Music Review: Sly and The Family Stone, "Higher!"

When record executives pressured Sly Stone into producing a hit single in 1968, mainstream audiences were rewarded with a new infusion of pop music - psychedelic soul. This new rock-infused genre of music, bending the beats of the old Motown sound with its reverberating guitar, druggy sound effects, and socially conscious lyrics, would become the blueprint many soul music acts would follow after Sly and The Family Stone's sudden popularity.

Sly and The Family Stone already had one critically acclaimed but low selling album under its belt -  1967's A Whole New Thing, but Epic Records, and particularly legendary company president Clive Davis, knew that composer and multi-instrumentalist Sly Stone was capable of much more.  Reluctantly Sly Stone went into the studio with his band of family and friends and did exactly what was asked. He produced a single that would appeal to the mass record-buying public.

Although the band wasn't particularly proud or happy with the recording, "Dance To The Music" rose to #8 on the Billboard Hot 100 and became a big global hit record. Strictly designed for public consumption, the record was still a delicious blast of infectious drum beats, blazing trumpets, hot guitar licks, and a bass line so low and deep, it threatened to blow the batteries out of the tiny transistor radios it played on. Horn player Cynthia Robinson's raw and demanding vocal to "Get up and dance to the music!" lent an electrifying radical edge.

There was a collective dropped jaw as Sly and The Family Stone then showed up on American TV and viewers witnessed the first multi-racial, multi-gender popular recording act. They looked as if they had just beamed in from another planet. Sly Stone, wearing psychedelic sunglasses in a shirtless vest with gold chains and a towering Afro haircut, and Rose Stone, sporting a remarkably unnatural platinum blonde wig, were just a few of the fashion and cultural statements Sly and Family revealed as they crashed into American living rooms.

With the release of Higher! a 77-track 4-CD package that chronicles the history of the band, listeners can trace the evolution of black popular music from '60s Motown (The Supremes, The Temptations) to the emergence of funk (Parliament/Funkadelic), which opened the door to a host of expressionist styles of music including Afro-punk. Sly and Family's hit records ushered James Brown's "funk" into the popular record charts.

The CDs offer 17 previously unreleased tracks, two of which - live versions of "Stand!" and "You Can Make It If You Try" - unfortunately sacrifice the original studio versions. Also missing is the deep funk meditation of "Africa Talks To You" from There's A Riot Going On, an essential track in my opinion. This major fan would have loved to see the Sly Stone-produced Little Sister records included here, but I suppose record executives would remind us you can't have everything in one package. There is still a bounty of music here including several early Sly Stone solo recordings.

The hits are wonderful to hear again -  "Hot Fun In The Summertime", "Everyday People", "Family Affair" "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)" - all possess a timeless immediacy,  sounding as fresh as the day they were released. The early less commercial recordings reveals a gritty, urban sound that certainly inspired Marvin Gaye to evolve from a crooner to a visionary.

Higher! comes with a 104 page booklet with rare photos and other memorabilia. Amazon.com is offering an exclusive 8 LP - 1 CD version of the release.

this article was first published by me at http://blogcritics.org/music-review-sly-and-the-family-stone-higher-four-cd-box-set/

Movie Review: Woody Allen's "Blue Jasmine"

Woody Allen's new film, Blue Jasmine is a disturbing, engaging, and finally dispassionate study of a woman buckling under the weight of social pressures. Jeanette "Jasmine" Francis (Cate Blanchett), the once privileged social matron reduced to a poorhouse state after her corrupt Wall Street executive husband (Alec Baldwin) is imprisoned, talks to herself.

When she indulges in her lonely diatribe, chatting with unseen friends at a party, on the street, or alone in a room, director Allen studies her with such cinematic scrutiny, we are forced to watch what we would all chose to ignore - the unfortunate soul talking to themselves. The public reaction to a person carrying on a conversation with themselves is treated here as if it's a disease one might catch. Strangers vacate her space and gawk as if viewing a leper.

Otherwise, for a pill popping, martini slugging woman whose adulterous husband's downfall forces her from the social elite to the dregs of society - from a posh New York City penthouse suite to a cramped low-rent San Francisco apartment - Jasmine is coping. She heads west and as if stepping off a trolley car named Desire, moves in with her sweet lower class sister who has a Stanley Kowalski-like boyfriend (Bobby Cannavale). With vague unrealistic hopes of a professional career, she enrolls in a night class to learn how to use a computer and accepts a lowly position as a dentist's receptionist.

She walks a tightrope over this Tennessee Williams scenario while spilling little doses of sanity, mostly revealed in her lonely conversations. Her bubbles burst, her half-baked dreams dissipate, and like Streetcar's Blanche Du Bois, her plans for a future renewed are terrorized by her complete inability to adjust to a social order that is independent of a class system. Without luxury to define her, she is a shell of a human being overwhelmed by the substance abuse that threatens to consume her. Her luxurious presence draped in top of the line fashion wear in her sister's modest apartment seems forever on the verge of departure, as if she is only waiting on a cab to whisk her away to a higher income bracket.

Blue Jasmine is a completely watchable, cringe-inducing blackest of comedies with a powerhouse performance by Cate Blanchett who consumes every scene as if in a battle for dominance over the mundane images that threaten her. The supporting cast is uniformly excellent including shock comic Andrew Dice Clay as Jasmine's scorned ex-brother-in-law, and Sally Hawkins as her naïve Stella-like sister. Javier Aguirresarobe's cinematography has a small, postcard appeal.

But the film is lacking a groundwork of history that justifies Jasmine's mental unraveling. Is it her highly publicized social downfall that causes her to talk to herself (her only genuine social taboo), or has she always been flirting with schizophrenia? It's a question never answered, as if she is as anonymous as the stranger you see talking to themselves on the street.

In the end I think Woody Allen is doing little else here than handing over the 21st Century Blanche Du Bois on a silver platter and asking us to marvel at the delicacy and fragility of the human mind. His delving into Jasmine's naked mentality borders on luridness as his imposing camera probes deep into the act of talking to one's self, hoping to reveal anything left of sanity. It's a cold little film with a defiant warm glow that blurs the line between comedy and tragedy.


this article was first featured at http://blogcritics.org/movie-review-woody-allens-blue-jasmine/

FROG WATCHING: INTO THE WOODS

Frog Watch USA is a national conservation effort to determine the populations of the various species of frogs by monitoring their audible presence in given areas. The citizen science project - a joint effort of scientists and amateurs - began in 1998 in response to the alarming declining numbers of frog species on a global scale. Data submitted by volunteers is put into a national data bank which  collectively should offer an accurate account of frog species (including the American Toad) populations in the U.S.

This year I signed up to be a participant in FrogWatch at Reinstein Woods, a 292-acre wildlife sanctuary in Depew, NY, known for its active and plentiful populations of beaver and deer. On a wintry March night I attended the prerequisite frog "class" at the lodge at the sanctuary where I became an official Frog Watch steward. I had to learn the nine species of frogs residing in Western New York State and familiarize myself with their various calls and songs. I felt like a kid with a badge when they handed me my ID tags that would allow me into the sanctuary after hours (sunset to dawn).

Into the woods, I had to hear the frogs, not necessarily see them. My first spring night of frog watching taught me one important lesson: Don't forget the insect repellent! I was carved up for dinner by mosquitoes. The FrogWatch program equipped me with a backpack containing a thermometer, map, data sheets, flashlight, headlamp, clipboard, pen/pencil, and tape recorder (I felt like a fully prepared Ghostbuster) - but no insect repellent.

Remaining perfectly still and silent while waiting for the sound of frogs allowed me to observe other wildlife. Aside from the young couple I observed making love in yonder brush, the first wildlife I saw was a remarkably tame deer. She slowly stepped right up to me as if I had been a small tree she was going to nibble on. Probably the result of well-intentioned people feeding her.

Some nights when the moon was full, the woods became a midsummer night's firefly lit fantasy world of shadows and sounds, alive with the activity of the creatures who lived there.  At one frog watching post, bats swooped so low and close to me I was certain I would soon be Tippi Hendren running down the sanctuary path pulling bats out of my hair. At first I was amused at how close they would come to my head, but when I could actually hear the swish of their wings, (and imagine their beady little eyes), the whole rabies/Dracula vibe overwhelmed me.

Get a hold of yourself, I countered my ridiculous fear. What kind of a frog-watcher are you?

The beavers would smack their tails against the pond, signaling danger to other beavers, whenever I would come close to the water's edge. It's an aggressive and alarming sound, but not as aggressive and alarming as the land-loving beaver who stood in my path as if refusing to allow me to pass. Did I imagine that he was hissing at me? Do beavers hiss? I had just read on the internet how a beaver killed a guy in Russia who was photographing it. American beavers don't kill, do they? I ain't afraid of no beaver!

But then I was certain he hissed again, and I chose another path.

I am in danger of becoming a woods coward.

But that's part of the allure of the woods. That shot of adrenaline from something mysterious, something undefined lurking around the next bend. I'm not sure I would enjoy the woods as much without that sense of the unknown.  And there is no sense in being foolhardy when a maniacal rabies-infected hissing beaver is telling you to go another way.

But the strangest encounter I had was with man himself. Occasionally I would come across a fellow frog watcher and we would flash our flashlights at one another to identify ourselves as frog watchers. On one fog-shrouded night, after a flashlight communique, I met up with a frog watcher who told me to beware of a strange man lurking in the woods. She said she had just talked with him, that he had no authorization to be in the woods, and that he appeared irrational, odd, and mysterious. She said he was balancing on a log and throwing stones into the pond. After telling me this, she disappeared into the woods like a ghost. It was like a scene out of Woody Allen's Shadows and Fog.

So now I'm looking out for low-flying bats, rabid beavers, and homicidal maniacs.

While I heard every species of frogs residing in Western New York State at one time or another, the actual number of species I heard during the program's designated clocked and recorded 3-minutes of time was smaller. I recorded the "jug 'o rum" call of the Bullfrog, the banjo string "gunk" of the Green Frog, the trill of The American Toad, the "snore" of the Pickerel Frog, the "peep" of the Spring Peeper, and the tinny trill of the Western Chorus Frog.

But, as important, I got in touch with nature. Ah, wilderness! Aside from the spooky thrill of the woods, there were peaceful and contemplative moments. During one sunset I watched a Great Blue Heron circle the sanctuary like a paper airplane, settle down into a crop of brush, and then slowly escape into the canopy to its hidden nest. One night a coyote, looking very much its legend of "ghost dog", trotted off ahead of me on the path under a moonlit sky as if guiding my way.

Next year I'm all up for the bat-watching program. They say confronting your fears makes you stronger. Expect for rabid bats and angry beavers. Rabid bats and angry beavers will kill you.


this article was first featured at http://blogcritics.org/frog-watching-into-the-woods-2/

Swans at The Tralf Music Hall - Buffalo, NY 7/26/2013

Saw "Swans" at The Tralf Music Hall in Buffalo on Friday night. It was the best concert I have seen this year. It was one of those shows where I am so completely absorbed in the music, so engaged in the rhythm of the band, so greedily lapping up my Blue drafts thirst quenchers, - and now that it's over, I am clueless to explain why it was such a great show. It just was.

It doesn't help that while I am a huge Swans fan, and I am cozy with the Swans songbook, I couldn't name by title one song they played. That surprised me. All the more in that I received a review copy of the album that proceeded this global tour - We Rose From Our Bed With The Sun In Our Head.

I jumped into the superb set of elongated anti-climatic guitar drone and secular primal philosophy and emerged completely invigorated, awash with a musical massage that felt like I had just been playfully assaulted by Godzilla. Given the loudness of the show, I also couldn't hear for several hours.

Michael Gira and his 5-man band were a sound prism of noise expertise. The drone, the effects, the noise were all calculated into the rhythm of the music as if they were traditional instruments. It was a wonderful sound that I heard as primal survival in a modern world.

                                   Photo courtesy of soundkick, although I never actually asked
                                 

When solo opening act Pharmakon stepped onto the stage, started fiddling with a laptop and proceeded to scream strange sounds into the microphone, I muttered into my beer, "What the hell is this?". I thought she was a stage hand having a nervous breakdown. She then stepped down into the crowd, lopped around, leaning on some, passively confronting some, her microphone chord threatening to lasso the crowd up by their feet, all while screaming (and I mean SCREAMIN'!) a weird indecipherable language into the microphone, as drone effects pulsated from her soundboard. It was brilliantly effective.

Swans leader Michael Gira hit the fan table after the show so I bought a cool Swans poster for him to sign. I always hate having a few moments to convey to an artist how their music has effected me, shaped my life, how brilliant, artistic, blah, blah blah, ... their music is. It always feels so pretentious. I said "blah, blah, blah", he stiffly but amiably responded with an Elvis impersonation - "Thank you. Thank you very much."

BOOK REVIEW: "The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Trees" by David More and John White

 

If you're contemplating trees and you want to know the identification of a certain species, you can pull out a pocket field guide for trees to aid you. It should be as simple as that.

But if you're tree-obsessed and the mere identification of a species doesn't quell your curiosity - when an elm tree isn't just an elm tree but a distant European hybrid cousin of an elm tree - then The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Trees (Second Edition, Princeton University Press, 2013) should satisfy the deeply rooted dendrologist within you.
 
This mammoth book (832 pages) identifies nearly 2,000 species and cultivars (cultivated through selection for desirable characteristics) found in Europe and North America. It offers an extensive history of the collecting and dispensing of tree seedlings.

Readers will discover Johnny Appleseed is not the only name in tree seed lore. Seventeenth-century European explorers, as colorful and animated as the celebrated Appleseed, adorned Western Europe with a host of new species discovered in Asia, which eventually found their way to American shores.

David More (illustrator) and John White (writer) have produced a labor of love and their fascination for trees keeps the stiff scientific data from absorbing the pleasure of reading about these ancient mystical plants. Leisurely yet encyclopedic, the volume serves as a studied document of tree history beginning with ancient glaciers determining tree distribution in northern Europe and America. It also offers practical advice and knowledge for the average gardener and tree enthusiast.

David More spent more than a decade painting illustrations from real specimens. The result is a colorful array of nature's mightiest plants. A touch of whimsy graces the purely scientific illustrations as the artist includes attributes of a species, for instance a dog sitting lazily under the shade of a tree that offers protection from the sun.

While the book only studies trees of the northern temperate zone, it includes an illustrated chapter on southern tropical trees, an area of the globe greatly untapped in the identification, transfer, and planting of tree species. It seems a likely hint at the volume to come from these tree-worshipping authors.


this article was first published by me at http://blogcritics.org/book-review-the-illustrated-encyclopedia-of-trees-by-david-more-and-john-white/

Book Review: The World's Rarest Birds, by Erik Hirschfeld, Andy Swish, and Robert Still

In our ever photographic world, where satellite technology can reproduce an image from anywhere on the planet, and cell phone cameras are as plentiful as pocket change, it is hard to imagine any mundane image not captured by the lens of a camera. In the huge and exhaustive new book, The World's Rarest Birds by Erik Hirschfeld, Andy Swash and Robert Still (Princeton University Press 2013), we're reminded that advanced photographic technology can do wonders, but it can not lift the canopy off a jungle forest and record the creatures living there. They must be sought after the old fashioned way - beating a path on foot with a good camera.

It is noted here that 75 of the 590 species of the world's birds that are either endangered, critically endangered, or living only in captivity, have never been photographed. The existence of these 75 species is known only through eyewitness accounts and illustrations. Yet the likelihood of their existence, in remote, difficult to access areas of the planet is promising. Reports of extinct species of birds being seen keep bird conservationists unwilling to classify a bird as extinct until all possible avenues of discovery are exhausted.

                                                          Orange-bellied Parrott

The species of birds that have never been photographed, but are presumed extant are meticulously illustrated here by renowned wildlife artist Tomasz Cotta. His work is so well defined it appears photographic. The actual photographs of the 515 species known to be endangered are stunning, partly the result of a prestigious international photo competition organized by BirdLife International for the publication of this book. The authors have canvassed the four corners of the world to obtain images of the most elusive, sometimes the most fabled birds known to exist. Brilliant tropical colors splash across the pages and dizzying aerial flights add excitement to what could have been a big and beautiful (but unread) coffee table picture book.

                                                            Pileated Woodpecker


But the urgency of the narrative, and the alarming statistical data makes The World's Rarest Birds a compelling read as well as a gorgeous book. As if in a race against time, the authors address the great efforts underway, and the obstacles against - loss of habitat, poaching, hostile or indifferent political structure - insuring the survival of endangered bird species. A great sadness is felt reading through the list of bird species confirmed to be extinct, akin to reading through a list of human fatalities.

The book is divided into global geographic areas documenting the species of birds of that region threatened with extinction. Each species is given a detailed description regarding its threatened status, its estimated population, and a map showing its likely occurrence. It is like a colossal version of the classic Peterson's Field Guide To The Birds, but with the emphasis not on the discovery, but the survival of bird species. With its comprehensive appendixes and thorough index, and some of the most breathtaking pictures of birds ever recorded, this volume is an essential and timely study of conservationism and natural history.

                                                                  El Oro Parakeets



this article was first published by the author at:
http://blogcritics.org/book-review-the-worlds-rarest-birds-by-erik-hirschfeld-andy-swish-and-robert-still/

Peter Frampton, Live In Detroit - Party Like It's 1977!

 

Fr
  If you can stand another round of Peter Frampton's "Do You Feel Like We Do", complete with talk box guitar - and as offered here with a superlative keyboard solo - and if "Show Me The Way" and "Baby I Love Your Way" are nostalgic musical milestones in your life, then this 1999 concert video, Frampton - Live In Detroit - is a persistent reminder that classic rock will never die. Commercial radio still parties like it's 1977, and the chances of turning on the radio right now and hearing any of Frampton's big '70s hit singles are very, very good.

It's unfortunate that only a slice of Frampton's fan base is aware of his total body of music as opposed to his hit singles. This concert reminds me of just how good some of his lesser known songs are. "Lines On My Face" from 1973's Frampton's Camel, and turned into a classic live track on 1977's Frampton Comes Alive! is still a heart stinging testament of youth leaving a reckless dusty trail behind in the wake of emerging adulthood. Here, as on Comes Alive! the song bleeds with emotion as Frampton's fiery guitar gently, ferociously weeps.

"You Had To Be There", a new song, also recalls the nostalgic past. It's an adrenalin charged rocker that recalls a time when rock and roll was high on peace and love. It's bittersweet lyrics lament a "We Are the Champions" vibe for the aging and wizened hipsters among us.

The weight of the show remains however, Frampton Comes Alive! territory, that seminal 1977 album that taught record label executives that a slickly produced live album by a cult status guitarist could sell upwards of six million copies. "Show Me The Way" is still a sweet song with a heart-achiness that has matured into a longing whimsy. "Baby I Love Your Way", with audience sing-a-long, sounds as heart warming and romantic as thumbing through your old high school yearbook. It sounds almost a bit Nashville countrified with Frampton's gentle strumming of his acoustic guitar complimenting Bob Mayo's sparkling keyboards.

The Frampton standard, "Do You Feel Like We Do" is still an extravagance, but with the added pleasure of Bob Mayo's solo interlude, which gives the song considerable polish and backbone. "Can't Take That Away", again a nostalgic nod to surviving rock 'n roll, from 1993's Frampton boasts Frampton's considerable blues guitar talent.

His voice is strong and rich and his playing impeccable. It's reassuring to see a rock 'n roll graduate like Frampton not succumbing to the lifestyle of booze and drugs. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, and with just a bit of grandstanding (hand cupped to ear - "How ya feeling tonight?") he rouses the crowd like a circus master.

Bonus features include a Frampton interview in which much discussion concerns his mastering of the talk box. The concert is shot in High Definition TV format with 5.1 surround sound.


this article was first published by me at http://blogcritics.org/video/article/dvd-review-frampton-live-in-detroit/