The Wishlist:

Life's Design of Mind

.

Call it an occupational hazard, I suppose. When you write about music, you find you have a whole group of New Best Friends and an ever-growing collection of demo discs from bands who, for the most part, will never go any further in their music careers. I still have what they called tapes in the 1980's from local "new wave" bands who went on to pursue brilliant careers in retail management, banking and law. It wasn't that they were terrible musicians-- they just didn't understand that jamming and recording are seperate entities.

.

Every once in a very great while, when going through your one-offs, you stumble upon a disc that demands you pay attention. The freshman effort from the Dallas-based Wishlist, Life's Design of Mind, is such a disc. Produced by Casey Diiorio ( Bowling For Soup), this five-song EP is piano-driven pop balladry reminiscent of Keane, or Coldplay in their lighter moments. Even on a casual listen, you immediately realize that the Wishlist has no agenda beyond delivering a well-crafted package of romantic reminisces.

.

That in no way implies that Life's Design of Mind falls victim to schmaltz-- quite the opposite. Despite its somewhat unwieldly title, this debut is artful without being artsy in its decidedly urban vignettes of coffee shop-flavored romantic angst. What bandmates Kevin Layne (vocals, piano), Alex Hastings (guitar), Rich Williams (bass) and Jonny Mack (drums) have done here is encapsulate the uncertainty and promise of love and commitment in a quintet of hook-laden tunes. It's date music with an edge.

.

Still Creedence After All These Years

.

.

Let's just get this out of the way from the top: Creedence Clearwater Revival was John Fogerty. He was responsible for the sound, the vocals, the writing, the production, the everything that was Creedence. Today, almost a quarter of a century after the band broke up, John Fogerty is still Creedence Clearwater Revival--and he sounds every bit as fresh as he did in those halcyon hippie days.

.

How an Irish-American boy from the San Francisco area was able to channel swamp roots music into a palatable rock idiom is one of the Great Questions that will most likely never be answered, and is probably best left a mystery--but he did. And the footprint he left on rock and roll cannot be understated.

.

Proof you want? Proof I got.

.

Elke and I were watching The Long Road Home In Concert for maybe the third time last night when Fogerty and his band launched into a rousing rendition of "Down On the Bayou." Now, I've been married to Elke for fifteen years , so I know she has an affinity for Creedence (to put it mildly) and she's also been known to play a relatively mean Les Paul on occasion. What I didn't know was that Creedence was her introduction to American rock and roll of that time. German commercial radio back then played a lot of light pop but virtually no rock. The pirate station Radio Luxembourg, on the other hand, was known for blues and psychedelia. And it was on Radio Luxembourg one night that Elke just happened to hear "Suzy Q", the Dale Hawkins rockabilly song that launched Creedence into the spotlight. And from that moment, Elke just had to have an electric guitar.

.

Okay, that was very anecdotal, but it made me think-- if that song could have that much impact on a girl from Tuttlingen, Germany, imagine what it must have done to the kids stateside. Here we are, nearly forty years later, and the answer is self-evident. If there were any doubts before, The Long Road Home In Concert will dispel them in a nanosecond.

.

Filmed 15 September 2005 at LA's Wiltern Theatre, The Long Road Home In Concert hits the ground running with Fogerty and his band ripping into, appropriately enough, "Travelin' Band" and segues into "Green River." The 61 year old rocker has made contact with an audience largely composed of people a generation and a half removed from him, and he wastes no time immersing them into his world.

.

Make no mistake about it--this DVD is not a movie. It would be a stretch to label it a documentary. It's a dead-on concert film, and Martin Atkins' direction never aspires to be anything more than that. But it is precisely because of that approach that throughout the show we are left with the distinct impression that Fogerty is a man vindicated after those years of legal wrangling with ex-bandmates and Fantasy Records. Fantasy actually sued him (unsuccessfully) for plagiarizing his own work with "The Old Man Down the Road." It takes on an especially triumphant tone in this performance, and perfectly counterpoints "Run Through the Jungle" (the tune he allegedly plagiarized from himself.)

.

"What I'm about is just playin' rock and roll, so let's get to it," Fogerty proclaims at the very beginning, and that's what he does for nearly 100 minutes on this DVD. And for almost all of that 100 minutes, you are left with no doubt that this is the John Fogerty show--he is centerstage throughout, and loving every minute of it. All the obligatory Creedence classics are here, from "Proud Mary" to "Fortunate Son" to "Born on the Bayou"--the list goes on-- as well as songs from his solo career, including "Centerfield," and "Bootleg." In all, the songlist is made up of 26 songs, and not one misses its mark.

.

This was one fun concert, and this DVD documents it as what it was--there are no intercut interviews, no attempt at social relevance, nothing artsy--just a recording of a brilliant show that makes you feel you were there. That is to director Atkins' credit--he skillfully intercuts between a floor POV and a back of the stage viewpoint and does it with such nonchalance that you don't even notice. What is to Fogerty's credit is he immerses you in his world. This is not a nostalgia act--it's Americana that is every bit as relevant today as it was 35 years ago.

John Flynn's Two Wolves Doesn't Run With the Pack

.

.

Two Wolves, at least on first listen, is an album laced with an almost child-like sense of innocence in its social commentary. This should come as no surprise, considering John Flynn is perhaps best known for his Love Takes a Whole Box of Crayons and his award-winning work in childrens music. In spite of that, or more likely, because of that, Two Wolves is at its heart a work about family and its relation to a world numbed by violence and inequity.

.

Like the great folk singers before him, Flynn lures the listener into his world with an easygoing accoustic sound that belies the message of his lyrics. On "Dover," for instance, the music soars with a patriotic swirl while the lyrics personalize the sacrifice of soldiers who do not come home alive and the loved ones they leave behind. "Blink" takes a different tact in its Don McLean-esque structure and its sentimental look at enduring love . The album's title track could almost work on one of Flynn's children's albums as a simple parable about the choices we make in life and how they shape us.

.

None of that is meant to imply that the music on Two Wolves is maudlin but harmless-- far from it. Folk music has always been quietly dangerous-- from Woody Guthrie to Bob Dylan to Phil Ochs--and John Flynn's musings are no exception. Never politically overt, Flynn's lyrics nonetheless reflect the angst that is inherent in our collective mindset while maintaining a cautious optimism for the future. "There's No Them There" recognizes divisiveness ("races, creed and nations/are false separations") while steadfastly clinging to unity ("The colors of the rainbow/blend together and show/how we can blend also.") Likewise,"My Father's Chapel" celebrates the commonalities of the world's religions rather than dwell on their differences.

.

Nor is he afraid to tackle issues head-on. Throughout the course of Two Wolves, Flynn speaks with directness and eloquence as witnessed by "Put Your Freedom Where Your Mouth is." He reminds us in no uncertain terms that flexing our military might across the globe entails a responsibility to equally flex our social responsibility here as well as abroad. ("Put your freedom where your mouth is/In a land of liberty/He's for freedom and he'll shout his/cause no silenced man is free.")

.

Two Wolves is unlikely to be a chart-topper, and John Flynn probably won't be on VH1 or CMT anytime soon. That's unimportant. What is important is Two Wolves keeps the spirit of folk roots activism alive in a society sledgehammered by soundbites. This is an album that not only pays homage to the protest song but quietly reinvents it as well.

Willie Nelson:

The Last American Icon?

.

As I write this, it's the Fourth of July 2006, late afternoon. It's dark and rainy in Dallas, with predictions of heavier rain to come. North Korea, in an extreme case of penis envy, is flexing their might by firing off long range missiles, and CNN is lapping it up. And me, I'm listening to Willie Nelson belting out "Whiskey River." It seems appropo, in a weltschmerz sort of way.

.

Willie Nelson, when all is said and done, expresses a world weariness that strikes a universal chord among anybody who has ever heard him. Nowhere is this more evident than in The Complete Atlantic Recordings. It's pointless, thirty years-plus after the fact to attempt to dissect Shotgun Willie (sure, it was over-produced for the time), or Phases and Stages (country's first concept album)-- hindsight is always 20/20. And despite what latter-day critics are fond of saying, Willie Nelson did not reinvent country with those two albums--he merely returned it to its rightful roots-- the Texas honky tonk that nurtured it.

.

That is by no means intended to detract from the significance of those two albums--quite the contrary. What Willie (some icons you just have to refer to by their first name) did on those two albums was revolutionary at the time. He broke free from a bloated Nashville establishment that was content to be a parody of itself, took his music, infused with jazz and blues, with him and set it free in the rolling hills of Austin. This was no mean feat, and without the aid of legendary producer Jerry Wexler (of Aretha Franklin fame), it's doubtful whether he could have pulled it off. Pull it off he did, though, and thus was born Country Outlaw.

.

But it's on the previously unreleased Live at the Texas Opry House that Willie Nelson proves himself as a performer and vindicates his desertion from Nashville. This is Texas honky tonk at its best, centerpieced by a kickass rendition of "Bloody Mary Morning" that would do Bob Wills proud. It's not urban cowboy stuff-- it is the real thing. We Texans have always had an affinity for fusing music genres into something distinctly, well, Texan-- and Willie epitomizes that fondness like no other.

.

Willie's affiliation with Atlantic was short-lived, but it produced two classic albums. The Complete Atlantic Sessions pays fitting tribute not only to that affiliation but to to the man who singlehandedly made Austin the American capital of all things cool. It's a handsome boxed set, packaged like a box of fine cigars, filled with anecdotes, outtakes, alternative versions and , perhaps most importantly, a slice of American pop culture that has become an integral part of our history.

.

But back to the present. Yesterday, Willie bought the Abbot Methodist Church. Why? Willie is a native of Abbot, Texas and the old Methodist church is where he first sang as a child. He just couldn't stand to see it demolished. History is too important. As I write, it's still dreary outside, but Willie's music, tinged with melancholy as it is, gives me hope that we'll get through it. Next door in Fort Worth, Willie is presiding over his 33rd Fourth of July picnic.

.

Yeah, we'll be alright....

Johnny Dowd's Cruel Words Ring Uncomfortably True

.

.

Though it's been available as an import since February, It seems only fitting that Cruel Words, Johnny Dowd's fifth album should be released stateside on the Fourth of July. This is a work that is undeniably American, straightforward and unapologetic in its tales of characters who may have slipped through this crack or that, but who refuse to go unnoticed or bowed by their circumstances. They're not necessarily angry, but you're left with the sense they're not resigned to their lot in life, either.

.

This is not an album geared to casual listening. From the pounding drum intro of "House of Pain" to the dying strains of "Johnny B Goode," Cruel Words demands the listener pay attention. This is the aural equivalent of film noir, deceptively simple at its surface but laced throughout with complex ambiguities. The characters who populate this landscape, from the disillusioned wheelchair-bound vet of "Praise God" to the newly divorced man residing in "Poverty House" to the dead lounge singer of "Final Encore," may be marginalized, but they hardly represent the underbelly of America. Largely, they have fallen on bad times and are not above the solace of the bottle, but they live with a cynical hope that things that will be alright in the end. "Jesus waits behind the counter/Waiting for the soldiers to return/From the long march to Bethlehem," Dowd growls in "World of Him," as he drunkedly but deftly maneuvers the minefields of the culture wars.

.

Johnny Dowd is generally catalogued under the "alt-country" file, one of those catch-all terms, like "progressive jazz" or "new punk, " that sound authoritive (at least to lazy journalists), but have no meaning in reality. While Dowd's lyrics, structurally speaking, are perhaps rooted in a working class base, his music draws inspiration from a number of sources, all of which are distinctly American. With Michael Stark's Hammond B3 organ strains punctuating almost every song on Cruel Words, Dowd (vocals and guitar) and Brian Wilson (drums and bass pedals), along with Kim Sherwood on backing vocals, meld blues to acid jazz, roots soul to Texas swing, surf rock to lounge music, run it through a blender from hell and somehow manage to serve up a concoction that sounds wholly unique. Toss in a little British punk from the Mekons' Sally Timms and Jon Langford on "Drunk" for a dash of spice and Cruel Words emerges as a feast from the bland, albeit an acquired taste.

.

Cruel Words may not elevate Johnny Dowd from his cult status--I rather hope it doesn't. It's nice having an old friend over for a beer or two and talking about the people we've run across in life-- especially when the friend sounds like Tom Waits referencing Frank Sinatra as he spins his tales. On the other hand, I want America to hear what Johnny Dowd has to say about our day to day world. I want them to know that a guy approaching 60, who didn't record his first album before he was already 50, can rock with the best of them. Better than most, actually.

.

,The Alternate Reality of

Dub Side of the Moon

.

.

That Pink Floyd's 1973 Dark Side of the Moon is one of the iconic classics of rock is indisputable-- darkly atmospheric and almost neurotic in its themes of greed, war, self-absorption and class struggle. And then there was its aural quality, which often eclipsed the themes. "Ya gotta hear this through headphones!" was the review I heard most often from my stoner friends at the time. In that regard, the album made me realize that rock had become more a medium for engineers than musicians and set me on a punkish course to rediscover the roots of rock, which led, in a circuitous route, to reggae. The almost soothing beat of reggae belied its political underpinnings and seduced me immediately. I was the first kid on my block to wear a Bob Marley tee-shirt, much to the bewilderment of the East Texas citizenry.

.

Filmed in September 2005, Easy Star All-Stars' Dub Side of the Moon Live is an unlilely but infinitely satisfying reinvention of the Pink Floyd original. Make no mistake about it-- this is no novelty performance. What the All-Stars have done is taken baby boomer insecurities and transmuted them into a stand alone performance that encompasses a world view of--well, war, greed, self-absorption and class struggle. Moreover, they have brought Dark Side of the Moon into the 21st century.

.

Using the framing device of an animated "rasta-naut" awakening from stasis aboard the USS Syd Barrett (a fitting tribute to the founding force of Pink Floyd), Dub Side seamlessly transports the viewer into a world that is at once both familiar and unsettling in its rootsy origins. There are no intricate laseriums here--only strobes and a thematic full moon background projection.

.

It's all we need.

.

.The band quickly launches into an exhilarating rendition of "Breathe (In the Air)" that cascades into Tamar-Kali's jazz-infused interpretation of "Time." Augmented by the flute of Jenny Hill and the toasting of Menny More, it is here that Dub Side takes on a multi-ethnic life of its own. And while her vocals are reminiscent of Claire Torry's in "The Great Gig in the Sky," Tamar-Kali's add a new dimension with her sudden throatiness at various breaks. "Money" becomes a new anthem in the hands of the All-Stars, thanks in part to the socio-political dub but moreso to Junior Jazz's guitar licks.

.

Technically, there is nothing visually arresting about Dub Side of the Moon--it's a fairly straightforward concert film. For that matter, I wouldn't call it a reggae classic. But at every moment of the performance, I was left with the perception that rock will never die--it only evolves and reinvents itself.

.

As the pundits are fond of reminding us, we live in a different world now. To dismiss Dub Side of the Moon as a novelty would be shameful. To call it a remake of Dark Side of the Moon is to do it a disservice. While it never strays far from its source material, Dub Side is a work that brings the fears of the seventies into the realities of the 2K's. It is to Pink Floyd's credit that they envisioned the scenario in which we now live. It is to the Easy Star All-Stars' credit that both paid tribute to that vision and made it, in the process, absolutely relevant to today's strata.

.

Jonah Smith's Search for a Musical Identity

.

.

"Roots music" is a term bandied about far too loosely of late. Defined by Webster as "any music identified with an early culture," roots music has become a catchphrase to describe what is far too often mediocre music disguised as a tribute to the origins of a genre, be it blues, jazz, country or even heavy metal. Hence, the very term is rendered impotent. Eric Clapton is not roots music. Robert Johnson is.

.

The PR surrounding Jonah Smith is fond of referring to him as a throwback (which he is) and then taking it one step further and calling him roots music (which he most definitely is not) unless seventies-grounded blue-eyed soul sprang full-blown from some hitherto unknown source. Nonetheless, it is the rock/jazz music of the early seventies that are the root of Smith's music.

.

On his eponymously titled major label debut, Jonah Smith attempts to rejuvenate the soul/jazz/rock hybrid genre, as exemplified by bands like Little Feat and Steely Dan, that the too cool for school collegiate clique dug on in the early to mid-seventies. The resultant album, however, offers little in the way of innovation. Rather, it more often than not comes across as a pale imitation of the music that it seeks to exalt. That's not to say that Jonah Smith is a bad work, but only that its potential is unrealized. Smith can't seem to decide whether he wants to be Van Morrison or Steve Winwood and the album reflects that uncertainty.

.

Perhaps it's a case of first album jitters, but throughout the album, one is left with a sense that Smith is out of his element. The band is tight and Smith's vocals ring with conviction, but the work ultimately is best left to club venues. It's mildly entertaining but it sounds like a really cool cover band whose originals sound all too familiar.

.

While Jonah Smith makes a valiant freshman effort, one can only hope that he cements his own identity on his next outing.

Dave Chappelle's Block Party:

.

This Ain't No Disco

.

.

Part documentary, part satire, part road trip, part concert film, Dave Chappelle's Block Party is ultimately a film about the unlikely commonalities that are at the heart of America. Directed by Michel Gondry (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind), Block Party ostensibly chronicles Chappelle's quest to throw the ultimate block party. The resultant film is a resonant, albeit somewhat disjointed, look at how the heartland and the 'hood, regardless of how both ends of the spectrum would deny it, speak with the same unconscious, but universal voice.

.

Block Party opens in Chappelle's rural Yellow Springs, Ohio (pop.4500) hometown, but it's anything but a celebrity homecoming. Rather, the movie goes to great lengths to depict the town's inhabitants, and Chappelle himself, as representative of the American Heartland. From the outset, though, the understated sarcasm that is part and parcel of his brand of humor becomes the underlying thread that weaves through the entire film. Chappelle's ulterior motive is to load the citizenry on a bus to Brooklyn for the "ultimate block party." It's a motley crew who signs on for the trip, from the woman who sells him cigarettes at the corner store, to the town's two probation officers (one white, one black, neither known for soul), to the entire Central State University Marching Band.

.

Chappelle doesn't disappoint them--or the viewing audience, for that matter. While Block Party is billed as a concert film, it works on a number of levels, not the least of which is social commentary. The characters that populate the film are real people, the kind of Americans who may have slipped through the cracks of mainstream society but have built a reality for themselves. Take, for instance the owners of the Broken Angel House, which serves as a backdrop for the block party. At first glance, they seem like the oldest surviving acid casualties in the world--which they probably are-- but between Gondry's direction and Chappelle's conversational interview techniques, they ultimately come across as a lovely couple whose marriage has endured over forty years.

.

All that notwithstanding, Block Party shines as a concert film unlike any before it. Perhaps it is

because Gondry is French and sees hip-hop culture from a distanced perspective or perhaps it is because Chappelle is from the Heartland and romanticizes Brooklyn as a mythical land, the finished product is dazzling in its sheer exuberance. There simply is not one bad performance in the concert--not surprising since the roster includes Kanye West, Erikah Badu, the Roots and Mos Def, not to mention the finally reunited Fugees, fronted by Lauryn Hill and Wyclef Jean.

.

Block Party may not be one of the great concert films by iconoclastic standards, but like Woodstock, it presents to the social mainstream a musical and cultural idiom that shows no sign of retreating. Nor should it. Rap, when done right, is nothing short of street poetry. The musicians, such as Dead Prez and Common, represented on Block Party bring that point home forcefully, and Jill Scott, Erikah Badu and the Fugees eloquently delineate the intricacies of hip-hop.

.

The DVD unrated edition of Block Party offers extended (read that full) performances of the acts in the concert, as well as the obligatory "making of" featurette. While that is often interesting, the "Ohio Players" featurette, about the people from Ohio and their impressions of Brooklyn, stands alone as entertainment in a home video meets Comedy Central kind of way.

.

All in all, Dave Chappelle's Block Party is a must-have for anybody with more than a passing interest in popular culture, and a "you really gotta see it" for everybody else.

.

.

Bakithi Kumalo:

Transmigration.

.

.

If the drum is the lifeblood of all music, then the bass is its pulse. You don't just hear the bass so much as you feel it--it courses through you on a visceral level and guides you through the more obvious melody. In the hands of a master, such as Stanley Clarke or Jaco Pastorius, the bass is a musical force with no peer. On Transmigration, Bukithi Kumalo proves himself to be such a master.

.

While Transmigration is his third album, Kumalo is probably best known to American audiences for his work on Paul Simon's world beat-driven Graceland, where his swirling bass playfully danced with Simon's alliterative lyrics to help create one of the first commercially successful "world beat" albums. It's safe to say, I think, that Kumalo's work there has helped to establish much of Simon's signature sound since.

.

On his previous solo efforts (San' Bonan and In Front of My Eyes), South African native Kumalo focused his efforts on the African textures that are his roots. With the aptly titled Transmigration, however, he draws on those roots, fleshes them out and gives them truly international wings. As a journey of the soul, as its title loosely implies it is, Transmigration is a tour de force of musical idioms united by the commonality of jazz and a determination to return to its wellspring.

.

The journey that is Transmigration begins in the decidedly urban landscape of "Twilight Fire" and ends, appropriately enough, with the haunting "Africa". It's the stops along the way, though, that make the album a fully realized excursion. And throughout it all, Kumalo's bass effortlessly guides us through the various landscapes, speaking to us in a commanding way not heard since Stanley Clarke's heyday. Kumalo's thumb-slapping style lends itself naturally to pieces like "Looking Forward", sliding smoothly from the percussive lead of the bass to the complimentary keyboards and back again, as he does similarly on the sax-infused "Step by Step." And on the one vocal number, the R&B influenced "Only Your Love", his bass serves as an almost erotic counterpoint to former Chaka Khan background singer Penny Ford's vocals.

.

Kumalo is by no means a dilletante, however. While he is one of the very few bassists capable of elevating the instrument to the status of lead--which he does formidably on several tracks here-- he also recognizes the value inherent in the traditional role of the bass in jazz. In "Trio", he eschews his electric bass in favor of an upright accoustic and commandingly complements Bill Smith's piano and Damon Duewhite's drums. It's a song that both plays tribute to the fifties roots of progressive jazz and stands alone as an evolution of the genre.

.

But it is "Africa" that stands as the true tribute to the roots of jazz and indeed, all music. It is not only the finale but the centerpiece of Transmigration. A solo effort in which Kumalo plays wood flute, guitar, bass, drum, as well as delivering a haunting vocal chant, "Africa" takes us to that primal well from which all music evolved. It is in that haunting simplicity that we first found our voice and it is in that same simplicity that we evolve.

.

What Bakithi Kumalo has done with Transmigration is taken us on a flashback exodus from the current state of urban jazz to the very roots from whence it arose. He, along with producer and sometime collaborator Chris Pati, has lifted jazz from its stagnant state of the last decade and returned it to its rightful position of grace. While we're only six years into it, Transmigration may very well be the most important jazz album of the 21st century thus far.

.

.

The Canvas:

A Mosaic of Pastel Cool

.

.

It's another unforgivingly hot and humid day in Dallas, made all the worse by mid-week traffic snarl and workaday frayed nerves, compounded all the more by the nervous energy that is pursuant to what passes as a weekend. It's a reality that we'd rather not be a party to.

.

Anyway, that's the world outside my window.

.

In this little corner of what passes as my office, though, it's cool and a little smoky, in a Cafe Americain sort of way. I'm relaxing with a glass of red wine and drifting into another time, another place, reminiscent of a Parisian jazz cafe in the thirties or a tucked-away fifties cool jazz joint in New York. And I'm listening to the debut album by the Canvas, simply titled Random Thoughts.

.

On a casual first listen, it would be easy to dismiss the Canvas as pleasant background music of the sort one might find in an edgier-than-thou restaurant. And in certain regards, that would be true. This is not an album that screams to be noticed--no histrionic guitar solos, no bass runs that meander forever, no in-your face drum work. Rather, this is a work full of subtle nuances made by a trio of musicians working as a cohesive unit.

.

To be sure, Random Thoughts is an unassuming work, and it is that very aspect that makes it so engaging. The trio that comprise the Canvas--Shahin (guitar), Casper (bass) and Brett (drums)--are enamored not with fame, but with the joy of playing music. They don't even use their last names.

.

And play music they do-- building on a basic jazz groove, and evoking at various points, elements of funk, ragas and blues--all coming together in a sound that can only be described as universal. It's not what one would expect to come out of Arlington, Virginia, but then again, Liverpool was an unlikely music hotbed at one time.

.

It has always been my practice not to review an album before at least three listens--the catchy hook wears thin by then. It's the albums that offer something new on each listen-- that something you didn't hear before-- that catch my attention.

.

I'm on my seventh listen on this one, with no signs of putting it away.