My friend Novena has a new music project out! I’m so excited about this!
They are called Zoowax and can be found here singing their new single “9 to 5.” Zoowax is a trio made up of the lovely Novena Carmel, and two French musicians Art Bleek and Charlie Sputnik. They make a great team.
And the music video is pretty awesome. Check it out here — and be prepared to dance (and sing — it’s catchy — in a good way.)
I ought to know better. I mean, really. Everybody knows you don’t go trying to dissect Joni Mitchell’s song lyrics. Her words seep into you and through you, and they cut sometimes because no one else was supposed to you know you felt a way you didn’t know you felt. But you know, that’s part of the deal with our lovely Joni, so you go on to the next track because that is the way it is.
But “Amelia” has been bugging me. It’s always bugged me, the song where Joni’s talking about leaving a love against her will and tying it beautifully to Amelia Earhart, our lost lady pilot whose story keeps getting weirder.
I was doing what Ron Rosenbaum of Slate.com had been doing, playing the song over and over trying to understand. I think my favorite line in music ever is “like Icarus ascending on beautiful foolish arms,” this silly, emotional, love-pained woman lost in flight in a relationship that’s not working. But then there is that next line, “Amelia, it was just a false alarm.” Over and over, she comes back to this line, after “picture postcard charms” and crashing into his arms, the alarm, well, it got us all worked up for nothing. And I, like Rosenbaum, wanted to know what, pray tell, is the false alarm?
Rosenbaum thinks the false alarm was a sense of hidden relief, that this woman in love was thankful to find out her relationship wasn’t the real thing, saving her from a commitment that she didn’t realize she wasn’t ready to give. That’s a good reading, especially if you’ve ever studied English/poetry, especially if you’ve been listening to Joni for a good while.
But lyrics are fickle things. They always mean something different to you at different times, depending on how you feel. “Amelia” always leaves me feeling this tremendous loss for the namesake, out there all by herself. And it leaves me wondering what got Joni hurting so badly. And it still surprises me, every single time, even though I know exactly how it ends. So maybe, for that reason, “Amelia” ought to remain a mystery.
There are famous words and there are famous words. Those are words spoken by the Godfather James Brown (mayherestinpeace), recorded on many a tune where he yells out to his famed saxophonist to take a solo. And Maceo would. Blow, that is.
Maceo played for years with Brown, as well as Parliament-Funkadelic, and has many awesome albums I am just discovering (thank you Pandora).
I just heard this song. Watch out, a spontaneous dance party may immediately go into effect.
Image source
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But this song — there’s just something so fun about this song.
It started with this
Plus a little of that
Which resulted in this
And lots of these
And a very well-written this.
I think I always knew I’d end up with a musician.
Bake a chicken pot pie sent in the mail from your folks (thanks Mom and Joe).
Go for a walk on the Beltline with Matt. He’s sure to take you on an adventure.
Swing inside a house made of twigs. Wish, for a moment, that you lived there.
Set up a record player you’ve been gifted (thank you Anne).
Recall what it was like playing records as a kid. Recall that the elapsed time per side is relatively short.
Peruse records in your collection. Discover you have a thing for Ol’ Blue Eyes (you’ve got it bad).
And be proud that your orchid bloomed (thanks Anne). Wonder how much time will pass before you kill it (you’re not good with flowers).
Finally, wake up at 3 a.m. the morning of class to finish the reading. Because you’ve finally accepted that once you get it over with, it will be done forever. And after all, it is Plato. You might learn something.
I had this dream.
In my dream, it was a warm and breezy Atlanta summer night, and I was seated in an open-air amphitheater, an array of instruments lining a dark stage. Around me were several hundred people all expectantly waiting for a little piece of history to take place. After some time, Donald Fagen of Steely Dan, Michael McDonald, and Boz Scaggs would grace the stage singing songs that inspired them along with their own hits. I was so happy I could burst.
Then this group of loud, rowdy, pearl-toting women spilled enough red wine to rival a TV crime scene and it suddenly hit me — not dreaming! “Oh, I’m so tipsy Caroline!” No. You are not tipsy. You, my dear, moms-having-a-night-out group, are drunk off your ass. But it didn’t matter. What a magical show!
We’ve already established my penchant for music of a certain era. Fagen, McDonald, and Scaggs are on tour together through October, and when I heard on the radio that they were coming to Atlanta, I literally had to pull over. In addition to some of their own tunes, they were going to perform the R&B/pop songs that inspired them when they were coming up.
That’s some good music:
Ray Charles — I’ve Got News for You (1961)
Beach Boys — Help Me Rhonda (1965)
Aretha Franklin — Rock Steady (1971)
The O’Jays — Love Train (1973)
Just to name a few.
This wasn’t your regular line-up, one performer after the other. The Dukes were promising a revue, the likes of which people my age and younger have probably never seen. Musicians and singers of decades past would not just tour together, but actually perform together as an ensemble. Each one supporting the other’s song, interacting on stage, and so on. I mean, all these years I’ve been able to pull out Michael McDonald’s voice in Steely Dan’s background vocals. But how often do you get to see them on stage at the same time?
Some time ago I wrote about the outstanding musicians I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know through my aunt Patrice. Her peers who have written, produced, performed with/for/in front of thousands and thousands, and are the best in the business at it. Surely one of these dynamic individuals would know someone on the show or better yet be on the tour itself. Surely! Enter Ready Freddie Washington.
Here’s a clip of Freddie playing bass with The Crusaders at the Montreux Jazz Festival.
We heart Freddie. You do too, he co-wrote Forget Me Nots and a slew of other tunes with Patrice. Let me just say, I literally cannot go to a dance club anywhere without hearing one of their songs. It’s a little freaky actually, Boston, San Francisco, New York, they’re everywhere! Anyway, the Dukes are lucky enough to have him playing bass on the show, and presto change-o Darryl and I were front and center. We got to hang out a bit afterwards, too.
You know, I might have been the youngest person attending the concert. What can I say, I have an old soul. Seeing these guys was like reminding me of the good times I never had, or maybe had in past life. It was a blast. Sorry for lack of photos, no cameras allowed.
The evening was full of awesome music, lots of laughter and a few special treats I can’t share right now, but all in good time. The Dukes of September are headed west so catch them if you can!
A couple of years ago, I started writing songs. It’s all those morning pages from The Artist’s Way. God bless Moleskine journals.
Shyly, secretly, I would sing a few bars into a handheld tape recorder (yes they still make those), then bury the loaded cassette in some drawer or file cabinet.
After a while, some of the emotional angst dissipated, and I began developing the bars into verse/chorus/verse, etc. Soon I had whole song structures, minus accompanying music, just my voice serving as the melody. Then I got up the nerve to share some of my music with real-life people — as opposed to my plants, who I must say found me absolutely sensational.
There’s been a lot of encouragement coming my way, from Darryl and Anne and other sweet gems. When I went to Los Angeles, I got a nice kick in the pants. I met up with some of my dearest friends, including the lovely Novena Carmel, also delightfully known as Babystone.
Novena is a ham, plus she’s also incredibly bright and insightful, so she makes a great idea bouncer-offer. We didn’t get to spend nearly enough time together, but after our pow-wow, I left pretty clear — I’m going to record an EP.
If you don’t know, an EP is old-school speak for a short album. So something like four to six tracks. In many ways, recording artists find EP’s more difficult to produce because you’re not jam-packing a CD with fifteen pieces. When you have such a small amount of material, every note counts, one could argue.
This is kind of a relaxed excitement for me, since I’m not currently pursuing music as a career. The music swimming in my head each morning that I offload on to my mp3 recorder (moving up in the world), is a natural expression, not a business pursuit. For me, this takes some of the pressure off. I’m doing it because I wanna. That’s all.
So far, it has a bluesy, country feel. I’ve noticed this sets people back a bit. I understand. In this music landscape (or crisis), it’s hard to avoid pigeon-holing people. It’s hard to not be duped by the mainstream, duped into thinking all black women sing like Etta James, or Chaka Khan or Beyonce. I’ll explain.
Credit: Bill Carrier, © API photographers Inc.
When Darryl and I were in Memphis last year, we visited the Stax Records Musuem, the classic soul record label that brought us Otis Redding, Isaac Hayes, and The Staple Singers among many others. Before beginning the tour, you watch a 20-minute documentary on the history of the label, to put what you’re about to see in context. Through interviews with artists, you see that many black artists of that time period, specifically in Memphis, grew up listening to white acts singing at the Grand Ole Opry.
That is, many R&B/soul singers were influenced by country music. Conversely, many white musicians of that era were equally influenced by black gospel sounds, the beginnings of jazz and so on. It was a natural outcome of the communities being so closely tied together, and yet, so far apart. Blues, R&B, country, jazz — none of it would have become as rich and full of depth, without the contributions of both communities — both experiences. Set aside the tales of business tactics. I’m talking about music that moved people to create something new. That’s beautiful. Consider my forthcoming EP an iteration of that collaborative history. A little Roberta Flack, a little Hank Williams, if you will.
I don’t know how far off the completion date will be, as I’m still churning out melodies and lyrics, but I wanted to share anyway. I’m working on singing live here and there. Maybe they will let me hold a concert at Ivy Hall once I start at SCAD? Eh? Just putting it out there, I mean songwriting is writing!
When I was a kid, I would often listen to the radio as I fell asleep. The only stations I enjoyed at those late hours were the soft rock stations. The Delilah-type stations that played music like Steely Dan, Player, Michael McDonald and Little River Band. Whatever, I found it soothing.
Eventually I learned all of these songs by heart. So you know when I saw the Yacht Rock Revue perform a set of classic hits from back in the day, I was singing along note for note.
There are cover bands, and then there are cover bands. The Yacht Rock Revue is one of the good ones. I mean look at them, it’s like they jumped off of an album cover.
Work that tambourine!
They sang so many of my favorites. The audience swooned every time they started the first few chords of a song, the sound of recognition, of memories colliding.
Rich Girl (Hall and Oates)
Africa (Toto)
Rosanna (Toto)
I’d Really Like to See You Tonight (England Dan and John Ford Coley)
Summer Breeze (Seals and Crofts)
The Yacht Rock Revue is made up of grown men, but they are charmingly boyish on stage. I love their step-touch in unison. It’s one thing to listen to these great songs on the radio, but it’s just amazing to hear them live and arranged accurately. Yacht Rock performs like they’re playing with the record, and that’s just what we like – our oohs and aahs right where they’re supposed to be.
Last weekend Darryl played in a tribute band celebrating the music of Curtis Mayfield at the National Black Arts Festival.
Mayfield was a prolific musician (singer/songwriter/arranger/producer) who is best known for funky R&B tunes from the 1960s through the mid-80s that not only made you wanna shake it, but were in many cases considered socially conscious.
Even if you’ve never heard his name before, you’ve heard his music all over. The other night I was watching a re-run of House, M.D. and Pusherman played during the closing credits.
Darryl played alto sax in an ensemble of twenty, music directed by our friend and renown trumpeter Russell Gunn. They accompanied some outstanding performers playing Mayfield’s most popular music. (Kudos to the NBAF staff person who hooked me up with front row seats!)
Frank McComb
He sounded wonderful. I hate to say it because he probably hears it all the time, but he has such a warm, smooth Donny Hathaway-sounding voice. There, I did it, I’m a cliché.
The Impressions
Mayfield sang with The Impressions, a Chicago-based soul group in the 1960s. Let me tell you, the older cats really know how to sell a song. They were moving and harmonizing like they never stopped touring. You don't see showmanship like that these days, not nearly enough.Van Hunt
I think he was best at capturing Mayfield’s powerful yet soft-spoken diction. So much style and pizazz, this one.
Eddie Levert
What can I say, he’s the man. You know how much you love The O’Jays (“Love Train,” “Backstabbers”), for whom he was the lead vocalist. He’s just 110% every single moment he’s on stage. Not a single note or movement wasted. Little-known fact — did you know he sang background vocals along with Michael Jackson on Stevie Wonder’s “All I Do”?
Dionne Farris
Please forgive the photo quality. I’m learning. She sounded fabulous as per usual. I just couldn’t help wishing she had performed “Hopeless”the catchy soulful tune from the Love Jones soundtrack produced by Van Hunt. Not that it would have had any place in this concert, but a girl can dream.
Joi
So, I’m just going to refrain from stating the obvious here. Joi sang “Giving Him Something He Can Feel,” beautifully covered by En Vogue in the 1990s. See, Curtis Mayfield everywhere you look.
It was a great night all-in-all. I even got to sit next to a reviewer from Downbeat Magazine who was furiously jotting down notes the whole evening. I’m curious to see what he’ll say about the show. I think Curtis would have been pretty pleased.