Random Notes - July 2023
Looks at new records by boygenius, Bruce Springsteen, Bill Laswell/John Zorn, and more
June was a busy month for me. I spent a week in Brooklyn and then another with my girlfriend, which meant I wasn’t writing much and when I did, it was freelance work. To wit: I wrote about Casey Plett’s first book of stories (newly reissued by Arsenal Pulp Press) for PRISM International, and then about a new Frank Zappa set for Aquarium Drunkard.
While I haven’t been listening to anything I’m planning to write up in depth, I have been listening. Mostly new, some of it old, and some of it that’s both.
Steely Dan - The Lost Gaucho (1980/2023)
After Aja Steely Dan had issues. They didn’t get along with their label and Gaucho went through a few versions before getting released. Notably, an engineer accidentally erased a bunch of the record and they had to start over. Roughly 40 years after that accident, a copy of the early version leaked online. When I found a copy, it was billed as the Holy Grail for Steely Dan fans. I’m not sure it’s exactly that.
For one, it sounds like what you’d think it is: Steely Dan working on tunes in the studio. It doesn’t sound anything like a finished project. Songs like “Kind Spirit” sound like demos: it’s basically a trio recording with wordless vocals until it gets to the chorus. “Talkin’ About My Home” is even sparser, with just Becker and Fagan working through a largely instrumental song. Even the more finished tracks - like “Were You Blind That Day” - don’t have that layer of polish one expects from Steely Dan. And “The Second Arrangment”? Well, the one on my copy sounds exactly like what you’d think: a few pianos, an electric bass, and Fagen’s vocals. It’s hardly the revelation one might expect, just another good song.
When taken as a whole, it’s a fun enough listen and sparse enough that one can focus on the songwriting chops of the duo. It’s also in much better fidelity than any outtakes I’ve come across from these sessions. But then again - with so many versions of this circulating, maybe what I’ve heard isn’t what you’ve heard. I suppose that’s the fun part of so-called “lost albums”: they’re manna for the hardcore fans to argue over.
Bill Laswell and John Zorn - Memoria (2023, Tzadik)
Two downtown icons playing as a duo, with three songs named after jazz legends. What could go wrong? As it turns out, quite a bit. Over three lengthy pieces - “Wayne Shorter” is the shortest and still runs nearly ten minutes - we get the requisite Zorn sax squeals, the Laswell bed of ambient keys and bass, but not much else. The music feels aimless and indulgent, and never quite like it’s supposed to represent the people it’s dedicated to: did Shorter ever go off on choked squeals? Try as I might, this one just feels listless and like Zorn and Laswell were just going through the motions. Hate to say it, since I’m a fan of both, but this is an easily forgettable piece of the puzzle.
The Black Keys - Live At the Beachland Tavern, March 31, 2002 (2022, Nonesuch)
Originally a collectors item, but newly reissued for the most recent Record Store Day, this short set catched The Black Keys early on. Over a short eight-song set, they dig into the country blues like they depend on it: Patrick Carney pounds away at his kit, while Dan Auerbach plays slick blues riffs and sings.
They’re not quite the exciting act they’d become later, and classics like “Set You Free” were still in the future, but even early on you hear the seeds: Carney’s tricky little drum patterns, the way Auerbach sounds like he’s been listening to way too many Chess Record sides. They’d eventually go all the way to the mainstream and back, but this is a welcome snapshot of their beginnings.
Boygenius - The Record (2023, Interscope)
The Rolling Stone cover made them look like Nirvana, but let’s be real: this is CSN for the gen Z set, or at least this decade’s Case/Lang/Viers. Julien Baker, Lucy Dacus and Phoebe Bridgers are all competent songwriters and performers, and while I’m sure we all have our favourite of the bunch (I lean towards Dacus, whose 2021 record Home Video still gets a spin or two around here), they work well as a trio, with similar folk-rock approaches to music.
At the same time, nothing here ever quite grabbed me the same way some of their solo work does: where a song like Dacus’s “VBS” hooks you with a mix of wistful looking back and detached irony, this one seems to slip by before you know what’s happening. At it’s best, like on “Satanist” which has a nice loud-quiet approach, it’s as good as any of their solo records. “Not Strong Enough” builds up into a good performance, too. But The Record is all too easy to put on and let fade into the background. Perhaps not the best result for a major-label debut.
Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band - The Darkness Tour ‘78 (2023, Columbia)
This one slipped out quietly as a digital-only release earlier this summer and it’s a doozy: almost two hours of Bruce and band playing the songs they’d eventually release on Darkness on the Edge of Town, plus a slew of stuff that’d only come out years later. Don’t let the name fool you: this isn’t one specific concert, and it’s not even all from 1978 (a few performances are from Feb. 1977), but instead a slew of highlights from a long, oft-bootlegged tour. It’s not hard to see why from these performances.
It opens with a driving version of “Badlands” where Springsteen’s guitar sounds like a falling power line then goes into a rollicking “Adam Raised A Cain” where the band lurches between sizzling guitar leads. On “Candy’s Room” the guitar solo somehow explodes and bounces around off the venue’s walls. “Prove It All Night” builds into a lengthy jam, eventually clocking in at 11 minutes. By the time it finishes it’s already looking ahead with an early version of “The Ties That Bind” from a show in December 1978. It’s a nice companion to Live 75-85 and The Promise set of outtakes, but the energy here is off the charts. A must for any of his fans, and it might even convert a few who aren’t.
Water From Your Eyes - Everyone’s Crushed (2023, Matador)
The latest from the New York duo is hard to pigeonhole: it dabbles in electronica and glitchy beats, but it also has a weirdly compelling pop sensibility running under it. Take “Barley”: under the looping noises, the crashing cymbals and Rachel’s spoken word sections there’s a catchy bassline that pushes the song along. Reminds me of Dan Deacon at his most accessible at times. Meanwhile, “Out There” could pass as a forgotten New Wave track thanks to its skittering bass and the dry, snapping snare drum. And the title track works up into a nice groove, with touches of keys and a slick bassline.
But all over this record, just when you think you’ve got a handle on things, Nate Amos throws you a curveball: guitars emerge in a dissonant little pattern or things get so fuzzy you’d think a cord was loose somewhere in the stereo. It makes Everyone’s Crushed an interesting listen and one that keeps you on your toes, especially compared to piss takes like 10,000 Gecs. These are two musicians to keep an eye on.
Pascal Comelade, Ramón Prats, Lee Ranaldo – Velvet Serenade (2023, Staubgold/Cougouyou)
A recording of a one-off concert last spring between guitarist Lee Ranaldo, drummer Ramon Prats, and French musician Pascal Comelade, this one’s a tribute to the Velvet Underground. But not in the typical tribute album way, where people play their own version of classic rock chestnuts.
Instead, this trio took the ideas of the group - a classically trained musician and a poet with a taste for noise - and went off on their own: Ranaldo’s guitar slashes and bursts, while Comelade plays an assortment of pianos, both grand and toy. And Prats keeps things moving with simple, driving rhythms. The result is a compelling set of music that’s both informed by the Velvets and a nice tribute to them, but never feels either in debt or like a rehashed set of standards. It’s the kind of thing Hal Willner used to do really well (he’s also namechecked in the liners), and an inspired idea. Recommended.