Monday, 8/9/10
Guitar, drums—that’s all it takes.
Bombino (AKA Bambino), live, Niger (Agadez), 2010
Part 1
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Part 2
Guitar, drums—that’s all it takes.
Bombino (AKA Bambino), live, Niger (Agadez), 2010
Part 1
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Part 2
You may love this stuff—or you may hate it. Either way it’s inspiring. She kept searching, into her mid-60s and beyond, for new sounds.
Maryanne Amacher, February 23, 1938-October 22, 2009
day trip maryanne/excerpts (2003, with Thurston Moore and Jim O’Rourke)
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Part 2
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lagniappe
. . . unequivocally one of the greatest music-makers of the 20th century — a title she would have mocked and laughed at, but cherished in quiet . . .
—Alvin Curran, “The Score: In Memory of Maryanne Amacher,” New York Times (blog), 12/27/09
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“Maryanne is one of the best kept secrets of the Cage/Tudor scene,” says Paul D Miller aka DJ Spooky. “She was one of the first people of that set to really deal with heavy bass, electronic bass, crazy bass.” Rhys Chatham is also quick to sing her praises. Meeting her at Morton Subotnick’s studio when he was still in his teens, she “became a kind of role model for me of what a composer should be,” he remarks. “I’ve always been inspired by Maryanne, and her work had a profound influence of the music I made in the 70s and 80’s.”
Amacher’s first major work dates back to 1967’s City Links series, which continues (in theory) to the present day. In 22 separate pieces, sounds from one or more distant urban environments were transmitted in real-time via telelinks to an exhibition space as a continuous sound installation. All kinds of locales were used, harbours, steel mills, factories, airports, etc. In City Links 15, sounds from New York, Boston and Paris were mixed in a live broadcast at WBAI in New York and then further transmitted to Radio France Musique in Paris – Long before the internet made such intercontinental practices common. “I was particularly interested in the experience of ‘Synchronicity’, hearing spaces distant from each other at the same time, which we do not experience in our lives,” she explains, noting that quite often a “flurry of activity” would occur in two different places at the same time. One example is the piece No More Miles, in which she placed a microphone in a Budget Rent-A-Car unit in an indoor arcade in Minneapolis, which was the acoustic double of the exhibitions space’s acoustics: voices, footsteps and other sounds completely matched those heard in the gallery. Visiting the gallery, you would hear the sounds produced by the installation as though people were moving and talking around you, like, “ghosts in the otherwise silent space She took the idea further by installing a microphone on a window overlooking the ocean at the New England Fish Exchange in Boston Harbour, transmitting the sound into her home studio continuously, sometimes using it as an element in other performances or exhibitions of City Links. “I would come in and it would be different according to different weather and changes,” Amacher told interview Leah Durner in 1989. “I learned a lot about shapes and I realised why I was doing this: in regular music you don’t have any models to learn about spatial aspects of music. Usually the performers are on stage, or the music’s on a record, and you don’t really hear things far away or close up: you don’t hear things appearing or disappearing, and all the shapes that emerge from this.” She lived with the live transmission for three years. “I actually miss coming home to it,” she says now, some 20 years later.
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I ask Maryanne what her early influences were. It transpires that, years before, she’d put her ear next to a cymbal and wanted to investigate what made up the wash of sound that it produced. . . . She insists that the music is supposed to “make you feel good” . . . Unlike most ‘noise’ musicians, the ineffable roar of her pieces is not an expression of rage, pain nor despair—it’s ecstatic and celebratory.
—Alan Licht, “Maryanne Amacher: Expressway to Your Skull,” The Wire (3/99)
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It’s unfortunate that music is still presented as it was in the 19th century, frontally, instead of finding new ways of presenting events. There should be fantastic buildings for musical and sound productions. Not just a lot of speakers, but a really extraordinary architecture that you find your way in, that evolves. This will happen because there is a need for it.
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Most music amounts to a rearrangement of the figures and patterns of other men’s music, in a personalized sequence of time. In order to go beyond that, you’ll need to begin with the physical spectrum itself, with effects based on a very precise knowledge of the listening mind.
—Maryanne Amacher
Sheer beauty—sometimes it seems like more than enough.
Ingram Marshall, Fog Tropes II (String Quartet and Tape)/Kronos Quartet
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what a world
Until yesterday morning, I’d never heard of this guy. I happened upon him while looking up someone else (in Kyle Gann’s American Music in the Twentieth Century). Intrigued by what I read, I did a search on YouTube, which led to this piece. Mesmerized by what I heard, I listened to it several times over the course of the day. Today I’m posting it here. So the last 24 hours, in relation to this music, have gone like this: utter ignorance —> chance encounter —> first listen —> sharing with others.
Looking for a soundtrack for today?
Daniel Lanois, guitar, 2010
(As with other clips, if you encounter brief interruptions when playing this clip, you can get rid of them by doing this: (1) start the clip at the beginning and then stop it immediately, so as to let the clip load completely; (2) once the clip is fully loaded, restart it.)
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lagniappe
Simple music is the hardest music to play.
—Albert Collins
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taking a break
After more than 300 consecutive daily posts, I’ve decided to take a little break. I shouldn’t be gone too long (probably a week or so). In the meantime, there’s plenty of wonderful music here. Enjoy!
When the groove is strong enough, even the walls seem to sway.
Group Inerane, “Ano Nagarus,” live, Niger, 2004
getting older
“Where did everybody go?” you wonder.
With each passing year, more of the musicians who’ve shaped your world—who’ve made life sing—are gone.
Ed Blackwell, Lester Bowie, Betty Carter, Malachi Favors, Steve Lacy, Kate McGarrigle, Art Pepper, Professor Longhair, Sun Ra, Junior Wells, Julius Hemphill (below): the list goes on, and on, and on.
World Saxophone Quartet (Julius Hemphill, alto saxophone; Oliver Lake, soprano and alto saxophones; David Murray, tenor saxophone; Hamiet Bluiett, baritone saxophone)
Medley: “West African Snap,” “I Heard That,” “Fast Life,” “Hattie Wall,” live (TV Broadcast [Night Music]), 1990 (music starts at 2:20)
Listening to Julius Hemphill (far left), a phrase from Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech comes to mind: “the fierce urgency of now.” Hemphill has, it seems, so much to say—right now. Listen, for instance, to 4:30-6:35.
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Live, with M’Boom (Max Roach’s 9-piece percussion ensemble), New York (The Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine), 1981 (music starts at 1:55)
Want more? Here.
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lagniappe
musical thoughts
Without music, life would be an error.
—Friedrich Nietzsche
recipe
1 cup funkiness
1 cup elegance
Mix until thoroughly blended.
Professor Longhair (AKA Henry Roeland [“Roy”] Byrd), December 19, 1918-January 30, 1980
“Tipitina,” live
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“Hey Little Girl,” live
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lagniappe
Mike Kinnamon, Bonnie Bramlett’s Nashville-based manager, in response to an email letting him (and Bonnie) know that her music was featured here (Delaney, alas, is no longer alive), left a voice-mail message yesterday:
. . . I just love it when somebody like you cares enough to send stuff like that around. It’s really cool, and it lifts her [Bonnie] up, too. Thank you so much, buddy . . .
What do I listen to these days?
This more than anything.
Each night it’s the last thing I hear before falling asleep. Having left the Bose on “repeat” (usually Hildegard Kleeb [Hat Hut], sometimes John Tilbury [Extraplatte]), it’s the first thing I hear upon awakening. It seems, sometimes, as if it’s always playing—whether I’m listening or not.
Morton Feldman, “For Bunita Marcus” (1985)/Mark Knoop (piano), live, London, 2010
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Part 2
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Part 3
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Part 4
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Part 5
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Part 6
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Part 7
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Part 8
Want more? Here. Here. Here. Here.
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lagniappe
Almost all Feldman’s music is slow and soft. Only at first sight is this a limitation. I see it rather as a narrow door, to whose dimensions one has to adapt oneself (as in Alice in Wonderland) before one can pass through it into the state of being that is expressed in Feldman’s music. Only when one has become accustomed to the dimness of light can one begin to perceive the richness and variety of colour which is the material of the music. When one has passed through the narrow door and got accustomed to the dim light, one realises the range of his imagination and the significant differences that distinguish one piece from another . . .
Feldman sees the sounds as reverberating endlessly, never getting lost, changing their resonances as they die away, or rather do not die away, but recede from our ears, and soft because softness is compelling, because an insidious invasion of our senses is more effective than a frontal attack. Because our ears must strain to catch the music, they must become more sensitive before they perceive the world of sound in which Feldman’s music takes place.
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Legend has it that after one group of players had crept their way as quietly as possible through a score of his Feldman barked, ‘It’s too fuckin’ loud, and it’s too fuckin’ fast.’
—Alex Ross, “American Sublime,” The New Yorker, 6/19/06
replay: a clip too good for just one day
At his best, Lenny Bruce didn’t meet expectations—he confounded them.
Lenny Bruce, “All Alone,” live (TV broadcast [“The Steve Allen Show”]), 1959
(Originally posted 11/30/09.)