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29/03/2018

"As a child, Art remembers running through white neighborhoods, where floats threw the bulk of their parade loot, bending to scoop up the rubber ci**rs, whistles, beads and necklaces, while trying to avoid the police."

History and the music it bred, from Ryan Marr on the Meters.

Growing up in New Orleans in the 1950s, Art Neville drank deep at the wellspring of American music. Rhumbas and boogies, mambos and waltzes, ragtime and blues, calypso and jazz—it was all there, a musical gumbo rising unsummoned out of the streets. Turn down one block and you might hear something ...

22/03/2018

"I had planned to report here that the scales fell from my eyes, or rather my ears, and that at the advanced age of fifty-two I can now appreciate the professionalism, virtuosity and polish of B. B. King—or, even better, that I now can feel the deep emotion behind his flawless musicianship. Alas, that’s not really what happened."

Will Pritchard returns, on trying out B.B. King's Live at the Regal, then trying it out once more.

B. B. King’s Live at the Regal (1965) suffers from what I call the Citizen Kane problem: an exalted reputation that inhibits genuine appreciation. Knowing that something is the agreed-upon “best” — the best film ever made, the best barbecue in Austin — can leave a viewer or a diner unabl

20/03/2018

"Of course she knew all about Phil: his aggressive artist motivation tactics, his penchant for gunplay. The murder. Yet Toby felt rocked to comfort by this recording; each time was like coming home. She poured another."

Nick Graveline is back, on perhaps the greatest Christmas record on record.

She was the type to order warm ice; to demand clairvoyance from her subordinates— a peddler of flippant and negative feedback, unable to express expectations; a vision inarticulate, if one happened to exist at all. That’s who Toby was spending her evening with. She could hear the uproarious laug...

15/03/2018

"Look, there’s probably witchcraft in the world. It’s just something that a person has to come to terms with by and by. The strange attractions, the blinking shadows that flutter at the edge of a memory which maybe was not a dream, named and nameless intuitions that come up unbidden. You’re not wrong. Your juju meter works just fine. Strange things are afoot."

Joe Manning returns to spook and delight, on Dr. John's spooky and delightful Gris-Gris.

by The Kentucky Chapter of the What’s On Fire Cabal: Moonshine Edition. I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity, but they’ve always worked for me. &am

08/03/2018

"That’s part of why so many people hated it: it was stylistically and performatively implausible, made in and for the recorded environment rather than the pub or rehearsal space, which, prior to that, was the only place music could have been made. It is the day of the expanding man."

Charlie Kaplan joins us again, with new words for Steely Dan's momentous Aja.

What’s a band without musicians? That sounds like a paradox or a riddle. But by their sixth album, Steely Dan had fired everyone in the band, leaving only a songwriter and a producer. The resulting record, running about 40 minutes, was just seven tracks, two of which ran over seven and a half min

05/03/2018

"First, self-portraits are hard—but my straightforward self-portrait says everything about 15-year-old Emma. Dead-eyed apathy."

A new, picture-perfect take on Surrealistic Pillow, from Emma Murray.

Where I am is never where I want to be—because I was, and still am, the clichéd, landlocked teenager starving for the capital ‘C’ kind of Culture that seems to evade the Midwest. I grew up in Council Bluffs, Iowa, a border town right across the Missouri River from Omaha, Nebraska. Omahans aff...

01/03/2018

"Before he left that night, he taught me to play the chords: A, D, E, and C. My fingertips ached, red and raw, and I was in bliss. I fell asleep with his old guitar next to me, both of us squeezed into my twin-sized bed."

Ellen Louise Ray joins the fam, with new words on CSNY's Deja Vu.

Side One: In early memories of my father, he’s crouched over his guitar. His chin juts out, his lips tuck in, his fingers dance along the instrument’s neck. When he starts to strum, he locks onto my eyes. He sings “4 +20.” He sings “Teach Your Children Well.” His steel-string voice rasps...

26/02/2018

"...it was always Zeppelin, always Houses of the Holy playing in this little no-name gas station at the intersection of a county road and a rural highway surrounded by fields with pump jacks rising and falling in the near distance while wind turbines spun their big robot arms farther off on the slopes of the Wichita Mountains and all around."

Constance Squires casts her magic for Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy.

She didn’t notice at first. Those songs were everywhere. She heard them all the time, had heard them all her life. They had the familiarity of a parent’s voice, hard to hear musically, and although she knew they were great songs, it was just that they were worn slick from constant play. So the f...

23/02/2018

"I fell in love with him, and the music, and the person I thought I was when I was listening to his music—this specifically named protagonist, this character so anchored to place, this beautiful disaster with a beginning, middle, and end in their four corners."

Moira McAvoy is back with another stunner, on Bruce's Darkness on the Edge of Town.

I have never been able use “What’s your hometown?” as a security question because my answer changes depending on who happens to be asking. The irrefutable facts are as follows: I was born in Philadelphia to parents who lived just over the Ben Franklin Bridge in South Jersey, where I spent the ...

22/02/2018

"I don’t know if I would love this song without the footage from Woodstock. When I first saw it I was an idiot punk who held most ‘60s music in contempt. I’m not a punk anymore. I’m still mostly an idiot. And much of the music from the ‘60s was awful. But Shrieve’s obvious talent and crazed look broke through."

Steven Casimer Kowalski on "Soul Sacrifice" and Santana's self-titled debut.

“Soul Sacrifice,” the closing argument on Santana’s 1969 self-titled debut is one of my favorite songs of all time. It features brilliant guitar and keyboard work, an iron-spine of a bassline, all pushed ever forward by some of the best percussion you’ll find on a song from the ‘60s. A ter...

19/02/2018

"That’s what scared me: that I couldn’t even make myself happy in my imagination. I had completely forgotten the sensation. Don’t have any dreams, don’t have any plans, Winn Butler trilled into his microphone, though he sounded more triumphant than scared or confused."

Lena Moses-Schmitt on making it through the darkness, and Arcade Fire's Funeral.

Neon Bible is my favorite Arcade Fire album, but I think Funeral, their first, most elemental album, the one that launched them into the world, is still their best. I just don’t—can’t, really—listen to it anymore. Funeral might be one of the last albums I listened to on an actual CD, the las...

14/02/2018

"Listen as the telltale guitar inverts the natural order: a unifying recognition even as a blankness of ignorance spreads.

Shimmying and gesticulating, pantomiming each sea creature during the breakdown.

It brings them all together, if only for a song."

Michael T. Fournier returns, on the B-52's self-titled debut.

It happened, and it happens. Again and again, the cosmic thing where centers of gravity change, gymnasium orbits realign. First, there’s 1, whose fuel is worry. To skip might be painting a large target. Might start people talking. Which they already are, 1 is reasonably certain. Whispers, gestures...

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