Loran's Dance and the Beastie Boys

You know that feeling when you really love a song, or an album, and it's so essential to your daily routine that it's like a soundtrack. One of those albums for me is Paul's Boutique by the Beastie Boys. I won't bore you, or myself, with the nostalgic details of my youth. I'd rather talk about the opening and closing of the album. The dark organ. The short nods of bass and guitar. The high hat.

I love that sound! And I sheepishly admit that for the longest time, until fairly recently, I assumed those instruments were played for the recording of that album. You can imagine my disappointment at learning that it was lifted from Idris Muhammad's Loran's Dance. I felt duped. I felt like I was a sucker for believing in something that wasn't real. Was I somehow complicit in a creative crime? Had they stolen the Mona Lisa's smile and placed it with sleight of hand on their own masterpiece?

At the end of the day, I reconciled myself to a couple of things that seem real to me. One is that I would never in a thousand years come across Loran's Dance without the Beastie Boys. They and their collaborators opened a door for me that I didn't even know existed. Another thought that seems real enough is that musicians are always grabbing sounds from one another as a part of creativity. They grab it and adapt it.

The part that doesn't sit well with me still is the financial component. I assume that Idris  didn't receive any compensation. That is wrong. But I look at my own music buying and listening habits over the years and my frugal choice to buy used LPs and CDs that weren't compensating musicians for their work. To what degree am I any less guilty for stealing? Not to mention the opaque world of musicians being compensated for plays on streaming services. All too often, musicians get the short end of the stick.

I still love Paul's Boutique but now I do so with my eyes and ears opened more widely.

This playlist of mostly jazz artists sampled by rap artists is pulled together with the help of the amazing WhoSampled. 

Drops of Water

For the first time in several years, I needed to write a short piece of fiction. This came together during the past few months. - jj

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Bits and pieces of Lego toys are on the floor in front of the two young boys and their dad. Instruction booklets are missing; they rely on their imaginations to guide them in constructing flying machines with cockeyed wings and short buildings with satellite dishes. In the middle of building a rocket-sled, the younger boy says, “Daddy, I miss Goldie. I want to see Goldie.”

“That’s impossible because she’s, you know, dead and everything,” says the older boy. The younger boy looks down and then to Dad.

“You can see Goldie,” Daddy says, a smile spreads across his face. “Do you remember where you can look to see her?”

“Yes, but I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay, I can remind you. Like all plants and animals, Goldie was made with lots of water. All of that water helped her chase a ball, and bark and see. After she died, the water disappeared from her body, like it disappears from the puddles, evaporating to form clouds.

“The clouds will grow big and strong as the hot sun evaporates even more water. Before long the clouds will be enormous towers with electricity flashing and thunder rumbling, and the water will fall back to earth, like it is today, flow into the river and on into the lake.”

The younger boy considers this and chimes in. “Ducks are on the lake. Goldie loved ducks, so I know she likes that,” his spins a propeller. He asks for more. “What about us? I wonder if it will be the same for us.”

“It will be the same and different. Maybe we will follow the path of clouds, rain and lakes but we may find ourselves far away in the jungles of South America. We will be dropped there by clouds, drawn into the roots of a tree where we will flower. A fruit will come out of the flower and a monkey will eat us.”

The boy likes this immensely. He stands like a monkey and hops on to the couch.

“We will swing from vine to tree, chasing the other monkeys,” Daddy says.

The boy jumps on his big brother’s back.

“We’ll think monkey thoughts and play monkey games,” Daddy continues

The older brother spins and pins the smaller to the floor. “We play until a monkey predator eats us,” he says and pretends to bite the belly of the smaller boy.

“No-o-oh!” says the little one.

Dad pauses and continues. “Well if that’s the case, monkey will pass, but we will not. Water persists.  

“What about the predator?” the older boy asks.

“Oh, right. The predator’s hunger will take him on the prowl eating what she wants until the years devour her. Again we will evaporate and rise through the leaves, catching a breeze, taking us to the wind. What choice will we have? Little drops of water that can’t make up their mind as to where they go.”

“I don’t know where I want to go,” the younger boy says.

“You’re only 4, you aren’t supposed to know anything,” says the big brother.

“It’s okay not to know, sometimes I forget where I am and where I am going to. The wind will carry us out over the ocean and we will see the immensity of water, the infinite number of water drops filling the ocean, from the brontosaurus and the bumble bee, the cat and the bird, the turtle and fish. All the people from across the planet who fought wars for land, joined together where no one has any land.

“The ocean mixing and blending everything, with tides and waves, a taffy machine powered by the pull of the moon and the push of the wind  People will stand on the shore mesmerized by the crashing surf, and the mysterious truth about their connection and separation from all.”

The younger boy interrupts. “I like the feeling of going up and down, up and down that you get from playing in the waves all day. And then I feel it when I sit on the beach. Up and down even while I’m on the sand.”

“It’s all there at the shore giving you the feeling of rising and falling. The songbirds who eat the seeds from the grass and drink from the puddles, taking what they need and letting go of what they do not. The water rises up the palm tree to the coconuts that eventually fall to the beach. Filled with water, coconuts play at the shore rolling up and down the beach in the rhythm of the waves that are inhabited by those we know, those we do not know, and the many we never knew. Those who never left a footprint, rock drawing or a trash pile signature. The anonymous making the ocean all that it is.”

“When will Mommy be home?” the younger boy asks.

The older boy answers abruptly, “When she gets here.”

“Before lunchtime,” the dad says calmly.

The younger boy and dad continue.

“Will Mommy be with us too, in the ocean?”

“What is the answer?”

“I know, but I want you to say it.”

“Hmm. Will you whisper the answer in my ear?”

“Yes.”

Monger 1.1 Jazz Without Borders

All along I wanted Monger No. 1 to have an international flavor. Something like a U.N. Jazz Ensemble. The first edition didn't come close and it isn't there yet. But it's moving in the right direction.

My desire to go global is not dissatisfaction with the parochial but a curiosity about the distant. Astronomers search for distant galaxies. The NSA likes to poke through the phone calls of, well, everybody. I search for jazz that I like and put ones that are a good fit in the Monger 1 playlist. Everyone needs a hobby.

These additions come from Sweden, South Africa, France and Denmark. Finding them is almost easy. It does take time. Clues float through the river of Twitter. Carsten Lindholm appeared in the flow and led me into his music and other Scandinavian artists. Treasures can be found in the vast terrain of Spotify. That is where I found Henri Texier, Abdullah Ibrahim, Ulf Wakenius and others. The international jazz day website sponsored by the U.N. pointed me toward artists that were new to me. In the future, maybe the search will come to me.

Wikileaks may release secret government communiques with scintillating details about the jazz preferences of Angela Merkel. U.N. Peacekeepers may be joined by the jazz ensemble from the U.N., the Jazzkeepers, wearing their light blue berets, deployed to the strife-ridden hot spots around the world, bringing people together through music. Broadcast reporters would be at the scene, providing commentary about the situation on the ground as the rhythm section vamped.

Blessed are the peacekeepers, they will be called children of God.

Blessed are the jazz keepers, they will make music for all.

Monger No. 1

The Birth Story

I wrote an unsolicited article for a jazz web site, it was published and, subsequently, I was offered an opportunity to start reviewing music for the site. Wow! That felt great. My ego floated like a helium-filled balloon up to the ceiling. Slowly the ego started leaking enthusiasm and before long I was back amongst the dust bunnies. I conjured up several reasons for not pursuing the opportunity, however the main reason is that I abhorred the idea of writing a critical review. Who was I to write criticism of music that I didn’t understand or didn’t like? That seemed absurd and unfair to the musicians.

All was not lost. The balloon and the dust bunnies commingled and canoodled long enough to give rise to a new idea, one that would allow me to document and share gems that I stumble upon while exploring and clicking through the internet. So I’ve pieced together a playlist in Spotify as well as this zine, both called Monger.

So, my dear morning glory, that is the backstory. The following pages are mini-reviews as well as thumbnail sketches about my relationships with each of these songs or musicians. While I learned so much reading about these different tracks and artists, I intentionally refrained from naming all of the players, instrumentation or other details that might read like I posing as a knowledgeable expert. My goal is to collect and share songs that speak to me. Read on or look up the Monger playlist on Spotify. Either one is guaranteed to be more fun than sweeping up dust bunnies.

Con Legno

Con Legno

B. Cruse and J. Smith Trio

The playlist starts here because this is the song that started the Monger adventure for me. I’m taking guitar lessons and my teacher casually mentions that he plays in a jazz group and says something about an album. I ask enough questions that I am later able to find it on Spotify. I dig the sounds so much that I bebop my way through the interwebs looking to discover for myself other tunes that catch my attention with their perpetual-motion bass lines, interesting voicings and catchy melodies.

This particular song -- an amazing jam between bass, drums and guitar -- creates a music video in my mind’s eye. I see a skateboarder heading down a road on a bright, sunny afternoon. I see a middle aged man shaving getting ready for the night. And a woman putting on lipstick, adjusting her dress. All of them are at the same club later after the sun goes down, the man and woman dance, the skateboarder sits at the bar drinking beer from a can waiting to see the young woman bring out clean glasses to restock the bar. To me, this song is completely evocative of the space where day and night collide.

Smilin’ Billy

Labragenda Vol. 2

Larri Branch Agenda

A sly groove that ambles with a mischievous grin up to a pinnacle of a piano solo with some great chord voicing and just a dash of atonality coming out of the chords to ratchet up the tension. Larri Branch plays around Richmond but somehow I’ve not made it to a show. Somebody shout at me next time he has a gig in town.

Cantaloupe Island

Cantaloupe Island

Herbie Hancock

I dug around the Herbie Hancock catalog, looking for a perfect fit for this playlist. While my very first memory of Herbie Hancock was when my junior high jazz band played “Watermelon Man.” The only certain about those memories are how vague they are. I played auxillary percussion in that band having earned that spot because I could do the least amount of damage there standing behind the bongos and timbales. For a similar reason I believed that I earned a spot as a right fielder on my Little League team. Right field would have been more fun with timbales and bongos. I skipped “Watermelon Man” for this list and after an exhaustive research delve into the funky Headhunters, “Cantaloupe Island,” with its great melody, was chosen for the first Monger list.

Sonesta

The Best of Errol Dyers and Friends

Errol Dyers

I went cruising on the information superhighway and pulled off in Johannesburg, South Africa. Listening to music by Dyers, the Sheer All-Stars and Pops Mohamed you actually hear that you are in another country. I heard some great music during my virtual stay, including this bright number that pairs well with Cantaloupe Island.

Leave My Head Alone Brain

Wesseltoft Schwarz Duo

Bugge Wesseltoft & Henrik Schwarz

I picked up this souvenir on a cyber trip to Norway looking for jazz. I’m not too proud to say that the first thing that attracted me to this song was its title. The piano drives the beat, the drums and bass add commentary.

Green Dolphin Street

What’s Your Story?

Kristin Korb

There are so many fabulous Kristin Korb songs with her trio. I like this one because her bass playing and vocals sound so intimate and dreamy in this love song. Plus her rendition of this standard doesn’t sound like a standard.

It’s Your Thing (featuring Dee Dee Bridgewater)

Conversations with Christian

Christian McBride

You might want to grab a cigarette or a shower after hearing this vocal duet with nothing but Christian providing accompaniment on bass. If Kristen Korb’s “Green Dolphin” is a song with a dreamy take on love, this is the lusty song. Dee Dee asks, “Can you slap it one more time?” Oh my.

S.S. Golden Mean

Without a Net

Wayne Shorter Quartet

I bumped into this song in one of those suggested playlists that Spotify produces based on your listening habits. While the busy sax playing isn’t my thing, the driving piano and chord progressions are an expressway to my happy place. Also there was something deeply familiar about one of the chords in the intro. Eventually I put my finger on it. My musical memory was recalling one of the beautiful \chords from Joe Jackson’s “Steppin’ Out.” (Hang with me. Some jazz by Joe Jackson is coming up!)

Nightlight

Brian Cruse Presents B-Snap-Tet

Brian Cruse

In this arrangement of Aesop Rock’s “Nightlight,” there’s seduction and power like Ronda Rousey. Both are beautiful and brutal. Neither takes long to kick your butt.

Secret Tears

Dance with Me

Sheer All-Stars

Another find from the Johannesburg cyber-road trip. The sax playing the melody and the guitar comping keep me coming back again and again.

Brown Oxford

The Archie Pelago

Archie Pelago

This one found it’s way to me during a music break in NPR’s All Things Considered. Bass driven and spiced with dissonant horn sounds. I’m down with the drum riffs, the thread of guitar picking sewn across the piece and the effects dropped in.  

It Don’t Mean A Thing

Duke

Joe Jackson

A fun, modern take on the Duke Ellington’s classic. I’m a sucker for drum breaks (around 40 seconds in) and driving bass lines (around 60 seconds in). There’s something about the way this song eases in and out of breaks that reminds of Big Audio Dynamite II’s “Rush.”

Message from Abrasive Negro: It is What it is (Y’all Ain’t Ready)

Basic Truths

Barry Stephenson

The family was on a road trip (the real kind, with real highways in the south along the Gulf of Mexico in the Florida panhandle where the number of men selling boiled peanuts along the side of the road far outnumbers the people stopping to buy some) and we went on a car tour through Tallahassee. Our host and guide, George Weatherly, mentioned that Florida State University has an enormous music program. Later, on a trip through a Google wormhole, I found my way to Barry Stephenson, a composer and musician who graduated from FSU. A great ensemble sound and solo breaks. The title is a perfect fit in this era of the Black Lives Matter movement. #ican’tbreathe  

Manteca

Free Expression

Weldon Hill

This artist and song came to my attention through Peter Solomon’s nightly jazz program on WCVE. The edgy piano is what does it for me in this arrangement of Dizzy Gillespie song, especially the voicings and feel introduced around the 30 second mark. I like that aggressive feel in a jazz track that smudges my notions of boundaries between musical genres. By the way, Hill is a scholar and leader at Virginia State University.

Rockit

Future Shock

Herbie Hancock

For the longest time, I had a hard time reconciling the fact that the Herbie Hancock of “Watermelon Man” was the same dude behind this song. It was a crazy juxtaposition for me. In school, my junior high bandmates and I were putting our early adolescent energy into playing “Watermelon Man.” In the neighborhood I watched kids breakdancing to Rockit. And on MTV there was this crazy video of robotic mannequins dancing to Rockit. There was a whole cultural scene that could have this song as part of it’s soundtrack. Recently we were listening to “Rockit” over dinner, when my son Henry wryly observed, “If you listen closely, you can hear the sounds of an extinct subculture.” Exactly! Now when I listen to Rockit, with all of the killer beats and voices -- scratches, vocals, drum machines -- the melody and the beat of the scratching swing in my ear. I still love the composition after all these years and can’t think of a better way to end the first Monger list. Later!