2003-07 Vital Source Mag – July 2003
Cherrywine
By Michael Seidel Bright Black marks Ishmael Butler’s emergence from musical hibernation. Butler used to lead Digable Planets – most known for the top 10 hit “Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat)”, who released two stunning albums before snuffing itself out in 1996. That’s when Butler crawled into a cave of obscurity, shielded from even the wannest sliver of spotlight. He learned how to play guitar. Digable Planets’ sound was a highball of laid back jazz samples and lyrics so silkily delivered that, outwardly, their political slant appeared as an undercurrent. But any move beyond lyrical veneer will illume activism – black power, pro-choice, etc – as quintessentially Digable. It’s what they were all about. With Cherrywine, however, Butler rails against political expression. In Resonance magazine, Butler recently admitted, “It’s not that I didn’t believe what I was saying back then – it’s just that I wasn’t really being politically active in my own life. Now, I’m just trying to do something that represents who I am. I want to be more real.” So I guess that cocaine, bitches and gansta are the real Butler. References to those things stand in tall banks on the surface of every song. Machismo thematics and delivery expose such a deep political bankruptcy that I can’t help but wonder if it’s all, despite Butler’s contentions, cunningly masked social commentary. The departure from the Digables’ message is so unrealistically sharp that it must be tongue-in-cheek. Political intentions aside, it would be foolish to say that Butler’s lost his flow. His delivery is as slick as ever. The music is devoid of samples; it’s raw, organic, wah-wah infused funk that bores itself into your consciousness and takes unrelenting hold. Bright Black is excellent debut album, but still, I can’t stop myself from questioning its sincerity. DCide Records
Jul 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
Jay Farrar
By Jeremy Saperstein Terroir Blues (“terroir” is French word, by the way, literally translated as “soil”) is a much more finished work than Farrar’s first solo effort Sebastapol (which was still a great record. The consistency probably is helped by the first consistent group of Farrar has had with him since the apparent splintering of Son Volt. Mark Spencer (Blood Oranges), Brian Henneman (Bottle Rockets) and Jon Wurster (Superchunk) are among thoses who function as Farrar’s band for this outing, and the reward is seen in a record that contains as much experimentalism as Sebastapol (as in the between tracks noise of parts I-VI of “Space Junk”). “Cahokian” is a perfect song for the mingling of cultures past and present. (“I will wait for you/in the green green spaces/wearing our post-industrial faces”) while “Fool King’s Crown” makes a fairly overt (for the traditionally oblique Farrar) political statement backed by Brian Henneman’s electric sitar. The name of this record is particularly apt — not like the dirt of the Stooges, say, but the earth a farmer might let slip hopefully through his fingers, dreaming of a fine harvest. Farrar is a man at the top of his game right now and seems able to grasp anything he reaches for. This record is a great display of mastery of American music. Act/Resist Records
Jul 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
The Mistreaters
By Jeremy Saperstein Some of Milwaukee’s favoritest sons travel off to the eastern metropolis of Detroit City and come back with an audio document that performs the improbable — it’s as raucous as a live show, but offers the tightness of polished radio fare. Which is not to say that this slab is genteel. Within thirty seconds of the tightly wound intro to “The Other Man” I was feeling my brain slide around in its pan as I rocked my head furiously with the beat. With a short break for the slow bluesy growl of “She’s My Witch”, that’s the way it went for the rest of the disc. Other favorites include the frantically rhyming “Hard On The Eyes” and the high-energy squall of “Brandon Takes It”, which makes me think of any number of other famous Detroit combos. The Mistreaters might only know three chords, but they know those chords cold. And they understand how to deliver them for maximum impact. Estrus Records
Jul 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
The Negro Problem
By Jeremy Saperstein Let’s start with the name: it’s meant as a knowing jibe — something to make politically-correctoids bristle. It oughta make you feel better that leader Stew is, indeed, black — and he’s making some of the finest literate and culturally-aware power-psychedelic-pop I’ve ever heard. The disc is like some sort of hideous hybrid of the every unique artist you care to name (to namecheck: I hear echoes of Charles Mingus, Sly Stone, Brian Wilson, Syd Barrett, Arthur Lee, Ennio Morricone, Roy Wood, John Fred and Burt Bacharach – and that’s just in the two songs that close the album! [“Bong Song” and “Bermuda Love Triangle”]) Despite the name, race is no issue within the grooves of the record, which features tongue-in-cheek references to records that have come before (“If London calls/just say I’ve stepped away” from “Watering Hole”), obscure pop-culture icons (“I’m Sebastian Cabot in your dreams/I’m Sebastian Cabot — what’s that mean?” from “I’m Sebastian Cabot”) and so much more — all in meticulously clever lyrics that continue to unfold through repeated listenings. Smile Records
Jul 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
The Stratford 4
By Jeremy Saperstein An activist San Francisco who combine an echoey, distorted sound with tight songwriting and boy-girl vocals? Nah, it couldn’t be! The Stratford 4 formed from the same roots as fave rockers Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, but give us a dreamier, poppier sound that’s reminiscent of the shoegazer bands of the 80s and 90s while never stooping to pure copying, gracefully entwining sinewy guitar leads with blast of fuzzed out rhythm. Others will hear suggestions of Hoboken’s sometime noise merchants in Yo La Tengo — probably owing more to the S4’s way with a pop tune and their lack of fear of atmospheric freakouts and loud, distorted guitars (the CD title is a good shorthand description of the contents). Jetset Records
Jul 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
Richard Thompson
By John Hughes Richard Thompson’s new CD The Old Kit Bag advertises that it contains “unguents, fig leaves and tourniquets,” presumably for the listener’s soul. It actually delivers better than that; emollients for melancholy, curatives for the blues. It delivers nothing less than the pure healing joy of delectable music. Thompson has been breathing life into the decidedly uncool British folk tradition for 35 years, almost always to tremendous effect. This may be his best outing in all that time. He achieves this by stripping his sound down to the basics: his confident singing, in a voice which sounds as smokey and gladdening as a McEwan’s Scottish Ale tastes, and his guitar playing, which is spectacular. It is obvious here again that Richard Thompson is the real Slowhand. His dazzling guitar artistry is virtuosic, inventive, dancing, superior to the power blues of Eric Clapton because so much more nimble and versatile. He’s more fun to listen to than Clapton, and leaves you feeling exuberant. The songs are all richly detailed and thick with sound, and the backup singing of Judith Owen is a complementary highlight, but the guitar playing carries the day from beginning to end. At times it is so good that it hurts to listen. Richard Thompson, at his peak here, creates arresting beauty for your heart. SpinART Records
Jul 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
Get Out of Town
By Jeremy Saperstein I think Wisconsin is the best state in the union in which to live. Okay, I’ll grant you that I’ve only lived in two others, but my search pretty much ended here. To quote myself, from a postcard I wrote to a pal back in Minnesota “Small towns, cheap beer – Good God, man! What more could you want?” I wrote that in the last century, when I was young, foolish and drunk, but my views haven’t changed. Wooed by the hills, farms and – yes – the inexpensive beer, I moved to southeast Wisconsin years ago, and I haven’t looked back. Well, to be truthful, I do look back in the summers when hordes of people converge on my quiet southside neighborhood for any of the festivals centered in Maier festival park, especially the Big Gig. This year promises to be extra sticky with the potential masses of Harley Fest 100 visitors. Before any enraged festival goers or hog riders march on my house like the villagers in a monster movie, clutching pitchforks and burning torches, let me issue a small caveat: I have no problem with the festivities. Like most everyone, though, I sometimes just want to be alone. On the other hand, there are always concerts I want to see at Summerfest. And I have nothing but admiration and respect for the fierce loyalty and brand recognition Willie G. has built for his all-American endeavor. I welcome the fests. Really. Sometimes, though, you need to get away. Because we’ve chosen to live in a town bordered by a Great Lake on the east and Chicago to the south, there aren’t a lot of directions you can ramble without becoming wet or swarmed by FIBS (a nice acronym for our southern neighbors). I’m not talking about needing an island paradise, or even the great Northwoods. There’s plenty of leisure to be taken right here in our fair state, within just a few hours by car. Start by going south Somebody once wrote this about diners in Wisconsin: Good diners in Wisconsin always have an indigenous dish for breakfast – a Mess, a Garbage Plate, a Scramble. They’re all based on scrambled eggs and sausage or peppers or onions or whatever else the pro prietor likes or needs to move off the shelves, and they all take on legendary qualities for fighting off hang overs among locals. With this in mind, one of the first stops you make could be Frank’s Diner in Kenosha (508 58th St., Kenosha). Frank’s breakfast specialty is the Garbage Plate, and is a huge mixture of ham, green peppers, eggs, hash browns and jalapeno peppers, and will stomp any hangover into the ground. An original railcar diner, Frank’s is located in the heart of downtown Kenosha and has a reputation that has outlasted owners and patrons alike. “Order what you want, eat what you get” originated as a tongue-in-cheek motto among the regulars (including local luminaries and politicos) and has become, […]
Jul 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
