2003-10 Vital Source Mag – October 2003
June Carter Cash
By Brian Barney JUNE CARTER CASH Wildwood Flower Dualtone Records The heartbreaking beauty of June Carter Cash’s last record, Wildwood Flower, defies description. The tracks flow in an autobiographical movement, where the purest of instrumentation provides the background for songs that tell the stories of a life based on tradition, and values that escape the trappings of politics and trend. The CD is an obvious final testament to her 2002 visit to her parents’ home in Virginia, where she sat on the back porch, singing family classics with husband Johnny, and her cousins, Janette and Joe Carter. What followed was a two day recording session producing 14 songs, eight of which are heard on Wildwood Flower. Opening track “Keep on the Sunny Side” sets the tone with rich, full bodied, piercingly bright 6-strings that provide accompaniment to her voice which, while somewhat quavering, resonates with as much strength and emotion as the version recorded by her late mother on the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s Will The Circle Be Unbroken. The enchantment continues throughout with gut-wrenchers like “Storms Are On The Ocean” with its’ string arrangements so achingly beautiful that…well…let’s just say, it could set a grown man to weepin’. There is also an air of fun and abandon in tracks like “Temptation,” and snippets of conversation between June and family spanning time from early Opry days to the current sessions. Standout tracks featuring flat top at its’ best can be found in “Alcatraz” and “Cannonball Blues,” while gospel meant for hand holding and praise is displayed in classics like “Anchored in Love.” The Carter/Cash coalition has long been considered by many to be the most important and influential contribution to Americana and country music ever, and proof of that is certainly found in this must-have record.
Oct 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
Oh My God
By Brian Barney OH MY GOD Interrogations and Confessions Novo Records www.ohmygodmusic.com Since their reincarnation under their current moniker in 2000, Chicago’s art rock trio, Oh My God has been creating a national buzz, prompting kudos from the likes of VH1 and Rolling Stone Magazine without the support of a major label. Their third full-length release, Interrogations and Confessions, is another step upward in this highly original band’s climb to the top. No guitars needed here, as the keyboard genius of Iguana brings on a Leslie-driven tidal wave that drenches the listener with an erratic, quirky smoothness showing a flip side that has more muscle than any stack of Marshalls can muster. Lead singer/bass player (and Milwaukee native) Billy O’Neill fronts with a theatrical flare and a voice that has Sinatra’s smoothness with the edginess of Bono at his best. Newest addition, Bish, holds things together with a drumming style that leaves the novices awed and experts impressed. The disc is a bit of a departure, with a few tracks that seem to creep toward the fringes of the mainstream. Cuts like “Our Loves” and “Shine,” show radio friendliness, while the driving, almost ballad-like beauty of “February 14” (in this writer’s opinion, the record’s high point) has a flavor that could easily be described as national. For those of you who have come to love the band for its’ eclectic and “artsy” side, don’t despair; songs like “Tom” and “Rat Man’s Confession” along with the bicep flexing drive of “Volatile” and “Get Steady” will leave you with plenty to chew on. In a recent interview, Iguana talked about their struggles on the road. “We played 114 shows last year covering both coasts, and only had a hotel twice. Hard touring has caused us to look inward” he stated. The boys seem to have done just that, coming up with yet another body of work that is as unpredictable as it is accessible. There is no filler on this album. Like all their prior work, OMG’s latest is a work of art.
Oct 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
A Dance of Survival & Freedom
By Alexander Ragir In the 17th century, African slaves in Salvador (Brazil’s oldest city) were routinely shackled and beaten. But those slaves of 400 years ago were not as beaten down as they may have appeared to their Portuguese slave masters. Always coming up with ways to survive their oppressors, the slaves practiced combat moves under the guise of a dance, and taught one another how to fight. When you watch Capoeira dancers/athletes in action it’s easy to see how those 17th-century slaves from Angola outwitted their masters: the purpose is to avoid aggressive movements, instead relying on stealth. The martial art was outlawed until the 1930s in Brazil; now you see it everywhere in the city of Salvador. Salvador was the second most important city in the Portuguese empire after Lisbon, and the center of the sugar trade. The city is said to be the most “African” place outside of Africa. It is also one of the poorest places in Brazil. The old city of Salvador, Pelorinho (meaning “whipping post”), was formerly the home to Bahian aristocrats and its cultural elite. Descending from the baroque architecture — gold-filled churches and beautiful mansions at the top of the hillside — are steep, twisty cobblestone roads paved by the hands of slaves. Four centuries later my North American friend, Joey, and I drank in the same breathtaking view overlooking the plaza below. A man approached us, spreading arms colored with beaded necklaces in the shape of a berimbau, the principal instrument of Capoeira and proclaimed, “Amigo!” He went on to inform us that 10 necklaces for three reals (90 cents) is a good deal, because all the Bahian women love them. Today, Pelorinho is restored for tourists and packed with restaurants, bars, art galleries and boutiques. The architecture is wealthy 17th-century Portuguese, while the culture is more African or Jamaican than South American. The relationship between past and present in Pelorinho is striking; understanding it, elusive. Survival on the streets. The spirit of Salvador is belied by smiles and overfriendliness that lend a superficial air of gaiety, but its true theme is survival. Whether being befriended by a stranger, seduced by a woman or being invited to participate in a Capoeira performance, tourists will be asked for money afterward. Native Salvadoran culture was developed through a struggle to survive as slaves. Now, the spirit of survival embedded into that culture dips into the hearts and pockets of tourists. Begging in Salvador is endemic. If you do not completely ignore the beggars, you will be surrounded with palms-up. For many in Salvador, one American dollar is equivalent to one day’s work at minimum wage. We had arrived that morning from the red-eye, an 11-hour bus ride from Puerto Seguro, and were waiting on the front steps of what is now the Jorge Amado Museum. It was to reopen after the midday siesta. The humid heat made it hard to breathe. As we sat on the steps, the man with necklaces tried new […]
Oct 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
John Hughes Knocks on Heaven’s Door
By John Hughes I was a bleak geek living in a house where the only art was a pair of framed oil portraits of Presidents Washington and Lincoln, and the only music came from my sisters plinking away dispiritedly on an upright piano, because they had to, for piano lessons. There were no plants in my house, there was no poetry, and we watched the television a lot. Knowing no better, I was reasonably happy; but I just knew there had to be something more to life than television, school and the Green Bay Packers. I was 14 years old, living in Brookfield in 1971, surrounded by “Nixon’s the One” bumper stickers and sentiments, lonely in a world which seemed cold and rough — until Bob Dylan tapped me on the shoulder. I bought a Dylan cassette because I liked the cover. I hiked up to the department store (Treasure Island, on Capitol Drive) with my paper boy money, and bought the cassette with the coolest cover. I liked the blue light swirling around Dylan’s curly head on his Greatest Hits, Volume 2 album. I had no idea who he was. I had no idea that he was an icon, a voice for millions of disaffected youth. When I bought that cassette, I was doubling my music collection but increasing my musical knowledge tenfold. The other cassette I owned was James Taylor’s Mud Slide Slim and the Blue Horizon. I plugged in to Dylan and turned on, sitting there at my desk, eating Cheetos, covered in pimples, a revolution occurring in my inner core. I had no idea that this was happening all over the world with other people. I loved Dylan mostly because of his voice. It had so many contours and hollows, I was endlessly fascinated. And he said, “I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it.” I’ve never gotten over that image. He said, “There’s beauty in that silver singing river, there’s beauty in that rainbow in the sky, but none of these and nothing else can touch the beauty that I remember in my own true love’s eye.” He said, “Down here next to me in this lonely crowd, there’s a man who swears he’s not to blame. All day long I hear him cry so loud, calling out that he’s been framed.” He made me feel something I’d never felt before, something to do with the mystery of the heart. It seemed essentially good in Dylan’s hands. This was pivotal for a young person with an emerging sexuality and political consciousness, both of which were at odds with my milieu. I would come home from middle- or high school, traumatized by the day’s events, lie down in the middle of my bedroom floor, stare at the ceiling, and listen to Dylan. I loved him deeply. The net effect of his work was like, in the middle of a chorus of voices, this one voice was whispering to me: “You know how, when you’re […]
Oct 1st, 2003 by Vital Archives
