believe) Simone essentially downplays the political music of her past noting the Civil Rights movement as a movement of the past rather than carrying the torch. This may shock people who only think of Simone in political terms. She always insisted she was an artist first and declined to fit into boxes.

 Viewers might also be shocked and disturbed, as I was, by the level of physical and emotional abuse Simone endured in her marriage. The film is strangely neutral and matter-of-fact about this fact of her life. Stroud is featured in a lengthy interview circa 2006 and he is not the least bit apologetic or regretful which only made him seem crueler and Simone more vulnerable.


Amy (directed by Asif Kapadia), a documentary of British singer-songwriter Amy Winehouse’s short-lived commercial and artistic glory in the mid-to-late 2000s, and her death at 27, is more horror film than traditional documentary. Almost entirely eschewing talking heads and the typical “Voice of God” narration it’s a remarkably candid film that lets the pictures and the music tell the story. The film begins with a clip of a teenaged Winehouse singing promisingly at a friend’s birthday party, delves into her family life, and shows her progression as she nurtures her talents and lands the opportunity to record her 2004 album Frank a pop album mixing originals with jazz covers. The clips of her playing guitar and recording her vocals for select songs on the album reveal a raw, but promising talent, and various interviews from the time show her endearingly candid, off-the-cuff humor. She also makes it clear that her original material all draws from her loved experience; a veiled reference to her boyfriend who inspires songs like “Stronger Than Me.”After her initial musical success she’s somewhat adrift and falls in with Blake Fielder-Civil a sybaritic bon vivant whom she idolizes, eventually to a fault, and marries.

 Their colorful relationship informs her 2007 breakthrough album Back to Black which spawned the hits “Rehab” and “You Know I’m No Good.” Here again the film provides viewers with access to her recording and performing songs from the album, and you witness her communion with her music unfiltered. As Back gains critical attention and commercial momentum Winehouse the celebrity, appearing on red carpets and talk shows, is far less assured than Winehouse the musician and she succumbs to alcohol and drug abuse. As she descends into addiction, including stints in rehab, the film makes you root for her though you know the outcome. There are countless moments, such as when she seems to be physically and emotionally restoring herself in Saint Lucia, where you feel she’s close to surviving when everything gets disrupted. In this instance her father, who was characterized as emotionally distant during her childhood, seizes the moment turning her rehabilitation as a reality show opportunity.

 One bit of relief is footage of her recording “Body and Soul” with Tony Bennett who admires her talent and encourages her. She flubs her version a few times but her eggs her on and they get a satisfying take. This is only temporary respite. By the end she struggles for privacy, surrounded by bodyguards, and constantly dodging media attention and passes abruptly. In the film music seems like the only thing that provides a sense of equilibrium and confidence for Winehouse; without it she seems confused and numbed by fame.


John Ridley, who won an Oscar for the screenplay of 12 Years a Slave, wrote and directed the independent film  Jimi: All Is by My Side. Though it was released in 2013 it slipped in and out of theaters quickly but is available for streaming. I was intrigued by how one might approach a musician like Hendrix who is sadly one of the infamous musicians to die at 27, a list that includes Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, and Winehouse. Of these individuals Hendrix is arguably the most innovative and influential as a musician, writer, and singer.

 Jimi is an intimate character study and a close-up portrait less concerned with hagiography than the way Hendrix floated between different worlds, soul and rock, the U.S. and the U.K., black culture and white culture, to generate something new to rock music. Andre 3000 (of the hip-hop group OutKast) embodies Hendrix deeply, capturing Hendrix’s ethereal personality from his laid-back posture to his slurred, almost mumbled style of speaking to his casual grin. His performance anchors the story which tracks Hendrix from singing and playing guitar as the ‘60s soul act Jimmy James and the Blue Flames to capturing the attention of British musician Chad Chandler (of The Animal) who ultimately helped him create the Jimi Hendrix Experience featuring bassist Noel Redding and drummer Mitch Mitchell, a combo that yielded hits like “Hey Joe” and “Purple Haze” in the U.K. chart in 1967.  Ridley focuses specific attention on Hendrix’s casual, humble perspective on his innovative guitar, his appeal to women, and the admiration he inspired in fellow musicians. These are all well-executed but conventional.

 But when he delves into Hendrix’s navigation of race, Ridley, who is African-American, uncovers a subtext of tension that bubbles beneath the surface of the psychedelic haze. Three interesting scenes include the following: Hendrix calls his father collect from England to tell him he’s living in England making his living as a musician. They are clearly estranged; Jimmy’s enthusiasm is dampened by his father’s skepticism. Even when Hendrix asks his British female companion to confirm his location his father is dismissive. A discernible racial and generational shift plays out as his father, undoubtedly part of a generation seeking stability and respectability in the U.S. has limited context for understanding how his son, who discharged from the Army in 1961, was actually surviving on something as flaky as rock music, abroad no less.

 Another fascinating scene involves Hendrix walking proudly in a velvet war jacket with his British girlfriend when they are accosted by three men who disapprove of him wearing the jacket so casually. They assume it’s from a dead WWII veteran and accuse him of disrespecting a soldier’s memory, but clearly the scene is about their disapproval of the interracial relationship. Throughout the film Hendrix is surrounded by mostly white admirers and its one of the clearest reminders that he has a complex life offstage.

 The other scene that stuck out involved a black British nationalist (played with flair by British actor Adrian Lester) who berates Hendrix for playing apolitical music in a time of racial strife globally and domestically. He urges him to focus on music about the black experience aimed at black listeners. Hendrix rejects his politics as divisive and incompatible with the communality of his music. Ridley’s portrait places you inside Hendrix raising fresh questions about Hendrix’s navigation of his life offstage touching on race, desire, and family.


 Though each film differs in subject and approach each drew me closer to the musicians they depict, which is a genuine contrast to the redemption stories that suffocate most biopics. While I sense that each of these filmmakers respects and admires their subjects, it’s also equally clear they learned something richer about the musicians, something beyond the victim-hero cycle. Their success transmitting these discoveries elevates the films and adds a dimension to the musicians themselves. Even though Ricki and the Flash is a minor film I got lost in the rock ‘n’ roll in its best scene; the band hit all the right notes reminding me of the power of music to shine through the Hollywood clutter.