HARDLY STRICTLY SAN FRAN… MONEY NEVER SLEEPS

What’s the greatest music festival in the world… that nobody’s ever heard of? WOMAD Canarias, maybe, or Sauti za Busara in Zanzibar? My vote would have to be for the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival in San Francisco, CA. Founded by venture capitalist Warren Hellman and now celebrating its ten-year anniversary, HSB (not the bank) is the best kept secret this side of the International Date Line. While everybody here in LA gets all cummy reminiscing about their favorite Coachella desert encounter or waxing philosophical about the difficulties of maintaining the spirit of Burning Man, in a week when I heard KCRW dj’s exclaiming the unusual bounty of musical talent on display this week, not a word was mentioned about HSB, a short half-day’s drive to the north… likely the cause of much of the synchronous left coast bounty BTW. Down here there was not so much as a word of advertising, nor a blurb of news on the subject. We’re talking about a high six figures in attendance, mind you.

But bluegrass music is not exactly your thing, you say? That’s why it’s called ‘Hardly Strictly.’ In a show that features the likes of Patti Smith, Elvis Costello, Joan Baez, and Steve Earle, they can call it a festival of wedding singers, for all I care. True it IS still heavily roots-oriented, including a heavy dose of alt-country as well as bluegrass proper, but anything that’s heartfelt and genuine seems welcome. Outside the narrow bluegrass genre, artists with lyric-based music seem to predominate. Other than that, the predominant feature seems to relate to the audience themselves, who seem to be… how do you you say it… of a certain age? Ahhh, so that explains the virtual anonymity, doesn’t it? Everybody’s so interested in what the dorky freckle-faced kid down the street is doing when his hands aren’t otherwise engaged, that they could care less about what’s become of the generation that created a revolution in the 60’s… musically at least, politics subject to reinterpretation. HSB featured fairly equal doses of local, Austin, and Nashville artists, with heavy doses of New York, LA and London thrown in for good measure. So there’s not much world music there, but just about everything else.

So the festival stays largely local… and an insider’s pilgrimage. Imagine a Rainbow Gathering or a Grateful Dead New Year’s show, and you’re getting the idea. Many attendees walk or take public transportation, but the best part is that it’s free, yes, FREE… zippo zilch nada nadita, all courtesy of Mr. Hellman. He probably figures ‘why choose the usual Gateways or blow it all in one giant Buffet’… when you can create the world’s greatest party? Thank you, Mr. Hellman. If we’re stuck with cowboy capitalism, we like your horse-riding style. With six stages going more or less simultaneously, everybody’s free to create their own individual show schedule, of course, aided by various real-estate schemes usually involving the creative placement of various tarp-like spreads and items of lawn furniture. It’s almost like Second Life.

My show went something like this: after leaving LA (in the broad daylight) as the sun rose over the Hollywood Hills, we hustled up the central corridor lickety-split so’s to try to make the 2pm Friday half-day opening. Allowing a few stops for corn and various fruit items from the roadside stands, we almost made it. We DID find the righteous parking spaces (Hell no I’m not telling you), so that helped a lot… all three days. So we missed Jerry Douglas with Omar Hakim and Viktor Krauss, but we still got to hear an excellent set by Patty Griffin- with help from special guest Emmylou Harris, and then another by Jenny & Johnny. Worried about losing my street-cred as a musical idiot savant by embracing J & J- after maybe one or two listens- I was relieved when Elvis Costello showed up to help them with a song. So now I feel vindicated. They’re going places. T-Bone Burnett then played MC for his own little revue of current producee clients, but we wandered over to see the Dukes of September, aka Fagen, Boz, and Michael McDonald, a 3-in-1 hitmaking juggernaut anxious to relive the golden days.

Saturday started off with credible performances by Austinites Kelly Willis and Band of Heathens, before moving on to Hot Tuna Electric and a small slice of Fountains of Wayne. Up next then were excellent performances by Joan Baez and David Grisman. It’s always fun to hear Joan going into Dylan-voice to get his songs spot-on, and suffice it to say that the spark never died. Grisman’s set was indeed one of the show’s best, reminding one what string bands might be like if Scruggs never picked, and the heights to which that format can be taken, almost like a string quintet. We then moved on back to the ‘Austin stage’ with a somewhat revived Jerry Jeff Walker and another awesome threesome in the guise of Ely and Gilmore and Butch Hancock’s Flatlanders, but by then the fog had moved in and the temperatures were Arctic. Shivering that much may qualify as a calisthenic work-out.

They save the best for last. Sunday got started with a Peter Rowan hoe-down, before bogging down a bit with the much-respected but hardly exciting Hazel Dickens. As someone commented, that’s ‘a little TOO traditional’. So my friends and I staked out our turf for Randy Newman’s excellent set, and then held our ground while Elvis Costello played over the speakers from the stage next door. He was showcasing a band called the ‘Sugarcanes’, featuring such luminaries as Jerry Douglas in addition to some familiar old Attractions. Hey, if Allison’s gonna play FTSE with Robert Plant, Jerry doesn’t have to sulk alone in the corner now, does he? So they did some Costello standards country style to really nice effect, and even came back for an encore.

But all of this, the entire three days, was only a warm-up for what came next… the closest thing I’ve ever had to a religious experience anywhere… much less a rock music concert. We’re talking about Patti Smith, high priestess of punk, and arguably the best poet since Allen Ginsberg. You had to be there. A third-person narrative would hardly do it justice, but suffice it to say that, yeah, she did ‘G-L-O-R-I-A… in Excelcis Deo’, ‘People Have the Power’… and much more, including quotes from St Francis of Assisi, San Fran’s patron saint. It was incredible. Remember that there would be as many concert stories as there are spectators. Consider it for next year, and bring a friend… but don’t steal my parking space.

‘SHOSHAN’ by Shye Ben-Tzur- Israeli Sufi music? Only in India…

I’m not a musician. Oh sure, I did my time in the high school band, spewing on the business end of a trombone as part of what our band director affectionately referred to as ‘the sludge pump’ section. And I can even read music, or at least COULD, something a few R & R guitarists couldn’t do in their wettest wildest dreams. But that’s just mathematics, music as equation, the stuff of ‘classical music’-uptown, upstairs, privilege of the landed gentry- while on the other side of town, out in the countryside, simple country folk sang love songs to each other and recited stories handed down through generations, folk heroes kept alive through oral history.

But that’s not what really interests me about music, neither the pleasant effect of particular notes in creative melodic progressions, nor the information conveyed in narrative story-telling. What interests me most is the emotional transcendance capable of being transmitted, something probably best exemplified- at least until the modern era- in church music. “Music, unlike art or architecture, does not represent physical objects, and unlike poetry is independent of propositional thought. Hence it can take human emotions into areas that other artistic works cannot, and offer the prospect of an escape from worldly existence.” (Wikipedia) Obviously they haven’t read much modern poetry, but still, why certain emotions seem best expressed in major keys and others in minor ones is a source of never-ending mystery to me.

And except for some military ‘music’ (yeah, right), that’s pretty much the way it stayed, at least in the Western world, until the arrival of Africans on the scene with their exotic sounds- mostly percussion- and new lyrical concerns that transcended the previously typical themes of… love, mostly. That new emphasis on rhythm, and society, and the willingness of lyricists to gladly take over a role previously relegated to poetry, gave birth to popular music, something far more powerful than the ‘folk music’ that preceded it. I don’t know of anybody- ANYBODY- who hasn’t been touched by popular music, whether intellectual or businessman or ditch-digger, whether rap or rock or country. It somehow SPEAKS to us, inside, side by side with that little voice that is so closely identified with our inner being.

Add to this milieu over the last half century a plethora of foreign styles from a plethora of foreign countries- Mexican son, Brazilian samba, Euro-pop, Jamaican reggae, Peruvian folclorico, salsa cumbia meringue, Afro-beat high-life juju, and they just keep on coming, the DNA of music in constant evolution, the product of both artificial and natural selection. Then the genres start interbreeding amongst themselves, seeking fertile soil in which to drop their genes, and soon you’ve got hybrid genres like Celtic salsa and Cambodian surf music. And just when you think you’ve seen it all, then something comes along like… Hebrew Qawwali music, via Rajasthan, India? Huh? That’s surely a misprint, right? For those of you who don’t already know, Qawwali is Sufi devotional music, some of the purest music to ever come out of the Indian sub-continent, devoted to one of the purest forms of Islam, Sufism… usually, but not always, and not when handled by one of the brighter stars in the current crop of world music pilgrims.

The artist’s name is Shye Ben-Tzur and his new album is called ‘Shoshan’. Ben-Tzur is an Israeli poet who moved to India to study the music… and ended up finding himself in the Qawwali music of the Muslim communities, music best-known as the product of a country that he probably wouldn’t even be allowed to visit on an Israeli passport. This is one of the perks of world music. Things can happen here that couldn’t even happen in the UN, much less the streets of Gaza. But is it any good? It is, but in a different sense than that of, say, master Qawwal Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. This is definitely fusion music, incorporating Spanish guitar and strings as well as the tablas and harmonium more typical of Qawwali music. And the songs are shorter, too, something that Mr. Nusrat himself did to make his music easier for Western audiences.

From the upbeat rousing choruses of the song ‘Shoshan’ to the Latin-Arabic (OK, flamenco) style of ‘Dil Ke Bahar’ and the Spanish guitar of ‘To Die in Love’, the album segues into the minor key wailing of ‘Sovev’ and the brooding harmonies of ‘Daras Bina’. In fact the album is almost dialectic in its approach to the reconstruction of Jewish/Arab Middle Eastern music as manifested there and in its farthest reaches in Muslim India and Moorish Spain. Yet it never strays too far from the tabla rhythms which are indispensable to Qawwali music. This synthesis is nowhere better expressed than in the last song, ‘Shoshan Katan’, which somehow I knew was the last song even when playing at random during my first listen. Why is that I wonder? Is there a certain air of finality that can somehow be conveyed musically? That’s a question I’ll have to save for later. For now I suggest checking out ‘Shoshan’ by Shye Ben-Tzur. It’ll do you good. And have a happy 9-11, may the memory of those who died serve to promote the understanding necessary to mitigate those eternal conflicts that caused it. We all share the same God, remember.

LA SUMMER SEASON WINDING DOWN IN STYLE

Los Lobos playing down at the corner record store? For free? Ooohh, life’s rough. This is THE Los Lobos, after all, veterans of the American rock music scene for some thirty-odd (some very odd!) years, something of a Mexican-American Grateful Dead, a comparison they would be proud of, considering they’ve included a Dead song in their latest album ‘Tin Can Trust’, had a song on the early tribute album ‘Deadicated’, and toured with them during one phase a couple decades ago. They’re just that kind of band- more substance than style, more music than hype, there more for the fans than the corporations. First I heard of them was almost thirty years ago when I was living in Portland, OR, and they had just canceled a show at a local club… because their van broke down. Since then the ride’s been smoother, they in fact being one of the brighter spots of the 80s-decade which, but for the exception of ‘college radio’, was occupied mostly by big hair and mindless metal (IMHO). Even the Dead themselves were stalled out to almost nothing, Dylan was consumed by Christianity, and the ‘British invasion’ was history which the fashion-rockers Boy George, Eurythmics, and Duran x2 could hardly repeat. Los Lobos gave us hope that maybe the 60s and all that jazz still ‘meant something’. If Santana was essentially Mexican, after all- an exotic product somewhat unfathomable- Los Lobos were essentially American, just like us… almost… ‘just another band out of East LA’. They knew- and played- the American blues and rock idioms as their own, and they could learn to do the same with Mexican cumbias y nortenos tambien… y con venganza.

So now some twenty years after their decada maravillosa do they still ‘have it’? With a vengeance… and a smile. Last Wednesday not only did they play the main hits off their new album, “I’ll Burn it Down” among others, but they also played a smattering of their old stuff, including “Will the Wolf Survive?” No, there was no ‘Bamba’, but lots of other stuff. And they sounded good… as always. After all they should, shouldn’t they, after playing together as a unit for so long. With the exception of a new drummer so that Louie Perez can move up front with his guitar, their line-up hasn’t changed since 1984, when Steve Berlin joined. In fact they played a full hour, hardly what you’d expect on a Wednesday night gig at Amoeba Records. These guys are great and so’s their new stuff. Don’t write them off any time soon.

Mr. Vallenato Friday night was right in that same vein (yes, THAT vein)- good solid roots music, this time from Colombia, where vallenato reigns- along with cumbia, original cumbia- as the people’s choice. It’s infectious, too, capable of turning even the most jaded listener into an ecstatic dancer… you guessed it, me. I’d seen them the week before at Cal plaza downtown, but that was a city crowd. This was mostly Latinos from Central and South… America. This is the kind of stuff you usually have to know somebody to find, out in the barrios, or maybe Hollywood Park Casino… a long way from Hollywood. And it was a good mix, too, some highly motivated whites and blacks in addition to the Latinos. I only feel sorry for the state of the lawn after we got through dancing. You’ve simply got to see- and hear- these guys to appreciate it. Comparisons are difficult. If Very Be Careful’s down & dirty vallenato is analogous to Delta blues, then this is maybe analogous to the Chicago version.

Now for something completely different, like maybe a string quartet, perhaps? Uh huh, like I usually get out to see a string quartet, maybe, once every… decade? But it’s a different motivation when they’re doing Hendrix instead of Mozart, though, isn’t it? You bet it is. But can they really ‘do’ Hendrix? You bet they can. Okay, so it takes four of them to one-up Hendrix, but I’d say that’s not bad. Don’t I wish I could write like Hendrix plays guitar? You bet I do. And that’s not all they do, either. They also cover the likes of Chick Corea as well as many other mods and rockers, in addition to performing works by founder and violinist David Balakrishnan, ‘exploring the mind of David’, as he puts it. It sounds good to me. That two violins, a viola, and a cello, can produce such a full complete sound is a complete revelation for me. Highly recommended.

This week the grooviest scene- now that Cal Plaza has shot their wad for the season- would have to be Dr. John at Santa Monica Pier on Thursday evening. I haven’t seen him in about thirty-five years, so that should be good. In case I can’t get up and out in time for that early 7pm, show, then I’ll go see Viver Dance Brazil at MacArthur Park instead. Aside from that, Rocky Dawuni is looking like the best bet Sunday night at that same MacArthur Park. For anybody who hasn’t heard Rocky, and who maybe hasn’t been too inspired by reggae in a long time, then you’re in for a real treat. Rocky’s got some of the best reggae tunes I’ve heard since the Bobster himself. See you there.

THE OTHER LA: CAMBODIA TO COLOMBIA, HIGH DENGUE FEVER & THE VALLENATO FLU

Oh, but last weekend was another sublime compilation of subtle pleasures in El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles del Río de Porciúncula aka ‘L-A’! It’s not all just mindless fun and games, though, of course. There is a strong educational aspect to it also, at least in the ‘world music’ genre that I specialize in (you might want to hedge your bets with ‘death metal’ though). So I started the weekend off early at MacArthur Park with the Korean troupe Noreum Machi. This is a classical Asian genre, not unlike the ‘classic folk’ genres that exist in many other Asian countries- especially the most heavily Chinese-influenced- from Vietnam to China to Japan. Interestingly these are the Asian countries with little or no ‘roots music’ left in their repertoires. Like the others, this one is also heavily percussive, though maybe less then Japanese ‘taiko’ drumming.

But I was most anxious to see Dengue Fever at the Pasadena Levitt Pavilion Friday night, after not totally getting my fix at Cal Plaza the week before. Partly that’s because it was a show split with Bassekou Kouyate, so not really a long enough set to fully take wings, and partly because I just happened to be sitting in a ‘dead zone’ where the chopped-up lower level creates wave interference and certain frequencies are simply canceled out, leaving hums and rumbles in the place of the intricate keyboard melodies that would otherwise occupy the space between Nimol’s high notes and Senon’s bass line… Fortunately acoustics were no problem at Levitt Pavilion in Pasadena. That’s why band-shells are shaped that way. A couple thousand warm bodies in the grass don’t hurt, either. And DF did not disappoint, even though their sax player wasn’t present. Local Khmers were out in force, too, at one point threatening to disturb the peace up front in the over-excitement of the occasion… and maybe an overdose of Mekong whiskey. Good vibes usually win over situations like that, though, and this was no exception. The set was excellent, and included several new songs… or at least ones that I haven’t heard before. I can’t wait for the new album scheduled for release in Spring 2010!

So Saturday night I went back to Cal Plaza for the Latino-themed three-way bill that included Ceci Bastida, Mr. Vallenato, and Nortec Collective. Ceci was first up and managed to get the crowd at least half-way up and on their feet. Ex-sidekick of Mex-pop superstar Julieta Venegas, Ceci has learned her lesson well, and- judging by the amount of time spent in LA- would presumably like to accomplish here exactly what Julieta has accomplished in Mexico itself. For regardless of how ‘indie’ her packaging may seem to us here, in Mexico itself, JV is pure pop, and has been for years. So with that turf largely taken, Ceci’s got her eyes on the big prize, I believe. The formula is not difficult- good songs, Latina cutie, lively Mex-pop band- of which they’ve got at least 2 of 3 down pat already. Now I love a girl wearing cowboy boots, but if Ceci kicks any higher and harder, then we may have to relocate her shows away from the San Andreas Fault. At one point she even brought out a friend dubbed ‘la reina de anarcumbia’- presumably for street cred- but she hit her stride with ‘Ya Me Voy’ - ‘I’m leaving; I’m gone; I’m outta’ here’ (you get the idea). When all her songs are THAT good, then she’ll be ready for Letterman. She DOES speak perfect English btw, so that’s no obstacle. The delivery systems may shift with the paradigm, but a hit’s still a hit…

Mr. Vallenato was up next, but as the turn-around time seemed lengthy, I wandered down to Pershing Square to see what was up. Big mistake. By the time I got back up to the water court, his set was half over, and he was cooking, I tell you- I mean COOKING- eggs, smothered in salsa. Now I don’t have much experience with vallenato except what I’ve heard from Very Be Careful and this selfsame Mr. V sitting in with an otherwise less-than-satisfying Colombian techno group a couple weeks ago, but nothing prepared me for this (and I have listened to Toto la Momposina also)! This guy- and band- can WAIL! If they’re as slick as VBC is earthy, then he is as accomplished on the accordion as many others are dilettantes. These are no oompah-oompah polkas, either btw. If this is salsified vallenato, then add another spoonful on my plate, por favor. I could listen to more of this… and kick muyself for missing part of his set.

Ah, but not to worry, because Mr. V will be back this Friday playing for the homies at MacArthur Park… and I won’t be late this time, either, I can assure you. So what about Nortech Collective (‘presents Bosstich and Fussible yada yada’) last Saturday? Well, my mama told me that if I have nothing good to say then say nothing, so… if you like listening to a tuba player and an accordionist playing minimalistic nortenos while videos screen overhead and two others (Bosstich and Fussible?) stand in front of a backdrop like two geeks in a trade-show booth… then go for it. A cada quien sus gustos. For my money, it’s all pretentious crap. So I aborted the mission after a short couple songs and went back to Pershing Square to catch what I could of the Bo Deans… and was pleasantly surprised. I like the ‘americana’ genre, too, you know… but usually for breakfast, indie rock to get cranking, jazz for lunch, then the rest of the world for the rest of the day…

In addition to the aforementioned ‘Mr. Vallenato’, this week’s best bets look like Katia Moraes and Sambaguru at the Westside Farmer’s Market on Friday and Charmaine Clamor at MacArthur on Saturday… sounds like ‘American Model’, you say? Sounds like that go down easy. Me, I’m thinking Oscar Hernandez at LACMA Saturday afternoon, maybe followed by Turtle Island Quartet at Cal Plaza…doing Hendrix? Oooh, that’s cheating.

AFRO-BEAT, AFRO-TRAD, AFRO-DIASPO, & A TOUCH OF FEVER IN LA

Well, it doesn’t get much better than this past weekend for variety and quality in the LA free music department, some of it expected, some out of the blue. I’ll have to admit that I almost got my rocks off prematurely with the Budos Band last Thursday night at McArthur Park. I went expecting nothing, but apparently KCRW has been playing these guys regularly, so there was a pretty good crowd out there. Now there’s a concept- LARGE CROWD AT MCARTHUR PARK! I’d like to be able to say that more often. Too often I’m the only guero in a sparse crowd of homies with hot dogs and pupusas. What do I know? I’ve been busy traveling around the world, and then have to turn off KCRW when it’s fund-raising time lest my guilt complex destroy me.

Budos Band is hot! Now I’ve always politely respected ‘afro-beat’, but never followed it too closely for one simple reason- nobody can match Fela. Not even Femi can match Fela, but he probably comes closest, he or brother Seun. Listening to the various pretenders has always been more an exercise in endurance than ecstasy. The Budos Band raise the bar a notch in the ‘other’ department, a good healthy notch. What’s the difference? With Fela there’s always a variable there that can’t be predicted… Fela’s personality. This is something that can’t be taught… though it can be learned. It may be something as simple as coming in on the off-beat on one song… or slightly biting the reed on the next. Once it’s written in, then it’s no longer the spontaneous variable that made it so exciting in the first place, that subtle flick of the tongue that drives you wild. Budo’s got it, but I’m hesitant to speculate on its origin. It just may be that organ, though, which gives it a sound not typical of Afro-beat bands, and may be as close as the genre can come to rock & roll without going to lead guitar, because then it’s no longer Afro-beat. I Hardiely recommend a listen.

Next night was the Big Night Out, Cal Plaza water court under the Perseid showers with Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba opening, to be followed by Dengue Fever, one of my all-time favorite fusionistas, mixing up classic Khmer pop, Ethiopian jazz, surf-rock, and God knows what else those guys- and gal- have got buzzing through their brains. Well Bassekou Kouyate is on something of a roll after sitting near the top of the European world music charts with ‘I Speak Fula’ for many months not so long ago, so he’s doing the roll-out tour now, trying to sell some tickets, since not even Billboard’s Top 10 means that many bucks any more, and certainly not the WMCE. If you want bucks you gotta pack in the butts, not CD’s. Ngoni Ba did not disappoint, though hardly due to Bassekou’s ngoni all by itself, of common ancestry with the banjo, for those interested in the musical genome project. This is one tight band, doing things with talking drums that should have been done long ago- playing lead- not just some curious lilting blips in the background. That Fula/Fulani tradition (Ali Farka also spoke Fula) is well placed to fill the gap between the incredible raw stuff now coming out of Tuareg country to the north and the more citified Keita/Diabate stuff coming out of Bamako and beyond.

An interesting ‘compare and contrast’ could be made with Saturday’s African diaspora band ‘Tabou Combo’, originally out of Haiti, now (mostly) New York. While both bands can certainly rock, Bassekou’s is still clearly tied to the African folk blues tradition. You can almost feel the trodden earth under your feet. Tabou, on the other hand- full of brass and balls- has been freed by the very slavery which produced it, free to experiment with other nearby sounds and influences, free to fly with something of an ‘island sound’ claiming allegiance to no one. While that term may seem rather generic, any other description would require so many hyphens that I probably wouldn’t pass the grammar-check. Better listen for yourself. I bet they’re a regular at SOB’s in NYC.

Then there’s Dengue Fever. Then there’s always Dengue Fever, I hope, notwithstanding the real contagious disease which is currently inflicting so much misery on my sometime-home of SE Asia. This band has simply got to be seen- and HEARD- to be believed. When Nimol breaks into that high-pitch Cambodian squeal so indicative of 60’s pop music there, I get a shiver up my spine that implies that I’m now entering another dimension. Unfortunately the mix didn’t seem quite right last Friday night, as I could hardly hear Ethan’s organ at all. That’s a rather important component of DF’s sound, to say the least. Fortunately they’ll be back at Levitt Pavilion in Pasadena THIS Friday, so that may necessitate a double-dip, something I would not normally do for any lesser band. Cal Plaza may simply not be the best place for their sound, as the acoustics are rather uneven there. I think it’s better upstairs, though you sacrifice any close-up visuals, hardly a loss with the spectacular fountain background. Besides DF, best bets this week look like Nortec Collective and Mr. Vallenato at Cal Plaza on Saturday night, maybe Ceci Bastida, too, Tijuana yes! C U there.

“… HIP-HOP CHILDREN OF BE-BOP PARENTS…”, LA GETS HIP WITH DAAOOD, TRIBLE, AND THE WHOLE INDUS VALLEY

I haven’t heard anything like it since listening to Jack Kerouac over Steve Allen’s piano (on tape, a**hole, I’m not THAT old)… okay, so maybe not since McClure and Manzarek anyway… the power of poetry- GOOD poetry- being spoken over music- GOOD music. That’s what we lucky ones got Friday night at Cal Plaza’s Grand Performance, in this case by Kamau Daaood- legendary Watts Writer- and a band that included such jazz luminaries as Otmaro Ruiz on keyboards and Justo Almario on reeds. Add to that the vocal stylings of Dwight Trible, and you’ve got an evening to remember. If for Trible the voice is every bit as much an instrument as a saxophone is, then for Daaood the spoken word is every bit as much an instrument as thought itself. Daaood stir-fries words like peppers and onions and meaty healthy tofu on a hot Chinese wok and then tosses them onto your plate over a bed of hot rice percussion to wash down with copious quantities of jazz mead wine. “I do not fit into form; I create form,” Daaood says in his ‘I’m not for Sale’ ode to master Horace Tapscott. You can say that again.

Dwight Trible is something else again, but meshes really nicely with Daaood in a kind of back-and-forth sing-song antiphony. He simply must be seen to be appreciated. Know how blind people ‘let themselves go’ in a way that sighted people can’t? While the short take might be that ‘they don’t know how silly they look,’ I suspect the reason is more one of balance. Close your eyes and see how quickly you lose yours. Dwight Trible resembles a hyper-balanced organism defining the relationship between earth and space/space and time, and his voice reflects this ethereal balancing act, constantly in motion, constantly re-positioning itself with what came before and what is yet still in mind, a mathematical variable seeking resolution.

Frankly Daaood and Trible could suffice with no backing at all, the two aspects of voice- as word and music, then harmony and melody- complete between the two of them. But the percussion gives it rhythm, and the jazz is the icing on the cake. It’s a shame nothing more has been done with the format, but then not much has even been done with the much vaster- and easier- concept of putting together moving pictures and music OR words. Look how MTV made a mockery of that without even really trying. Any body who thinks ‘it’s all been done’ lacks imagination. If it takes a trip down to Leimart Park to see these guys, I’d heartily recommend it… though downtown LA certainly makes it easy. The amount of jazz talent in LA that’s willing to come out and share itself on any given night is simply incredible and a resource not to be taken for granted.

So after a short break most of the opening band’s key members just changed jackets and came back out to back Badal Roy and his ‘Indus Valley Civilization.’ An off-shoot of the ‘Miles in India’ project of a couple years ago, this band is all about music- heavy on the percussion- not vocals. Interestingly enough Latinos Ruiz and Almario are very familiar with the Latin side of percussion, so this is something completely different. Do the two complete the two sides of the jazz percussion psyche? May be. They played a brilliant set anyway, all members taking turns at lead. The use of drum and percussion AS LEAD INSTRUMENT- not just solo rhythm- is something that should be explored much more extensively.

The Mexican band Troker played the third set of the evening, but I cut out early. I get bored on breaks. So I went down to Pershing Square and never made it back up. They sound pretty good on MySpace, though. I’d go back. Other than that there’s not much to report on last week’s offerings. Fishbone at Pershing Square sounded good on the last couple songs I caught, so I’d like to see more of them. Razia Said at McArthur Park was competent enough, but failed to excite me. This week’s looking really good, though. The chill deal looks like Friday evening at Cal Plaza once again, with Bassekou Kouyate and Ngoni Ba opening and LA’s much-beloved Dengue Fever coming out later. DON’T MISS!

Other than Dengue Fever, Tabou Combo next night at Cal Plaza sounds good, real island stuff out of Haiti! Besides that The Budos Band and Charanga Cakewalk at Mcarthur Park on Thursday and Friday nights, respectively, look like good bets. Jose Rizo is doing his take on Mongo Santamaria at LACMA’s Latin night, too, so there’s no shortage of tunes this week… and then there’s the clubs. Me, I’ll wait til it gets cold for that. See you at the water court, livest acoustics in town. Just don’t get caught in a dead zone…

PETE E TOPS MUSICAL WEEK IN LA

Well, this week in free outdoor entertainment- particularly of the world music variety- got off to a bit of a slow start this week. First there was Palenke Soultribe at McArthur Park. Now they’re not half-bad, mind you, and I’ve got an ever-expanding appreciation of electronica, but I’m not sure that an outdoor stage with tia y abuela y mijo is really the place for it. I mean, isn’t electronic groove, trance, whatever, custom-made for four black walls, spinning lights, mindless butt-twitching, and a healthy dose of ‘E’? Just as I was starting to think, ‘at least Nortec Collective has an accordion player,’ well right at that moment, who walks out but Mr. Vallenato himself, adding some Colombian country soul to Palenke’s techno grooves. There IS a God. I have a little bit of a problem watching people play with their computers on stage to begin with, but I can be flexible. Just try to keep it below the fifty percent threshold.

Adonis Puentes at noon in California Plaza was more my speed. Now I’m a great fan of his brother Alex (Cuba) Puentes, but this is something totally different, maybe the reason the two went their separate ways after an earlier collaboration. While Alex moved toward some impeccable pop instincts, while maintaining a Cuban rhythm base, Adonis remained closer to home, staying close to the Cuban son tradition. Interestingly, home for these guys is not actually Cuba, but British Columbia, Canada. But Cuba is the spiritual home, and the last century is the classical era, an era that Adonis recreates as surely as did the Buena Vista Social Club.

Later the same day, on the advice of numerous of my better-heeled contemporaries, I ventured out to see Cecilia Noel at McArthur Park. Once again, there seemed to be a problem of ‘place’. Is a public park really the place to see a Las Vegas-style act, especially one that features at its head a Latina ‘firecracker’? Isn’t that act a little out-of-date anyway? I mean, Charro may or may not still be alive (I’d need a doctor’s opionion to be sure), but surely with all the Madonnas and Gagas that have have come and gone in the last fifty years, you’d think we’d’ve moved on to another phase by now… not that her show’s no good, mind you. Her band’s killer, in fact, would have to be for Jimmie Kimmel to steal half of it for his own purposes, don’t you reckon? And Cecilia can still do a high-kick with the best of the Las Vegas chorus line… but still…

By all logic, Saturday should have been the payoff- given the law of large numbers and all- but… well… I was really looking forward to the show down at the Cal Plaza water court, to be divided between Nonstop Bhangra and Pacha Massive, but figured I might as well stop off at McArthur Park alolng the way, since it’s on the same Metro red line, so I can use the same ticket. I’ll only have a half hour there at most, so if the cops tell me that’s ‘two rides/two tickets’ I’ll just tell them I got off at the wrong stop, so need to continue on. Hey, I know it’s only a buck and a half, but there’s a principle involved here! The group playing was ‘Monte Negro’, variously credited with ‘rock/reggae/new wave/ska’ but which in reality is just some pretty decent ‘indie en espanol’ (mostly). I only had a few minutes if I wanted to make the start of the Cal Plaza show…

I probably should have stayed, but I’d been wanting to hear Bhangra music ever since I lived in Hounslow west of London (me and a lot of ex-pat sub-continentals) and saw it on all the flyers there every weekend, but… never got around to actually going to any shows. I was disappointed… but of course I really didn’t know what to expect. I’m still not sure if I got the ‘real thing’ or not, but somehow I don’t think a rapper should be coming out every other song to talk that shit... but you never know… The dance numbers were nice, though, even though there were vocals with no singers, i.e. pre-recorded. I left early, figuring to catch the Tubes down at Pershing Square between sets. I finally gave up after 15-20 minutes of waiting, figuring they’d only finally come up and do a quick run-through of their big hits, most of which I wouldn’t even know… So I rushed back to the water court, so’s not to miss Pacha Massive, who I’d heard OF… but never really heard… ho hum… maybe I should keep as a joke my little play on their name, Macha Passive. They make Aterciopelados look- and sound- like Nirvana, sleeeepyyyyyy… good rainy day stuff, pour a little brandy… maybe call up Michael Jackson’s doctor…

Then there’s Pete E, Escovedo that is, and a family that seems to know no bounds. Those guys not only rocked Hollywood & Highland last night, but made it memorable, including a visit by daughter Sheila E sitting in, plus numerous other members of the extended family. Pete and his brother Coke were as much a part of the original Santana sound as was Sr. Carlos himself, and Pete has gone on to become one of the grand masters of Latin jazz, an emerging genre that seems to have energized and stabilized the larger genre of jazz itself, saving it from the icky thump of too much white-boy ‘fusion’, to which jazz over-corrected after the excesses of be-bop. Jazz audiences are the best, too, the most complete mix of black white Latin Asian you’ll ever find. It saved the week for me.

This week is full of a bunch of unknowns- for me at least- so that’s good, as I like to keep it fresh. Adonis Puentes and Pistolera- both great- will be at LACMA and McArthur Park respectively, but I’ve seen both, so will likely be elsewhere. Since Madagascar is one of my favorite places in the world (watch your pockets!), I’ll definitely go check out Razia Said, one of its rising stars. Other than that, it’s pot luck and homework… that’s what MySpace is for. Some people like to rib it because of its second-ran status as a social network, but it’s maybe the single largest database of popular music in the world. There’s at least SOMETHING by almost everyone there. So maybe I’ll see you... somewhere in the golden triangle?

JAZZ, SUPER STRINGS, & LA SEMANA PERUANA

Well, things got off to a shaky start last Thursday when I found out that the group I was expecting to see and hear- ‘Palenke Soultribe’- is not scheduled until next week, so I got ‘Inca’ instead, an Andean folklore group. Chalk it up to dim lighting in my kitchen, jet lag, and the vicissitudes of fate. Anyway, that’s probably good, since I can probably think of plenty of things to say about Andean music, given my philosophy degree and many moons spent in Peru and Bolivia. Andean music, in fact, is maybe one of the few groups that can lay claim to a pre-reggae presence as a recognized world music genre, given Paul Simon’s adoption of ‘El Condor Pasa’ as his own, an event that pre-dated ‘Mother and Child Reunion’ by a shot and ‘Diamonds on the Soles’ by a mile. He couldn’t get it away with it now… now that Andean music has long been available in almost any Manhattan subway station- playing for tips- and the poor beggars are now reduced to dressing up in buckskin and beads and Sioux war bonnets, playing New Age music on the streets of Barcelona and Prague and… Ljubljana, any place where a there might be a tourist to buy the act, and the CD. And to think that not so long ago many good Andean groups could fill a decent-size arena in even modest-sized towns in the US. Maybe it’s time for their second wind. Though traditional penas may be on the decline in South America itself, Andean musicians have long been finding places in modern fusion-style jazz bands, with generally good results. Much of the the traditional stuff is musically not so challenging, after all, and plenty repetitious. They don’t create new traditions every day.

The LA-based band ‘Inca’ is maintaining traditions, though, but doing it right, mixing traditional dance in, and not limiting their offerings to the highland traditions. Anything ‘Afro’ is a good bet on the world music charts these days, and that includes Afro-Peruvian, whose contributions always outweighed their numbers. Ciro Hurtado, at LACMA Saturday evening, is more my speed, though. This is some of the best modern jazz on anybody’s favorite ‘triple-z’ station, and with a pronounced Andean twist, it goes down real nicely. This is one of the world’s best guitarists on nylon strings, and understatement IS his statement. Sr. Hurtado defines the modern ‘Latino sound’ almost as much as Carlos Santana once did, but he accomplishes it in negative space, a reverse applique’ tapestry. Imagine one of Santana’s rare quiet moments and that’s where Hurtado punches it up, most of the time laboring away unobtrusively in the background, weaving a rich sonic landscape.

Grant Geissman was there at LACMA the night before as part of their Fri-Sat 1-2 jazz-Latino punch (I’ll have a cup of that, please) in what is fast becoming one of the city’s best free offerings. It’s a chill scene, too, families and picnics on the grass. Grand Performances downtown may have just as good a selection of DIY food, but LACMA has more dogs, if you’re a closet dog-whisperer or even just a casual dog-watcher (and kids are welcome and plentiful in the early eves). MacArthur Park has got the best pupusas, though, and some good music, too. In addition to the aforementioned ‘Inca’, and Ricardo Lemvo’s ‘Makina Loca’- which I’d already foregone- ‘String Theory’ was there Saturday evening, with some of the week’s more interesting sounds. Imagine steel strings stretched 100 feet across the Park’s lawn radiating from a harp-like point on stage. Add some guitar and bass and cello and plenty of percussion and you’ve got some novel frequencies, albeit mostly of the minor key, twangy-bent-string variety.

In what has to be one of the music season’s more bizarre coincidences, Saturday was also ‘string night’ at Cal Plaza downtown, but it took on a totally different dimension. Starting off with ‘Hiroshima’s June Kuramoto giving a virtuoso performance on the Japanese koto- accompanied by piano- the show went to Veracruz for the next set, with Conjunto Hueyapan and one of the best version’s of ‘La Bamba’ you’d ever want to hear, even if they DID leave out the ‘para subir al cielo’ verse (I won’t mention para ser secretaria). But the real treat came when the troupe’s youngest member, the lovely Ixya Herrera came in to take over vocal chores. That woman has got some pipes! And as the name suggests, she and they celebrate la raza’s indigenous background- in addition to the Spanish. Depending on how she decides to market herself at this point, I feel like I’ve just had a sneak preview of Lila Down’s successor. Prince Diabate’ closed out the evening on his griot’s African kora, but as the evening was already long, and I'd already seen and heard him, I decide to forego and go before. That’s three venues and five bands in as many hours in the Hollywood/mid-Wilshire/downtown circuit that I call my ‘Golden Triangle.’

Actually first- but not least- was ‘Bad Haggis’ (don’t ask what ‘haggis’ is) at the LA Farmer’s Market, a kind of Irish-folk-fusion group (no, U2 does not count as Irish folk). As always it’s novelty that sells (ask any businessman) and music is no different. Of course ‘Salsa Celtica’ has already been done- by a group of that very name, but whereas that’s mostly salsa with Celtic elements, this is just the opposite, i.e if you want to hear bagpipes, this is a better bet. Idon’t know how it’d play in the bars and pubs of Kilkenny, but it sounds pretty good at the LA Farmers Market… and that’s not the greatest venue for acoustics.

This week best bets are looking like the aforementioned Palenke Soultribe at MacArthur on Thursday, Natacha Atlas the same night out in the hills at Skirball, and Adonis Puentes and Pacha Massive (NOT ‘Macha Passive’, no) at Cal Plaza Friday noon and Saturday evening respectively. Of course that same evening not only will Nonstop Bhangra be playing the second set at the water court, but the Tubes (yes, THOSE Tubes!) will be right down the street at Pershing Square. Of course this is a world music blog, so I might just have to, you know… sneak over and catch a quick listen during break. Yes, I’m a closet punk/hippie/folkie/emo, guilty as charged. So sue me.