August 09, 2005

WE'RE GOING TO FIND THE MEANING OF FEELING GOOD

I called Miles and said "Come with me to see Chris Richards' show, you have one block to decide, come outside if you want to to go, I am almost to you. " He did and we walked in and Anthony Decanini was hollering into a sax, and that was being run through pedals. I do not think he knows how to play the sax beyond working it, he was sucking breath like how you do when yr doing the butterfly in the pool at the Y, and wiggling his fingers all over the valves. He would make the shit winney and whine and then he walked behind the audience (16 present and accounted for) and blow us from there. I have some issue with amatuer brass, that does not exist for other things. "Fake" "jazz", here is an argument I will rarely ever make, but: it's been done . Free as signifier is some drunk on unreality juice idea I refuse to swing with. I want my out out and my free fucking free, and with jazz, with horns espesh, I am of the you must know the rules to break them escuela. Jazz is not like punk, to me, for me, where as punk is often at it's greatest sometimes when someone is just slapping their guitar around coaxing the worst sounds out of it from hands that have just the faintest clue how to making the gtr sound like a mountain of screaming infants. Maybe because to me, punk=easy and oft calculated and jazz=hard and visceral and into the mystic. Para exemplo, When Peter Brotzmann plays I feel as if I am in the very heart of God, because my pulse shifts and my own heart shifts to some master clock. Best punk, best noise damage, Wipers "Tragedy" and Bad Brains "Pay to Cum", make me feel like I could chew through the side of the house like a beaver or that not having a shaved head is totes bouge, or I just wunna start a band. And, so, tonight, I judged Anthony as fake, as some 7th gen Aylers Angels tarrrsh. Harpoons of unlove on whatever authenticity debate is wedged inside his sax-o-fone.

Then, Chris Paul Richards. late of the late Q and Not U, now of his solo gong Ris Paul Ric . I think no one does transitional band quite like DC PUNX -- Cupid Car Club, Egg Hunt, Happy Go Licky, Monorchid... member that summer when the Embassy Tape(s) with Las Mordidas was my only jam.( I saw them in a basement on Bryant Avenue in Mnpls with this dude and Jeff Speigel, the day I graduated from 11th grade. After Las Mordidas, we got in Jeff's PURPLE JEEP and drove to see Trenchmouth play in Mankato ). Chris' shiz is no exception. It was kind of unformed, but it made it good-er, pedals, rhythm gtr loops, some octaver pedal taking his voice to new heights, the Black Eyes kiddo playing bells and crock pot lids (I checked). The MP3 linked above is much more indie folk than it was, it was more of Constellation Records house funk band, more Sung Tongs for "Starfish and Coffee" virgins. I got the demo, which is bedroom jams produced by Tim Hecker, and it is "of the moment" cos Ris P Ric is dying a quick death as Chris is putting together a band he only described with an exploding whoosh sound and arm motions and the words: "Like... Loud."

Posted by Jessica at August 9, 2005 01:06 AM | TrackBack