1. These original live recordings – totaling 47 tracks over five hours plus – have previously been semi-available only on long-out-of-print releases (not counting quite inferior-sounding bootlegs), and in the case of the Winterland performances now features three (!) full discs of additional material.
2. The Jimi Hendrix Experience, celebrating both its second anniversary together and the release of their landmark new Electric Ladyland, filled San Francisco's Winterland Ballroom for three nights running in October of 1968. Understandably, after over a solid year on the road, the trio sound a bit frazzled at points, often struggling to keep both in time and in tune …and not just with one another, either. Still, the passages of sheer magic, power, and true resplendence (e.g.: a downright incendiary "Foxey Lady" on Winterland Disc 1) much more than outnumber the odd lyrical or even musical clam.
3. Meanwhile over with Hendrix In The West, the five additional tracks never heard on its long-ago-killed-by-litigation vinyl edition include a ten-minute "Spanish Castle Magic" which not only interlopes "Sunshine Of Your Love" but even lets the late, extremely great Mitch Mitchell indulge in the kind of tasteful drum solo Ginger Baker only rarely seemed capable of. Plus, of course, original In The West favorites "Red House" (in what many believe to be its definitive reading), a semi-funk afternoon soundcheck "Blue Suede Shoes," and even "God Save The Queen"/"Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" from the Isle of Wight remain intact and are still guaranteed to raise a smile.
New York City is my favorite city in the world. Its flaws may be many, and often rather unpleasant in odor, but its virtues prevail. This summer I’ve been reminded yet again of one of New York’s best features. It is this: no matter how long you’ve lived in and/or around the city it always has new things to offer.
Recently, Brett Essler (Go Metric online editor) and I ventured to the Douglas Street Music Collective, a rehearsal space turned club in Gowanus. Three great sets of music for a “suggested donation” of ten bucks.
April 9, 1969: King Crimson makes its live debut in London's Hyde Park, supporting the Rolling Stones in front of 650,000 people.
December 4, 2010: Crimson guitarist Robert Fripp performs Soundscapes in an upscale Manhattan mall atrium. The guy sitting next to me reads Keith Richards' autobiography Life.
Amidst Christmas decorations, bedazzled palm trees, and a bevy of high-end shops, Fripp played Soundscapes, alone with a Les Paul and six-foot high sampling rig, in four free performances at the World Financial Center's Winter Garden in lower Manhattan. The improvised piece, which sponsor station WNYC's John Schaefer called a “response to a place and time and audience,” is a digital age extension of Frippertronics, Fripp's groundbreaking ambient experiments with interconnected tape machines.
Ambient music is defined not by gurgling synths, but by the location in which it is performed, something Brian Eno (a frequent Fripp collaborator, most notably on No Pussyfooting, the 1973 album that introduced Frippertonics) suggested in his groundbreaking ambient works like Music for Airports. Having recently been blown away by a gorgeous Daniel Lanois (another Eno collaborator) pedal steel solo in a fully-lit Barnes and Noble, I'm probably the last one who should question venue integrity. Whether Fripp's decision to perform in this setting was subversive or financial is unclear, though I suspect it's likely a bit of both.
At a Saturday lunch-hour performance, the diminutive British guitarist entered to rapturous applause from a seated crowd of a few hundred fans, as more than a few bewildered shoppers and tourists looked on. Fripp bowed formally at center, stage left, and stage right before taking a seat and triggering 45+ minutes of vaguely sacred sounding, reverb-laden ambient music, peppered with bursts of more traditional soloing. The sonic backdrop is the din of the atrium: crying babies, humming escalators, the low-grade throb that pervades all modern commercial spaces. A single strum triggered a wash of stringy synths and a piano-eque arpeggios, both evidence of Fripp's recent interest in church music. After ten minutes, Fripp dug into a traditional “rock guitar solo,” though this one is less “20th Century Schizoid Man,” more soundtrack to a Michael Mann movie you've been meaning to rent. You know, the one about drug dealers.
After ten minutes of near silence with only the barest of looped noodles, Fripp re-investigated the single-note synth swells and with that a new set of layered sounds emerged. Flicking the controls of his of samplers and pivoting occasionally to tap foot pedals, Fripp didn't so much react to the sound of the space as dictate the audience's reaction to it: for some it was rapt attention, for others a mildly annoying drone interrupting their phone conversation en route to Banana Republic. Some, like a stiff-brimmed Yankees hat wearing teen riding down one of the two escalators that buffeted the stage, were oblivious to any music, demonstrating the modern ability to tune out and multi-task.
To anyone who has followed Fripp's career such juxtapositions are nothing new. Take, for instance, his foray in 80's hair metal, Fripp Winger; or his venture with Starbucks, the Frippuccino. (Seriously, the Daryl Hall solo album Sacred Songs which Fripp produced is a classic; or check out the bowling alley scene in Vincent Gallo's Buffalo ‘66, which is set King Crimson's beautiful “Moonchild.”)
As Soundscapes slowly trickled to its conclusion, Fripp once again bowed with formality. I couldn't help but wonder if he heard Kanye West's new track “Power,” which samples “Schizoid Man,” leaking from one of the nearby store's sound systems. Now, that would be ambient music.
It’d been a busy past few months recently, with writing, and recording. I’d been working on some marathon writing sessions and needed a break. Luckily my friend Craig was in town to manage the 2010 National Air Guitar Championships, and invited me to come out for it. I’d gone before, and always had a good time. If there’s one antidote to spending hours typing away in front of a computer screen, it’s a night of yelling at guys on stage in spandex, yet too nerdy for pro-wrestling. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.
I’d first met Craig a few years back, through his non-air-guitar bands – most recently Love Songs, Conquest For Death, and This Is My Fist! And was exposed to the world of Competitive Air Guitar through him. I’ve been to a few competitions over time, starting with a National Championship where he was defending his title (but unfortunately lost, to the local favorite). He’s since recovered his national champion status, and “retired”, and apparently now opts for a more of a production/management/professional role.
I was invited to a “Pre-show press conference” where the contestants try to explain their “background stories,” and more importantly there’s some kind of free food. But my invite was very last minute, and I wasn’t sure on the details so when I showed up to the box office at six, I was told to come back at 7:30. I walked around the neighborhood to kill time, and when I came back there was a line around the corner full of eager air-enthusiasts. Fortunately for me, there was a separate guest list line, which I was second behind the family of the local favorite, who had custom made shirts and no less than three different signs to hold up. It took me a while to get in, but I did get to witness the spectacle of a stretch limo pulling up and dozens of contestants getting out, at least one with a full entourage.
By the time I finally get inside, the opening band is in the middle of playing – I can’t help but find it somewhat ironic that an air guitar competition is opened with a real band, but they usually find some interesting choices; this time it’s a marching band, of all horns and drums, playing mostly hard rock and metal covers, with a few originals sprinkled in for good measure.
Waiting for the actual show to start, I do some people watching. One of the things that fascinates me is how I can never really figure out the crowd in attendance, like at most shows. For example, nothing but hipsters at the indie rock show, the hardcore dinosaurs that come out for the punk reunion show, and so forth. But at the air guitar championship, there are people of all ages; from the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen, to some of the biggest nerds you’ve ever seen. Years ago, as “ironic” argyle prints and horn rimmed glasses came into fashion, I’d thought to myself “It would be kind of funny to start up a ‘Riot nrrrd movement’, for “the real nerds try to reclaim what’s theirs.” As I continue to look around I can’t tell if that’s already happened, or the exact opposite has already happened.
Finally, its show time. It doesn’t take long for things to get going, and within moments I’m watching some fine air guitar, as well as heckling from the judges (though one makes a “show us your tits” type comment to one of the female contestants, and I can no longer tell which side of the irony fence we’re standing on). I notice that this year there seems to be more and more showmanship. In addition to wilder outfits, contestants take their time making their way to the stage. “The Bride Of Rock” is carried to the stage on a chair, from the back of the room. While I’m yelling at the top of my lungs, I’m also noticing that more and more people in the audience actually have favorites, where I can’t help but think, “You mean, you actually cheer for just one person?”
Perhaps these people all know something I don’t, because I end up tiring myself out faster than I’d like to admit. When contemplating what to do, the lazier half of my conscience (imagine a devil, laid back on a recliner in front of a television) starts to argue, “You’ve seen one air guitarist, you’ve seen them all.” It has been a long week; I’m tired of standing, and eventually take off just before the final round. It’s not that it’s not fun – I’m always a fan of a good spectacle - the timing just isn’t great tonight. As I walk down 14th Street towards the PATH making my way home, I can’t help but feel a little discouraged that Air Guitar (and my own endurance, really) got the best of me. But if nothing else, I have a better idea of what to prepare myself for next year.
Succinctly summing up the 40-year-plus career of multi-instrumentalist-composer-improviser Fred Frithis nearly impossible. Since emerging in 1968 as a co-founder of the British progressive rock band Henry Cow, Frith has appeared on more than 400 recordings spanning idioms from chamber music to noise rock. It's his association with New York's “downtown” avant garde scene of the late 1970s and '80s, and his improvisational collaborations with John Zorn and Naked City, Henry Kaiser, Zeena Parkins, and Bill Laswell and Fred Maher in the experimental rock trio Massacre, that cemented his reputation as one of the music world's best improvisational guitarists. Today, Frith is as prolific as ever and is a professor of composition at Mills College in Oakland, CA.
Like other guitarists Frith likely probably goes to the gear shops but he’s likely to stop off at the hardware store en route, check out the paint brushes, scopes out the ball bearings, and make sure he’s stocked up on sturdy string and metal chains. Good chance he scrounged through the recycling bin before he left the house. With his guitar laying in his lap he drums the strings with brushes. He places a tin can on the fretboard and pours in small spheres. He pulls up a string and uses a bow. What Fred Frith applies to guitar strings isn’t just part of the performance, it’s the point.
On October 30, Frith played a solo improv show at the The Stone in New York City. Mike Faloon and Brett Essler weigh in on the performance.
Mike: Is there are genre of writing with less use for readers than live reviews? "Band X played heaps of the new album (to move product), tossed in a few rare nuggets (to appease the old fans), and closed with a cover (to wink knowingly at the audience or perhaps establish a bit of authenticity). Oh, and the rhythm section was tight." Under most circumstances, I'm skeptical. Fred Frith is a different matter.
Brett: Exactly. In trying to describe this Frith performance, I think it's necessary to talk about the space, the neighborhood, the sound environment — they all played a role. To dissect only the music coming from Frith's guitar misses the emotional impact of the performance.
Mike: First, the space. The Stone. Avenue C and 2nd Street. No tickets. No drinks. No food. Little ventilation.
Brett: Lately, there is a lot of nostalgia, or romanticizing, of what David Byrne calls "old weird New York." The Stone is John Zorn's space, which he opened after Tonic shut down in 2007, and it feels like as close as a newcomer to the city like me will ever get to a time when you would see someone like Philip Glass or Steve Reich in a small loft. I can't imagine this Frith performance taking place anywhere else, which is the beauty of improvised music — it will always belong to a particular moment.
Mike: I like that phrase — old weird New York — though I know that I never would have found myself on Avenue C in those old, weird days. When I got out of the cab last Saturday night I came upon a line of people. My first thought: they're lined up to score dope. Then I realized this is Bloomberg's New York, not Jim Carroll's. The street was well-lit and clean. Everyone in line was 45+, dressed well, thinning on the dome. Good thing they were in line, too. Otherwise I would have had trouble finding The Stone. The all-black door with microscopic sign is great for camouflage, a little tricky for new comers.
Brett: The Stone is all about the music. When Frith got on stage there was enthusiastic applause, then complete silence as he got he got ready to play. Total reverence. The way Frith started the piece — with a churning, quiet drone — it was almost like a draft coming in from an opened door, something you don't notice immediately. Right as he started to ramp the volume up a bit, he was greeted by sirens from outside. He was really playing the room, or using the room as a collaborator. Sitting in the back, I couldn't really see him; I had to imagine what he was doing, what treatment he was using to get certain sounds. I think that added to the mystique. I mainly just stared at one of the light bulbs near the stage or closed my eyes.
Mike: And this is one of the main reasons I wanted to work on a review together. I knew you couldn't see him whereas I was able to stand in the aisle and see everything. I was so mesmerized by watching him that sometimes I lost track of what I was hearing. I thought a tag team review might help me decode the experience.
Brett: I could hear him rustling through what sounded like a box of tools and he definitely made use of effects some pedals, maybe a digital delay. The most melodic section of the piece was him playing strings like a hammered dulcimer with sticks or mallets. At one point, he also did a bit of choppy strumming. How much of this performance do you think is prepared in advance in terms of structure? You know, "this is the part where I pour a dish of ball bearings on my guitar" or is this all in the moment, instinctual?
Mike: Playing a pure hunch: I think a general framework is set, such as take off and landing points, the rest is what my students love to do: make it up on the spot. At first I thought there was a pattern: play for a bit, loop the best part; then loop another part; then with both playing get the paint brushes and treat guitar like delicate drum kit.
Brett: We were lucky enough to see Ornette Coleman a few months back, when he guested at Sonny Rollins' 80th Birthday gig. It is interesting to me to watch him do his thing in the framework of a structured tune which can barely contain him — the other musicians were as curious as the audience as to where he was going to take the solo. Even if he goes completely off the reservation, there is a rhythm and a key to fall back in to and, generally, you know where it will end up. With a guy like Frith in a solo environment, he's totally without a net, which is thrilling in a different way. In that sense, it's like airplane travel through cloud cover: you know the ground is there, but it is not visible. The fear of heights is only triggered when you can see the ground.
Photo of Frith's set up from a 2009 Seattle performance, by ioate
Mike: Another great analogy. So how much of the time were you trying to guess how he was making the sounds?
Brett: Most of the time! But, I love being surprised or confused by a performance. These days, the element of surprise is mostly lost from art; by the time I see a film or go to a concert, I have a pretty good idea what the content will be. It's been blogged, Twittered, Facebooked, and so on. Did this performance square with what you'd heard previously, or since, from Frith?
Mike: Conceptually, yes, sonically, no. I have two albums — one, a pretty good acoustic record with Henry Kaiser, the other, Speechless, an album of full-band instrumentals, really odd, yet really melodic. His set at the Stone was like neither record, which I saw coming. That said, like you, I had no idea how it would differ from those records. My favorite part was when he took a piece of kite string, looped it beneath one of the guitar strings, pulled said string an inch or so off the fretboard and then grabbed a bow. When I hear "bow on electric guitar" I picture Jimmy Page and reach for the antacid, but in Fred Frith's hands it was wonderful.
Brett: That must have been the passage when I was daydreaming about a mythological Hermit. When I was roused awake, the performance was over. Frith came back out for wave, then it was lights up. As we filed out, he was at the door, sending us off as if we had just been at his flat for a dinner party.
Mike: Yeah, that "thanks for coming" send off was the perfect touch. We joked about the likelihood of Thurston Moore doing the same thing but that aspect of Fred Frith adds to the appeal: for all of his avant garde, beyond-the-fringe approach to guitar there was no pretense in his set/song. One of my old bandmates used to say that every song was a battle with his guitar. With Frith it was more like a playful game or dance: "what else can I do with this sucker?"
Fred Frith: Excerpt from Step Across the Border (fast forward to 1:55 for a shopping trip)
