At least as far as performances go, there seems to be a difference of principle between classical and popular music. While in classical tradition the works are subjects of scholarly devotion, precision and admiration, popular music thrives in creating an atmosphere where its audience can participate in celebration and festivity, or even grief and loss. Often, the intention of popular music and its understanding of the human spirit supersedes its genius, whereas the music in classical tradition is so sacred that it feels like the people who listen to it are secondary to it by far. We can be reminded, of course, that there are several bands today that blur the difference of traditions, which makes the concept of Wordless Music Series appropriate (and sure, Sufjan’s mini-orchestra flies in a Town Hall setting).
As much as it’s filled with repetitious melodies and lyrics that aren’t the full force of poetry yet, Matthew Houck’s Pride, released under the name Phosphorescent, is a beautiful album. Indeed, the repetitions evoke a sense of containment, which effects a devotion that requires little or no straying. And so the voice stays on course one wistful song after the other, borrowing their solemness from hymns, though tucked away in the background of some are movements more energetic and spontaneous. There is also a successful employment of a choir throughout, which is apt for a project that sounds like it was produced for the singer’s own salvation, and which smooths the sound surrounding his flaking voice.
I’m psyched about Oliver Sacks, author of several of my favorite books, including The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Seeing Voices: A Journey into the World of the Deaf. He will talk from his newest, Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain at this year’s New Yorker Festival, which is promising mind-rejuvenating panels in abundance throughout the weekend of October 5 (full schedule). Then there’s Zadie Smith, whose last event in New York, an evening at BAM, sold out way in advance; who spoke with such fury and conviction at last year’s festival, and whose White Teeth remains one of the most refreshing books I’ve ever read. Also participating are Fiona Apple, Sigur Ros, Yo La Tengo, actor Bill Nighy, authors Salman Rushdie, Miranda July, Ian McEwan, Steve Martin, amongst many others.
As awful as weather comparisons to music are, Citay’s “First Fantasy”, off the upcoming Little Kingdom, is proving to be a soundtrack for today’s drizzle. The song is rich with voices and instruments that knot through and through in harmony, but it’s really the pace that’s remarkable. There’s a certain kind of slowness, as exemplified in a confident stride, that lacks neither drive nor movement, and as such asserts independence. Unlike the excitement of being in the middle things, of having given to the uncertainty of whichever way a process might head, including nowhere, which has its own charms of course, this pace feels like it benefits from hindsight, of having come through something that has certainly passed. Of the identifiable lyrics, there are the lines: “Last week was like a year ago/ Five years, just like yesterday”.
Dead Oceans will release Little Kingdom on November 6th.
Studio recordings of Bill Callahan, including those released under the alias Smog, make it clear that the main offering here is a memorable voice that promises to tell a story. His belongs to that family of voices which has a confident air of the old without actually having encountered it in the past long before it or in the aging that awaits in the future. So this much was to be expected from the show at Southpaw, and this much was held mostly true. There was a part of the audience that had understood this and come there expecting to be mesmerized, but there was the rest given to chattering. Consequently, from what I could tell, out of the voices of two girls talking loudly during a song came a series of “shut up” and “shhh”, and the next thing you know, someone had inevitably been punched by someone else. The band did not stop, but later Bill walked to the front of the stage to ask vaguely, but privately, if people were okay.
The last of the free summer shows at South Street Seaport was a celebration with an eager mass of Battles and Deerhunter fans. Though I missed much of the latter, who opened, much love was shown towards both bands, with traversing through the crowd a task as daunting as it had been when Animal Collective played the first of these shows. Battles, with their drummer up front (and why not, he was their gem), performed much like architects. This impression may have been influenced by their clean-cut appearances (not too mention all the colors - yellow drum set, pink and green shirts, a red-bodied keyboard - and the unusual layout on the stage itself). The performance itself seemed equally clean-cut, though the structurally sound foundations were padded by a feeling of loose explorations.
hooves on the turf is a mostly-music blog based out of brooklyn. i can be reached at hoovesontheturf [at] gmail [dot] com - please send me your lovely music as an attached mp3 or an mp3 link. if i like what you send, i'll be sure to ask for more.
