He doesn’t pummel the beat, the way so many drummers do.
He pulls it out of the air.
Jo Jones (“Papa Jo” [as distinguished from “Philly Joe“]), October 7, 1911-September 3, 1985
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lagniappe
[W]hat really distinguished the great drummers I heard growing up, what really attracted me to men such as Sonny Greer, Chick Webb, Sid Catlett, Jo Jones and Kenny Clarke was that they all thought like composers, they all had their own way of hearing a band. They were all original thinkers who identified themselves when they played. And they stood out. They played like leaders.
“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.
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.
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.
The Consolers (Sullivan & Iola Pugh [husband and wife])
“The Grace of God,” live (TV broadcast [TV Gospel Time]), early 1960s
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“Waiting For My Child,” live
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“I Feel Good,” live
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lagniappe
In its classic form, gospel was music designed to kill—to slay the congregation in spirit, moving them not just to laughter, tears, and hollers, but to screams and even seizures. The first woman who started shrieking was known, in the parlance of the gospel quartets, as “Sister Flute.” Big churches had volunteers in nurses’ uniforms to tend to the stricken.
Later these forces were unleashed on white teenagers, to memorable effect. Little Richard, Sam Cooke, James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Tina Turner, Marvin Gaye, Al Green—two whole generations of soul singers got their start and their sound in church. You know what they can do. And you know the idioms too: You set me free. You set my soul on fire. Have mercy. Help me now. I need you early in the morning/in the midnight hour/in the evening/to hold my hand. Not to mention that rock and roll standby: I feel all right.
But—at the risk of a) sounding like a Christian or b) stating the obvious—in gospel those words make a kind of sense they will never make in secular music. In gospel a grownup can perform them and mean them right down to the ground. The lyrics may not be much in themselves: as [Anthony] Heilbut writes, “the music’s success depended more on its singers than its songs.” But for all the group participation in gospel, for all its expression of communal feeling (and political protest), these songs deal very deeply with loneliness, abandonment, and death. They ask more of God than we can ask of one another. The very idea of “needing” the one you love may predate the gospel explosion, but it is a gospel idea.
It will still be “music clip of the day”—it just won’t be every day. Some weeks, I expect, I’ll be here nearly every day; other weeks less often. Stay tuned.
(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!
Great drummers are like great basketball players—they lift everybody’s game.
Trixie Whitley with Brian Blade (drums) and Daniel Lanois, “I’d Rather Go Blind,” recording session, 2008
lagniappe
Johnny [Vidacovich, featured on 9/30/09], man . . . what an inspiration. His playing is so liquid but at the same time just the street of it is so intoxicating. Studying with him, the drumming aspect was never about fundamental things. It was never about the drums as much as it was about the music and playing with this melodic sensibility. That sticks with me even more than the thickness or the groove, which he never spoke about, really. That was like a given. If you have it inside of you, that groove, you need to lay it down. But also need to be able to sing through the drums.—Brian Blade