Issue Four

Review:
Antonio Carlos Jobim
Stone Flower

Brazilian multi-instrumentalist Antonio Carlos Jobim, one of the great composers of the 20th century, was a master of bossa nova experimentalism. Emerging from Brazil’s burgeoning music scene in the 1950’s, Jobim’s groundbreaking, jazz-inflected sound took the genre to new heights, and it continued to evolve right up to his death in 1994.

His classic 1970 recording Stone Flower is one of a set of 16 sparkling reissues of records originally released on jazz giant Creed Taylor’s CTI label. Not widely regarded as one of Jobim’s finest albums, it’s nevertheless a nearly flawless set of compositions that draw on a rainbow of influences.

Jobim’s versatility shines from track to track. “Children’s Games” is a spritely jazz waltz, which features Jobim’s rich acoustic guitar plucking, followed later in the record by the beautiful, darkened piano ballad “Amparo” and the high-reaching jazz fusion of “God And The Devil In The Land Of The Sun.”

Jobim’s cover of the Ary Barroso standard “Brazil” may seem like too obvious a choice, but he makes it sizzle, with the indispensable help of a hall of fame rhythm section: drummer Joao Palma and bassist Ron Carter. When Jobim lends his soft, whispery vocals to the track, he truly makes it his own.

In the hands of a lesser composer and arranger, these charts would be pumped through the elevator speakers of the country’s Holiday Inns. Like Burt Bacharach, Jobim writes simple vamps that could easily be embraced by the cult of club-footed demons that produce Muzak, but he has a higher goal. His string arrangements are fantastic throughout, the instrumental combinations are tasteful and never tired, and the end result is an album that doubles as a hearth. It emotes a relaxing, natural warmth that will soothe you like chamomille, the whole time gently urging you to set down your mug and dance. This is dinner music with soul.

Review:
De La Soul
AOI: Bionix

It was but a year ago that veteran rappers De La Soul seemed out of touch, and past their prime. Their 2000 release Art Official Intelligence: Mosaic Thump tried to sound polished and club-ready. It came off as a mediocre attempt from a group of thirtysomething rappers to compete in a world that’s swimming in the likes of Jay-Z and Timbaland.

Their latest effort, AOI: Bionix, begins with the slogan “Better, stronger, faster,” which is usually a bad sign, the equivalent of a rapper constantly reminding you that he’s “back.” This is an exception to the rule. Bionix is their best album in years, and their most powerful lyrical effort to date. Musically, it picks up where Mosaic Thump left off, favoring slicker production techniques and straight-ahead rhythms. It’s a dramatic reinvention of their sound, and a gigantic, fluorescent testament to their relevance. This time around, they let the songs breathe, and while their style is smoother, it’s as diverse as ever. “Bionix” has a monstrous piano crunch, “Watch Out” is funk seen through a Caribbean lens, and “Held Down” is a lavishly arranged masterpiece, a jazz-inflected loop coupled with the soaring voices of a gospel choir.

But it’s the lyrics that make the record a classic. MCs Posdnous, Dave and Maseo have never been sharper, with Pos spouting off this thoughtful, impassioned diatribe on religion in “Held Down”: “when I’m watchin’ the news, and my daughter walks in and choose to ask, ‘Why were all those people on the floor sleepin, covered in red?’ I told her that they were lookin for God, but found religion instead.”

The heartfelt, brutally honest track “Trying People” closes out Bionix, and it’s the most mature, introspective and poignant piece that the group has ever done. Featuring a call and response chorus where a group of children assure the rappers that they “wanna try harder,” the song touches on the trials and tribulations of parenting, commitment, disaffected youth, and life in general. It’s proof that De La Soul is a group of bonafide hip-hop sages.

Ever since their watershed debut 3 Feet High And Rising made the group stars back in 1989, they’ve always experimented with their sound, never content to sit back and recreate the happy-go-lucky whimsy that made them so popular. It’s this artistic integrity that has kept them together for such a long time, in a genre that’s notorious for one-hit wonders and early burnouts (in rap years, they’ve had a 50-year career). When you compare Bionix to their first album, you’ll see a group that has not only grown musically; they have grown up. On Bionix, you can feel their hard-earned wisdom, even in party songs like “Baby Phat.” It’s a record with crow’s feet, filled with weariness, hope, pride and love. De La Soul is always evolving, and coming up with new ways to make you think, speak, and bob your head.

Review:
Mark Eitzel
Music for Courage & Confidence

In a culture where we are barraged with merciless, unending waves of escapist crap, singer/songwriter Mark Eitzel is one of few artists left who can smack you upside the head with the beauty and pain of real life. His gorgeous, honey-sweet baritone and sarcastic, starkly depressing poetry was the centerpiece of the legendary group American Music Club, one of the greatest and most under-appreciated bands of the last 20 years.

Music For Courage & Confidence is Eitzel’s fifth solo effort. A collection of perfectly chosen cover songs, it cements the singer as the Sinatra of self-consciousness, putting some spins on old favorites that were begging for the full Eitzel treatment. He injects a wounded gorgeousness to the slow, R&B groove of Kris Kristofferson’s “Help Me Make It Through The Night” and the whispery blues of Billie Holiday’s “I’ll Be Seeing You.” “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me” becomes something darker and sweeter than the Culture Club ever imagined it could be.

Given all of this, the album is by no means a downer. Eitzel is backed by an excellent band of session players, including drummer Joey Waronker and Beck bassist Justin Meldal-Johnson. The group shines on the Fender Rhodes-driven funk of the Bill Withers jam “Ain’t No Sunshine” and the horn-happy, hot buttered soul of Curtis Mayfield’s “Move On Up.” As usual, Eitzel displays many layers of human temperament, this time by choosing 10 songs that touch on a variety of emotions, from life’s heaviest moments to its occasional beams of joy.

Practically any time an artist does a good cover, people say that they “made it their own.” But that’s not always a compliment (Rod Stewart has made many covers “his own”). Eitzel surely owns the songs on Music, Courage & Confidence, filtering them through his prism of painful perceptiveness and reserved musical genius. He’s a loving stepfather to these compositions, resulting in an album that is the best, most truthful collection of songs that the young year has seen.

Essay:
Chicken Soup for the Music Snob’s Soul

I was admiring my vast, eclectic and impressive CD collection yesterday and fell in love with myself. Everything from Miles to Liszt to NWA. I’m a Renaissance Man. A mysterious, soulful being, who (after the thick and intricate layers have been peeled away) is revealed as a sensitive, shy, forward-thinker who has three Joni Mitchell albums. I alphabetize myself, using an internal chronological system, and when taking this journey from Ryan Adams to Frank Zappa, one will come to learn the inner workings of an intellectual and psychological wonder. You’ll see that I’m cultured when you come across my Beethoven CD, in touch with my feminine side (those Joni Mitchell albums again), sensitive to the plight of African-Americans (yep, I own some Hendrix), and a sexual dynamo (Peter Cetera).

My soul is on display in my apartment for all who wish to bask in its glory, 500 or so examples of the complex mass of cultural superiority that builds my psyche. Countless times I’ve been stopped in the street by frantic atonal trash. (“You’re the guy that owns both the original and digitally remastered versions of Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here”! How can I mend my relationship with my estranged father?”)

Before I close my eyes at night, I run through the titles to make sure they’re all there. They’re not unlike brain cells; once a friend borrowed 5 of my Bowie CDs and I tromped through town in a drunken rage, finally regaining consciousness face down in an aisle of New World Record, naked, confused and bleeding.

When my girlfriend confessed to losing one of my Johnny Cash records, I held her hostage in our home for two weeks. When the SWAT team busted down my door, they found me, crazed and dirty, clenching her to me, pressing the shards of a CD jewel case to her throat, chanting ominously, “You don’t abandon the Man in Black. You don’t stab your boyfriend in the back.” You see, my collection is my lifeblood. With its force behind me, I can blow people away at office parties and casual get togethers. Nobody has more adjectives in their arsenal to describe a distorted guitar. Nobody can predict the order of songs with more accuracy during a Beatles A-Z countdown. Nobody can make you feel stupider after mentioning that you don’t know who Tom Waits is. My flippant comments are razor sharp. My nonchalance is toxic. My CD collection rules.

I’ve yet to find a person (especially of the opposite sex) that has been able to just swallow their pride and accept my rampant, ever-growing cultural and intellectual superiority. A person who can just sit back and thank god that they’ve been accepted. Like Harvard or Oxford, I shatter the hopes and dreams of countless aspiring applicants on a daily basis–“Oh, you think that Jethro Tull was a person? That’s precious. NEXT!” or “Sade doesn’t rhyme with maid. It’s pronounced SHAD-AY, which rhymes with GO AWAY!” I’ll never be lonely, as long as I have my family of compact discs to love. The reality is, it’s virtually impossible to pin down just how open-minded I am. People can get some sort of a shadow of my love for all cultures when they read my writing, which is always sprinkled with words like “undulating” or “eclectic,” and often talks about rap and hip-hop being a true art form. One can usually find me somewhere on Elmwood Avenue hugging an African-American or a homosexual. But to truly see into my enlightened heart, run your eyes over my CD collection. You’ll feel insignificant and base. It’s cleansing.