Last Entry of November: "Crate-Digging In Oahu 2010"

So I figured I'd better put this up before it became too outdated. When Dolly and I went to Oahu in June, I wrote a "journal entry" about looking for records there, and actually, a great deal of what you've been seeing in the blog thus far has come from that same journal, something I've affectionately dubbed my "vinyl diaries" and/or "vinyl remedies." Bottom line is, I found some amazing music while in Hawaii, and the experience was made far more meaningful by the fact that I was in a place that seemed completely surreal in the most wonderful way, as if Dolly and I had stepped out of our real-time existence and somehow entered a sort of exquisite vacuum of dramatic proportions.

Here are my thoughts immediately after returning:

"When departing for Oahu this last Friday with Dolly, there were several kinds of anticipation present—fear, excitement, enthusiasm, nervousness. I had never been to the tropics before, and so for this mainland Haole, the journey ahead was an experiment, a new frontier. In terms of what the Oahuan vinyl scene might be like, I really had no idea, as there only seemed to be a few scattered shops across the island, each one met with mixed reviews by both tourists and Hawaiians alike. There were only two feasible possibilities, and those were that a) Hawaii was too far off the beaten path to have a wide selection of vinyl or b) the distant nature of the location itself worked in its favor, meaning that it was a well-kept secret with as-of-yet untapped piles of wax. After checking out nearly every store on the island, I can very affirmatively say that the latter is what I found, lots of great underground, old-school jazz and funk that I’d never see on the mainland, and for ridiculously low prices to boot. I came home with a veritable treasure trove of rare records stowed away in the overhead compartment of our Delta flight, and now I present them to you--the discerning reader/listener/taste-maker. Aloha and Mahalo..."

That pretty much sums it up...

RAMP: "Come Into Knowledge"

Holy shit is all I can say.  I don’t know what to tell you about this album that hasn’t already been re-hashed and overcooked by the neo-funk heads a thousand times over.  This is the underground spiritual jazz-funk record to end all underground spiritual jazz-funk records, produced by none other than Roy Ayers himself, and featuring an oft-sampled version of his “Everybody Loves The Sunshine” that rivals the original for its profoundly chilled-out vibe.  While the Ayers influence is obviously the dominating theme and force here, these cats still manage to express their individuality as a band very clearly, focusing on a strange lyrical sensibility over floating, diamond-cut funk grooves that drift into one another like ships in the night, overlapping and then altering course.  I stumbled upon this LP on our last day in Oahu, in a hot, third-floor shop in Honolulu, totally unable to comprehend that I was holding this beat fanatic classic in my hands, much less paying for it to take home as my own.  Quite the send-off really, and a totally unexpected find.  Wild.

Julian Priester: "Love, Love"

I’ve had this on my want list for years now, and it to me more than any other record epitomizes Dolly and I’s experience in Oahu.  The cover of the LP is nothing but an expansive ocean, looking and feeling very much like many of the places we were spending our days on the island, the endless, transparent blue being the backdrop to our every activity, our every step, breath and movement.  The music here mirrors this oceanic hypnosis well, consisting of five long tracks that ebb and flow with all the passion and intangibility of a windward tide.  Legendary trombonist Priester and his equally talented bandmates, including Bayete Umbra Zindiko, Pat Gleeson, Ndugu and Bill Connors, among others, craft a bewitching, spontaneous blend of jazz, transcendental evocations and far-gone synthesizer funk grooves, reaching for some sort of breakthrough in their combustible instrumentation and interplay, eventually giving way to a haunting, post-bop coda that sounds like my thoughts during the days of thicker heat on Oahu, a dense jungle of images, ideas and illusions.  An album that feels as much like a dream as it does a piece of art.

Bettye LaVette: "Tell Me A Lie"

Found this rarity at a place called Jelly’s for two bucks, deep in a batch of unmarked record stacks strewn about the floor.  LaVette has gained a great deal of notoriety in hipster soul circles recently, after recording two albums with the Drive-By Truckers that may well be her defining moments as an artist, late in the game considering she’s been on the scene for almost fifty years.  This album was done as a one-off for Motown in 1982, yet it sounds nothing like that classic label’s other output, trading instead on slightly updated Southern soul grooves more reminiscent of the Stax and Fame labels than anything recorded by Berry Gordy, Norman Whitfield, etc.  The date of this session makes it even more of an anomaly, as the deep Southern sound of singers like Otis Redding and Candi Staton was long gone from the popular consciousness by this time, which itself was more focused on the new wave synth effects that seemed to be dominating every genre of the era.  You can hear small pieces here and there of the ‘80’s on this LP, but in general it harkens back to an older vibe, with LaVette’s voice achieving a completely different balance than on her newer sides, where her throat cracks and breaks in desperation.  Here she sounds younger and more full of verve, heartbroken but optimistic about future possibilities.  The best tracks are the ones that strike a perfect medium between the smooth ‘80’s production and the primacy of older soul vocals and songwriting, including the excellent title track, the shimmering “Right In The Middle (Of Falling In Love),” and the slow-burning slither of “Either Way We Lose.”  There is one track that attempts a sort of ‘80’s funk crossover—“I Can’t Stop”—yet it falls somewhat flat, coming across as a cut-rate Emotions knockoff (the groove is VERY similar to their mega-hit “The Best Of My Love”).  Altogether though, this is quite an interesting record, certainly out of its time but good enough to warrant repeated listens, as well as a fair amount of historical curiosity.

Eddie Henderson: "Inside Out"

Finding this album in Kailua felt a bit like the end of an era for me, as it’s the last LP of Eddie Henderson’s classic ‘70’s output that I didn’t have in my collection.  Once upon a time, Eddie Henderson records were the tip of the iceberg, long before I delved into digging for deeper obscurities…they had a mysterious sound and were not necessarily easy to find, so they took on a life of their own, each one popping up in unlikely places, each one filled with Henderson’s unique desire to mix Miles-esque free melodic trumpet with grinding funk grooves.  “Inside Out” is one of Eddie’s early solo outings, made before his eventual cultivation of a more commercial, accessible sonority in the mid- to late-‘70’s.  This is from the period where Herbie Hancock’s Sextant group was still relatively intact; though the collective had stopped making albums under that name they soldiered on under the leadership of Henderson.  The Sextant band had always pursued a unique vision, pushing the boundaries of free jazz while still rooting their rhythms in highly percussive funk vamping.  The music on “Inside Out,” recorded in ’74, represents their swan song, as Henderson and company all began to veer off into drastically different territory once Hancock launched the heavy funk bomb of his first Headhunters album later that same year.  Here the band is still exploring the cosmos with a noted obliviousness towards platinum-selling aspirations, playing expansive, layered grooves that range from the African-influenced “Moussaka” to the 7/8 time, fractured funk of the title track.  This music may not appeal to everybody, as its multidirectional perspective can be distracting at times, but for those interested in the fusion movement’s timid look at R&B before the all-encompassing guidance of the funk era took hold, this is for you.

Brighter Side Of Darkness: "Love Jones"

There’s a reissue of this out now, made because copies of the original LP are rather scarce, but whadya know, I found an OG pressing of this at the aforementioned Jelly’s for $4!!  This is a classic of the vocal group era, back when names like Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes, The Stylistics, The Delfonics, The Dramatics, etc. were hitting hard.  However, Brighter Side Of Darkness probably owes its largest debt of influence to legendary Chicago contemporaries The Dells, as they quickly reveal the trademarks of their shared windy city lineage.  BSOD could also elicit comparisons to the Jackson 5 due to the presence of 12-year old singer Daryl Lamont, who takes the lead on the massive hit title track “Love Jones,” a drippy, immaculate slow jam if ever there was one.  The rest of the tracks on the album are in step with the trends of the time, covering funkier grooves at points, but mostly focusing on the sweetly sung ballads that were the bread and butter of the vocal group sound.  This is definitely a period piece, but there’s really no denying the beauty of these songs, made back when the majority of soul and R&B still possessed a disarming innocence that is nowhere to be found in modern music.

Charles Earland: "Leaving This Planet"

Well, it’s about time.  I’ve been a devotee of this album ever since I heard a snippet of the title cut on an Earland comp a while back, and damned if it doesn’t live up to, and even exceed, every dreamt-of expectation.  “Leaving This Planet” jumps out the box first, powered by Harvey Mason’s samba-funk drumming and adorned with Patrick Gleeson’s swirling synths, as Earland lays over the top with some monstrous organ and ARP riffing.  Rudy Copeland sings, “I wanna leave this planet, with all the trouble that’s in it,” the desperation in his voice pushed to the breaking point—I mean, this cat is stone GONE.  Then Earland cascades in with a typically acrobatic solo, just killing, until he finally gives way to Joe Henderson’s apocalyptic, mournful-yet-blistering saxophone.  Towards the end of the track the whole thing threatens to implode, as synths and drums collide into some other universe, until Earland reels it all back in with that heavy, funky organ.  Finally it fades, only to continue moving from one masterful piece to another, from an interpretation of Freddie Hubbard’s landmark “Red Clay” with Hubbard himself on trumpet, to the bizarre groove of “Warp Factor 9,” then waaay off into the spacy stoner jazz cosmos with cuts like “Mason’s Galaxy” and “Asteroid.”  You’re not likely to come across this anytime soon, but if you do, snap it up.  It’s a free ticket to the stars and infinite spaces beyond.  I shit you not.

Gilberto Gil: "Refavela"

What might a day in Gilberto Gil’s shoes (or bare feet) be like?  A native of Sao Paulo, Gil practically invented the hugely influential Tropicalia style, along with his friend Caetano Veloso, only to be threatened and imprisoned by the Brazilian government.  Exile to England followed, where he rubbed shoulders with all the then-popular British rock royalty, taking special note of the Beatles and Jimi Hendrix.  He recorded a very homesick, self-titled album while there, sung in English, featuring slight moments of the psychedelic touches that had defined his earlier work.  Gil returned to Brazil revitalized, made a series of genre-spanning albums, and before making the transition to a smoother sound that lacked the soul of his earlier efforts, he recorded this gem, which is singular in its idiosyncrasy and vision.  Gil runs the samba-soul-funk sound smack into primal African rhythms from another time and place, as his voice soars freely above the music.  Indigenous instruments from Brazil intermingle with phased guitar, clavinet and funky electric bass, while the samba rhythm remains in the shadows, the mastermind behind it all.  Samba-funk throwdowns like “Ile Aye” and “Baba Alapala” are balanced out by exquisite ballads (“Aqui Agora”) and percussion-driven numbers that bring to mind a much older, more mysterious Brazil.  While Gilberto Gil has recorded several masterpieces, this indescribable journey of a record is one of his crowning achievements.

Breakwater: "Splashdown"

Yeah, I know, I know—attack of the “what the fuck” funk album titles again.  The guys standing on the cover in silver jumpsuits and yellow boots don’t exactly help to sell it either, at least not to non-funk aficionados.  Yet this album is incredible, and a totally unexpected surprise.  It’s been showing up more often in the bins lately, and so when I found it for a decent price, I snagged it and spun it.  Turns out this group kicks the funky-ass JAMS!  Somewhere between the Blackbyrds, Sun and Con Funk Shun, these jazzy grooves are smooth and fonk-ay at the same time, with a late ‘70’s/early ‘80’s club bounce.  The vocals are tight, and the band’s got chops for days.  Cuts like “Splashdown Time” and “Release The Beast” bring the funk, while midtempo and slow jam flourishes float above the mellower moments.  A beautiful record, and really, the cover and title make it that much more appealing—a relic from a halcyon era that still bumps.  Long live the funk.

Charles Kynard: "Wa-Tu-Wa-Zui"

More funky jazz on the Prestige tip.  Kynard was a lesser known figure from the early ‘70’s’ soul-jazz organist movement, but he was likely the only one who also worked with children with special needs.  There’s something very profound in that balance between teacher and musician, and I’d be interested to see how Kynard felt about it.  Either way, he released several burners on Prestige, this one being exceptional in its depth and funkiness, powered by Melvin Sparks on guitar and inimitable icons Idris Muhammad and Bernard Purdie on the skins.  Kynard weaves and winds through breakneck workouts like the title cut, and lays back in the inner spaces on a stony, shuffling version of the Beatles’ “Something.”  Purdie’s loooong drum break on the latter is the stuff sampling dreams are made of, and throughout the proceedings all the players latch onto a fiercely potent sense of groove.  Keep on playin’ that funky organ jazz!

Dayton: "Feel The Music"

The cover story in Wax Poetics a few months back was all about Zapp and Roger, and this relatively obscure platter by Dayton has Troutman’s fingerprints, and trademark talk-box sound, all over it.  This is a super-groovy record, the kind that a lot of us ‘80’s funk heads can drool over for days.  The thing that sets it apart from Zapp’s output at the time is the undercurrent of jazz that simmers beneath every song; while Roger certainly had his jazzy moments, these cats obviously saw it as a top priority.  Named after their Ohio hometown, little is known about Dayton, other than the wonderful music they left behind.  There’s not much point in explaining the myriad facets of this album, as its depth and uniqueness speak for themselves.  So, if you’re in your local record store, and you see some Dayton wax, just grab that shit.  You won’t regret it.

Cee-Lo Green: "The Lady Killer"

Okay, so here's the deal.  In general I want this to be a blog about un- and re-discovered gems from the past, but I gotta promote certain modern artists when they release new albums, and Cee-Lo is top among said artists, in my estimation.  I've been following Cee-Lo's career for a while now, from his early days in Goodie Mob, to his first couple of solo albums, to the Gnarls Barkley material, and finally ending up here, with 2010's "The Lady Killer."  Now, I'd like to clear the air about something, and that is, though the Gnarls Barkley albums were interesting in their own way, and definitely got Cee-Lo and Danger Mouse paid, Cee-Lo's earlier solo records always seemed to me to reveal more of the man himself.  Rather than painting on the abstract canvas of the Gnarls albums, Cee-Lo's solo work showed where his raw, earthy soul came from, and in that sense presented a much more personal perspective to listeners.  So, needless to say, I was awaiting "The Lady Killer" with baited breath, and not just because the summer single "Fuck You" might be the most ridiculously catchy song of the decade.  Does this album live up to the hype that I've just created, you ask?  Yes and no.  Yes, because it is sonically and lyrically innovative, and because it creates a unique, soulful sound that all the Danger Mice in the world couldn't conceive of if they tried.  No, because it presents Cee-Lo in a slightly different light than any of us have seen before, and that is in the guise of a pop star playing and singing (relatively) straightforward pop songs.  Considering this, the liking of this album completely depends on the listener themselves.  If you are already a Cee-Lo fan, pick this up NOW, and ask no further questions.  However, if you are just now becoming interested in his music, I'd recommend "Cee-Lo Green And His Perfect Imperfections" or even Goodie Mob's  "Still Standing" before this.  Do I like it?  Shit, I love it, but if you haven't been able to tell by this review, I can hardly be considered an objective party in this matter.

Toots & The Maytals: "Funky Kingston"

If ever you’re seeking an affirmation through the trials and tribulations of our everyday grind, look no further, as the Maytals will bring it all back home.  This is certainly not a rare record, and is in fact one of the cornerstones of early reggae history, yet that makes it no less essential to the music collection of anyone defining themselves as “human.”  I’ve been chillin’ out to the reggae joints a lot lately, just maxin’ relaxin’ as the weather gets warmer and the vibes get deeper, and this is simply one of THOSE albums that you could hear a thousand times, and still not be tired of it.  It also happens to contain what may be my all-time favorite reggae song—a bold identification, to be sure—the immortal “Pressure Drop,” which hits me where I live every time I hear it.  “Pressure drop, oh pressure, oh yeah pressure got the drop on you”…indeed it has, Maytals, yet all that stress melts away as those indescribable harmonies float out from the speakers.  Impossible to live without.