Dancing with the Night

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Those of us who write about music are often reputed to be nerdish elitists, cloistered in dingy lofts surrounded by well-worn albums and old issues of Creem, pining for the halcyon days of relevant music and praying for the next rock messiah to descend from the heavens. And yeah, I can almost see where the body public might get that impression. We’re sometimes so absorbed with justifying pop music as art that we skirt past the minutiae roaming along the fringes of the form. As self-proclaimed arbiters of what defines the state of music, we disavow dance music as a bad memory we’ve long since outgrown.

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But once the horizon has swallowed the sun, and the darkness is illuminated by neon, life takes on a different complexion. Skies shift into a liquid pale against the moon, and something wells up inside us. On such nights, coffeehouses and acoustic guitars are too familiar for our alien impulses. We want to imbibe blue drinks and give ourselves over to the sensually primal beast within us.

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We want to dance, damn it!

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And once we’ve made our way through the invariably cavernous entrance of the club to find ourselves bathed in bass and shards of broken light, we’re transformed. There’s something wolfen in our eyes we ease into a symbiotic relationship with the music pulsing through the walls. It’s stentorian, seeping into our systems so subtly we’re barely aware that it punctuates our attempts at conversation, all the while prodding us to the dance floor. Our souls are no longer our own—we are willing servants to the whims of the DJ’s ever-shifting incantations. You’re about 10,000 light years from disco home, and all your preconceptions about music, relevance, culture and society have evaporated—at least for this moment.

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Make no mistake—club culture is a world unto itself—vibrant, often dark, pulsing with a life timed by beats from all over the world. And as much as critics, iconoclasts and old school aficionados of varying ilks would like to deny it, club music, with all its mixes and variations, is an integral idiom of the larger vocabulary of music as a whole.It’s not that club culture sprang into life full grown—it’s the lineal descendant of disco—which may explain why it’s rarely held up for review in the mainstream—but through the years, it’s mutated, evolved and spawned so many variations it’s nigh impossible to define it precisely. And really, there’s even less reason to attempt to do so. It’s the music of immediacy, stripped naked of any pretense and existing to remind us that at our most technological, we remain feral once the sun sets. From Berlin to Miami to London to New York and points in between, dance remains a universal language. It’s in the beats that the dialects make the language take shape.

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The London club Fabric not only speaks the language, but is fluent in almost all the dialects. Widely regarded as one of the best venues in the world, it’s renowned for Room One’s bass-driven vibrating dance floor, which sends the beats from the floor and feeds them directly into the body. More than a club, Fabric is also a label that regularly releases CDs designed to promote the musical diversity of the club. Released on alternating months as Fabric and FabricLive, they showcase the work of some of the club’s DJ’s, and represent any number of genres within the larger club texture.

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There are almost 80 titles in the series at this point, all with utilitarian numerals to identify them. Each one is unique in its approach to the mixtape. Fabric 33: Ralph Lawson is downtempo, almost a paean to acid jazz in its loopy instrumental renderings. In a completely different take, FabricLive.32: Tayo skillfully fuses breakbeats and bass with hip hop, dub and funk into something that stands beyond definition. Ewan Pearson, on Fabric 35, goes a bit more mainstream, drenching his pop sensibilities with a healthy dose of bass and percussion. FabricLive 33 finds Baltimore-based trio Spank Rock mixing East Coast mashups with unlikely dubs and sound effects, even finding slots for Yes and the Romantics in their seamless remixes.

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These examples barely scratch the surface of the Fabric and FabricLive CDs, which, depending on one’s proclivities, range from the somewhat safe to the truly mind-bending. What makes the series most noteworthy is that it always presents the unexpected. The CDs are, without fail, crystal reproductions that convey at least a sense of the excitement that the club Fabric generates. They may not be the sort of thing that inspire rock critics to pontificate hither and yon, but they nonetheless sample sources from around the globe.

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You can’t talk about club culture without acknowledging Berlin as the city that’s known for first embracing it wholeheartedly. The reunification of Germany after the fall of the Wall opened up a myriad of possibilities, and with that came a freedom to push the boundaries of dance music. The early attempts formed the basis for techno, and while it was often cited as cold and devoid of emotion, it remains the roots music of club culture. Nobody embodies the freewheeling spirit of contemporary Berlin more than Ellen Allien. She’s noted as a DJ, vocalist, music producer, and founder of her own label, BPitch Control.

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On the TimeOut release The Other Side: Berlin, Allien pays tribute to her beloved city via a video tour that focuses on its sights, sounds and smells. It’s saved from being another tourist guide by being narrated more by the music of the night than a simple voice-over. With sections devoted to shopping, nightlife, food and sights, it’s a two-plus hour tour that presents Berlin as maybe the coolest place in Europe.The accompanying CD is best described as a techno sampler that never quite conveys the aura of the Berlin scene. Allien’s Fabric 34 underscores her talents as a DJ much more effectively, evoking as it does an aura that’s both heavily dark and unbearably light. She’s a mistress of experimentation, the sort of which finds its way into the popular consciousness.

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Granted, the music of club culture doesn’t easily lend itself to quiet introspection. It’s too mercurial for that. When you’re talking about a pulse, you quickly realize as soon as you attach a definition to it, it’s jumped into a new realm. It leaves you with a beat you can’t get out of your head, at least until the moon rises again, and a new rhythm possesses you. In that regard, it personifies the meaning of pop culture—meaningful in its meaninglessness, and seared into our synapses for reasons we’ll never acknowledge—or define.

The Unbearable Lightness of Lisa Germano

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Lisa Germano views life from its ragged edges, and sends back her dispatches as gossamer whispers wrapped in wine-soaked irony. Startling by virtue of its simplicity, her music wafts dreamily through dimly lit corridors inhabited by demons we’d rather not face. She’s so beguiling, speaking like a waif, her voice punctuated by an almost random piano or discordant calliope, it takes a moment to realize these are cautionary tales born of confession.

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The beauty of Germano’s work doesn’t lie in lyrics couched in regret or redemption — it’s in her almost whimsical resignation to whatever particular hell she may be observing. Her last CD, In the Maybe World, was one of the best (and one of the more obscure) albums of 2006. It masterfully dealt with finality, or more exactly, that transcendent area between the dimensions of life and death. Quiet and haunting, it was an oddly optimistic work that was never intended to broach the top forty. Critics, myself included, largely praised it, but it found only a limited audience.

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The reissue of 2003’s Lullaby for Liquid Pig represents something of a prologue to In the Maybe World, as well as explaining what could have been perceived as a nearly eight year gap between Germano’s recordings. Originally released on the ARTISTdirect imprint, it received glowing reviews at the time. However, the label shut down shortly after, and the album went out of print and into obscurity. Fortunately, Young God, Germano’s current label, has re-released it in a handsome 2-disc package that includes home recordings and live performances.

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Lullaby for Liquid Pig, like the later In the Maybe World, is a themed album. But where the latter dealt with finality, Pig explores obsession and addiction in its various incarnations. It’s not that she’s seeking redemption — it’s more like she’s inviting guests into her parlor to share a drink and reminisce about mutual frailties. It’s my favorite feeling/not there .what a good place to be/too bad it’s still raining inside, she quietly giggles against a wash of little girl music boxes on “Candy,” celebrating her relationship with alcohol, but lamenting at the close, “too bad I got nowhere today.” She shrugs it off, leaving us feeling a bit awkward, but fascinated by her candor.

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If she’s angry, it’s only at her own shortcomings, and she usually buries them so deeply in her whispered whimsies that when they do surface, they elicit empathy rather than sympathy. In Germano’s corner of the universe, demons cavort with angels, with neither faction wrestling for the upper hand. Neither can exist without the other, so they resort to using the psyche as their playground. In “Liquid Pig,” the demon is “a freak magnet,” attracting enabling partiers, but in “Lullaby for Liquid Pig,” the pig has attained angel status. Without you here/without your love/the world is just there/it doesn’t move me.

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It’s not as bleak as it sounds at first glance. Germano is a brilliant tour guide, pointing out little cracks of joy nestled here and there in her sometimes neurotic meanderings. In fact, it all has a bit of a carnival atmosphere, dominated by Neil Finn’s eerie optigon renderings playing off Germano’s fractured piano runs. Johnny Mar and Craig Ross add guitar nuances, and Wendy Melvoin, along with Butch and Joey Waronker, keep the percussion effective but subdued. Sebastian Steinberg’s flowing bass imbues the entire affair with an otherworldly spirit.At its core, Lullaby for Liquid Pig, like In the Maybe World, is a paean to the future. Even at its darkest moments, it finds a sense of balance in the absurdities of life. What results is an album that at scarcely thirty minutes, speaks volumes about coping with the pitfalls and pratfalls of addictions and obsessions. In the end, it’s a fluffy pillow to comfort you in your darkest thoughts. And that’s not such a bad way to fall asleep.

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The bonus disc on this reissue is far from filler. The live performances offer a more intimate portrait of Lisa Germano, affording us a glimpse of he self-deprecating sense of humor, and the home recordings and alternate takes sometimes outshine the final version. The most odd aspect of the bonus disc, however, is that it’s almost twice as long as the album itself. No matter. Lisa Germano is a voice who beckons you into recesses of the soul. And once you’ve explored them, you emerge a little bit better for the journey.

The Deeper Tones of Peace

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Perhaps it’s indicative of the global climate in which we labor that the mere mention of the word “peace” elicits a spectrum of emotions, from tranquility to rage. We throw the word around, using it in conjunction with “victory” or “surrender”, as if one had anything to do with the other. In the process, we’ve almost succeeded in rendering the word “peace” another casualty in our headlong march to a politically correct, colorless world.

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That’s partly why Santana: Hymns for Peace, Live At Montreux 2004 is one of the most engaging live performances to be released on DVD this year. At first glance, the title is a bit of a misnomer, since this is a concert that is anything but somber. This is a celebration of peace as it applies to the universal healing power of music. There’s no overt political agenda here—it’s more a cleansing of the soul, and the inevitable party that ensues as a result.And what a party it is.

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Carlos Santana had been planning this since 1988, when he and sax master Wayne Shorter found themselves touring with the Miles Davis Band. They began to envision a tour that would also include Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea and other musicians who envisioned a world of shared cooperation and aspirations on a global level. It would be 2004 before the dream was realized. Miles Davis had passed on, but Santana still clinged to his dream. So when Montreux Jazz Festival organizer Claude Nobs, gave him free reign to do what he wanted at the Jazz Festival in 2004, the dream reached fruition.

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On 15 July 2004, Santana and a few of his friends played a concert that redefined live performances. It lasted for over three hours, and watching it even now, the mind boggles at how tight it is. First, there is Santana’s band itself, a formidable lineup that works seamlessly between Latin, African, jazz and soul rhythms, augmented by the vocals of Andy Vargas. They’re the backbone of all the performances in the concert, with Santana’s inimitable guitar stylings providing a unique flavor to all the proceedings.Had it only been Santana and his band performing, it would have been a memorable show.

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But this was designed to be an event celebrating peace and freedom, as interpreted through music. The tour wouldn’t happen, but they could deliver the inherent message in one show. To that end, Santana’s band was augmented by a number of guests of legendary status—Wayne Shorter on sax, Herbie Hancock on keyboards, John McClaughlin on guitar—and that was only for the warm-up piece. Within minutes, they’re joined by a stellar array of luminaries such as Ravi Coltrane, lending his sax as counterpoint to Shorter’s phrasings, and Chick Corea melding his Fender Rhodes seamlessly with Hancock’s keyboard stylings.

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What’s most amazing about this DVD is how it transports the viewer into the spirit of that night. One by one, guest performers join the lineup, their enthusiasm for the message obvious by sheer virtue of their delivery. Angelique Kidjo’s Afro-jazz vocals are complimented by the soul-laced renderings of Patti Austin and Barbara Morrison, with Chic singer Sylver Sharp adding a dose of funk to what is an incredibly silky female vocal ensemble. Before it’s all done, Steve Winwood and rapper Sam Totah (who leads the performers in a fiery hip-hop infused version of “Give Peace A Chance”) have joined the stage. It’s not so much a concert as it is one glorious jam session.

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Given the context of the show, it’s not surprising that some of the songs have vaguely political overtones: i.e. Bob Marley’s “Get Up Stand Up” and Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On”, but they’re performed in such a celebratory way that they become testaments to the enduring power of the human spirit. In fact, the entire show succeeds in doing what it sets out to do—it celebrates the universality of inner peace as a means of world salvation. The fact that it rocks nonstop for three hours doesn’t hurt one bit.

The Exies End Their Exile

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It's been well over two years since the Exies released an album, and truth be told, they weren't greatly missed. They were one of those bands that seemed always on the cusp of success, what with landing soundtrack deals on a couple of Playstation and XBox games, and being an opening act for Motley Crue in 2005 ( a dubious distinction at best.) But they were unable to crack that sound barrier that would make them stars. After three albums, two of them on Virgin, it looked as if the Exies were done. Virgin dropped them, and the band began to disintegrate. Original guitarist David Walsh and drummer Dennis Wolfe decided it would be a good time to jump ship.

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Vocalist Scott Stevens and bassist Freddie Hererra soldiered on, though, and after reuniting with guitarist Chris Skane, they set about to resurrecting the Exies from the ashes of oblivion. What results is their fourth album, A Modern Way of Living With the Truth. It's not only their best effort to date--it stands apart from the current crop of LA bands.

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While their earlier efforts weren't terrible, they didn't do much to distinguish the Exies from other bar bands with a record deal. For the most part, they sounded like they were working the room. The songs on Inertia and Head For the Door showed promise, but failed to take that necessary leap of faith, and presented nothing challenging.

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The hiatus has done the band a world of good. "Exies" was always shorthand for "Existentialists", but A Modern Way of Living With the Truth is the first work the band has produced that actually reflects that stance. Oh, it still has that polished LA hard rock sound that gets airplay, but this outing sounds more sincere than contrived. They've emerged from their self-imposed exile rejuvenated, tighter and with a sense of purpose that simmers through the three chord structures. This time, the Exies mean business, and they're taking no prisoners.

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It takes some chutzpah to open what is ostensibly a hard rock album with an acoustic ballad, yet "The Leaving Song" sets the tone for what follows, if not musically, then certainly lyrically. Most of what follows (and this, according to the band) are songs about coming to grips with the past, while seeking the best for the future. There's nothing particularly earth-shattering in that approach-- themes of uncertainty have always been a mainstay of rock. What the Exies bring to the table, though, is a post-grunge sensibility to those themes. The result is often blistering, as in "Lay Your Money Down," with its rant against materialism, and sometimes plaintive, particularly on "Stray." "Different Than You," the first single from the LP, aptly demonstrates the band's new-found strength, with its staight-ahead, grinding guitars, solid bass and pounding drums (courtesy of "Hoss"). But its on their reworking of Talking Heads' "Once In a Lifetime" that the Exies prove beyond doubt they're a band to be reckoned with. The lyrics are the only reference point to the original tune, with the new version being a haunting acoustic tune punctuated with buzzsaw guitars in the chorus.

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The Exies stumbled on their early efforts-- it happens. But with A Modern Way of Living With the Truth, they've finally found their voice. I think we'll be hearing a lot more of it. This is a guitar band that rocks without pandering. We need more voices like that.

The Man Who Would Be Soul

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It's impossible to talk about the evolution of soul music without crediting Marvin Gaye as a prime exponent of its development. He wasn't necessarily the funkiest or the smoothest of the Motown stable, but he was unequivocally the most rebellious. Not content to churn out surefire radio singles in the Motown mode, he was often at odds with the label's founder Barry Gordy. In fact, his groundbreaking What's Going On almost wasn't released because Gordy didn't want to put the label in potentially controversial territory. After the album's phenomenal success. Gordy rethought his position, of course.

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Soul wasn't just a stance with Gaye--it was his lifeblood, and nobody infused the genre with more conviction than he did. In fact, he did more than sing his songs-- he ushered the listener into a place where words and music melded into a sphere that transcended vocabulary to reside in a universal emotion. He took soul music into a new frontier, making it relevant to what was happening to American society at large. It didn't matter what he sang about-- it could be anything from a simple proclamation of love to a a clarion call to social activism--when Gaye sang it, you believed it. He had a voice that sounded like silk soaked in cognac, and it transported you from gritty streets to silk sheets, all hinging on his mood.

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Marvin Gaye #1's is the latest addition to the everflowing well of "greatest hits" collections paying tribute to (or cashing in on, depending on your measure of cynicism) to Marvin Gaye's genius. In that regard, it doesn't really offer a lot that's new--since Gaye's untimely death in 1984, everybody and their dog has jumped on that bandwagon. A couple of things, however, make this release stand out from the gazillions of Marvin Gaye collections.

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Firstly, this album plays more like a soundtrack for an as yet-to-be-made biopic of Gaye's life, played out in flashbacks. It opens with some of his later work, the period when he was grappling with the dichotomies between spirituality and sensuality. He slithers through "Let's Get It On" and walks us through the animus of relationships with "Sexual Healing." Then we go back a few years, when social activism was his torch to bear, with the jazzy anti-war ballad "What's Going On," only to be whiplashed to his more innocent days, with "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing," one of his early duets with the ill-fated Tammi Terrell.

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It goes like that, skirting between timeframes, flashing from different personnae and different emotions-- seventeen songs in all and not a stinker among them. There are the obligatory tracks, like "I Heard it Throuth the Grapevine" and "Inner City Blues(Makes Me Wanna Holler)" counterpointed with innocent romps like "Ain't That Peculiar" and "I'll Be Doggone."

Admittedly, there's nothing here that's not on other collections, but as an introduction to the diverse stylings of Marvin Gaye, this is a nice package.

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The other thing that makes this set stand out has nothing to do with the music, but it bears mentioning. This is part of the Number 1's series by Universal Music Enterprises, and what makes them stand out is the packaging. Touted as "eco-friendly," the releases in this series are packaged, both sleeve and tray, in completely recyclable paperboard replacing the traditional jewel case and plastic tray. I'm all for it--it's a bit retro, considering vinyl was always packaged that way, but it's more environmentally friendly-- and it reduces consumer costs. However, I'm not buying the company's argument that they've eliminated the liner booklet to save trees thereby further helping the environment.

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Still, I'd like to see the industry as a whole adapt this sort of packaging. In the meantime, give Marvin Gaye #1's a listen. It's a perfect driving CD. And it works pretty well for late night listening.