No Burritos for a Week

I think I'm beginning to feel the plight of my ancestors. We're now at day 6 of Passover and with 2 boxes of matzah down, I am craving a tasty burrito filled with guac, cheese, beans and the rest of the good stuff. In some ways, this holiday is meant to be celebratory, but I think I'll celebrate most when I can eat tortillas and tacos again! :)

Loose Boots, Tight EP

God bless the indie scene. If it weren’t for the emergence of the internet and subsequently access to independent artists and labels, I may never have come across honeyhoney and their EP “Loose Boots.” Though only 5 tracks long, the disc whets ones appetite for more from the songwriting duo of Suzanne Santo and Ben Jaffe.

Santo’s vocals, at once silken mixed with grit, deliver lyrics of immediacy and absolute directness. This girl’s got no time mess around, she’s straight up blunt and telling it like it is. “Little Toy Gun” (assumedly the single) leads off the disc and gets things moving. Lyrically aggressive, Santo seems to ponder a better means of break-up rather than the normal phone call, “I know you sat all alone so many nights waiting for me/Cold, your face like a stone I hang up the phone when we disagree/Standing there by my side when the fighting is done/Glaring at me in the light is my little toy gun.” The song feels somewhere between a Hawaiian surfing film and a car chase.

This is followed by the wild romp of “Give Yourself to Me.” After which, the duo slows it down for “Bouncing Ball” a track that allows Santo to stretch out and show some range.

But the highlight comes in the form of “Thursday Night” a relaxing charmer of a song. Fed up with the games lovers play, a frustrated Santo lays it on the line. “I’m sitting here with you tonight, you make an awful pretty sight and since it’s just us two tonight, I think that we should screw tonight.” It doesn’t get much more direct than that, but Santo’s delivery is so soft and smooth that unless you’re listening for it, you just might miss it.

Though only 5 tracks long, the EP is certainly worth a listen. The band has been signed to Kiefer Sutherland’s IronWorks label and a full-length album is on the way shortly. I. For one, will be looking forward to it.

Uncle Moe's

So I eat a lot of burritos. Just last week I was serving jury dury and there just so happened to be a Chipotle near the court house. In 6 days of service, I ate 5 burritos. They were all delicious and varied in meat, salsa and guac proportions. (I have yet to finalize a "regular.")

While most were at said Chipotle, one day I snuck off to enjoy a gut-stuffer from Uncle Moe's Burritos, located in the heart of Park Slope, Brooklyn. Uncle Moe's is an independent establishment specializing in gigantic burritos. How large are their burritos, you ask? Well, your average "California" burrito (check their menu for plenty of other option) necessitates not one, but two tortillas to ensure all the fixins and veggies stay in. Last week, I enjoyed a chorizo and portabella mushroom burrito topped with rice, black beans, guac, sour cream, cheese, lettuce and salsa. Dare I say, it was delicious. So delicious, in fact, I considered going back for dinner. I can't remember, now, why I didn't. Must have had an emergency or somethin'.

Hm. I think just writing this is making me jones for another one. I'll catch up with you guys later. I'm gonna go catch the F train. Laters.

No Duffy. I'm begging you for mercy.

So I listen to a lot of music. And while I wouldn’t always admit this (though I am on my blog, so go figure that out) I’m a pretty big fan of poppy/trashy/bubblegummy pop. Every now and then I’ll turn on VH1 to see what the latest trash is on the airwaves. I’ve come to enjoy such nuggets as Estelle’s “American Boy” or Charlotte Something’s “How I Could Just Kill a Man.” So light. So airy. So simple and poppy.

Recently though it brought me to Duffy’s smash hit “Mercy.” And I gotta say, sorry Duffy, I’m not buying it. Go beg someone else. I have no sympathy for overused, tattered lyrics that are just oozing with lame.

Let’s have a look, shall we?

The opening verse begins “I love you/But I gotta stay true.” Sounds like you’ve got some difficult feelings to sort through. You love the guy, but you’ve got to be true to yourself. Phew, that sounds pretty tough. (Yawn.)

A little further on she rasps “You got me good, just like you new you would.” I mean, is Ron Isley coming in for a guest appearance? I half expect him to show up and break into “Twist and Shout.” (Heard it before. Ready to change the station.)

But wait, she’s not quite done yet, she follows with “I don’t know what you do/But you do it well/I’m under your spell.” Really, Duffy? Really? I mean, were you listening to “I Put a Spell on You” before jotting down some lyrics? Besides that, it sounds like a pretty dire situation on your hands. You don’t even know what he’s doing to you, and yet he’s influencing your every move. I’ll bet he even commanded you to write this song. Yeah, that’s it. You didn’t even write this song. It’s him. He knows what you need. But he’s not giving it to you, just letting you complain about it to others while not letting go. Wow, so meta. (Yawn. Stretch. Yawn. Turn the dial.)

Not only have I heard these lyrics a million times before, but their overuse has rendered them lifeless, boring and just plain lame. And I wanted so badly to like this song. It's enjoyably simple. Sadly for Duffy, though, simple turned to lame real quick. I do hope, however, that she gets it all figured out with her man. Then maybe her follow up can start with lyrics like “I’m free to do what I want, any old time.” I mean, they worked before, didn’t they?

Charles Mingus. Live.

If time travel were a possibility for me, I would do a lot of crazy things. Along the way, I think I would travel back to see Charles Mingus play live. Sadly, the last Deloreon was sold from Bay Ridge Honda last week, so I’m stuck with this live recording of Mingus at Antibes. Which is just what this is, a live recording. A recording of Mingus and his band cutting up one night at a festival in Antibes (wherever the hell that is).

Live performances can be a mixed bag. Raw emotion and energy can be captured in a way that studio recordings can’t replicate. And there is no lack of that here. Born out of bebop and strong gospel ties, Mingus’ work is never void of character and emotion. But within the emotion lies error. So while the energy of a live performance can be felt, so too can its shortcomings.

Recorded in 1960, following Mingus Ah Um and Ming Dynasty, Mingus at Antibes features a generally piano-less quintet. The group is considerably smaller than his more well-known endeavors; Mingus Ah Um was recorded as an Octet for example.

Though his band is certainly accomplished (Eric Dolphy, Booker Ervin, Ted Curson) the lack of piano leaves a void that is not easily replaced. This is with the exception of “I’ll Remember April” in which Bud Powell joins. But Powell’s comping only reasserts what is missing from the rest of the performance. Recordings of “Better Get Hit In Your Soul” and “Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting” seem empty without a fuller baselined harmonic structure.

Additionally, mistaken moments hurt the overall performance. Whereas Miles Davis’ forced splee-ahs feel intended and endeared, the snafus within this recording are hardly charming and more often just sound like, well, mistakes. A missed re-entrance on “Better Get Hit In Your Soul” is a prime example.

This is not to say that the entire performance is lacking. “What Love” is gorgeously heartfelt and listening to Curson and Dolphy trade fours on “I’ll Remember April” is really worth the price of admission. Admission to, well, this live show.

“Just Don’t Care” For Those Lyrics

Alright people, this is getting a little ridiculous. It seems some song lyrics are as cyclical as skinny-legged jeans; leaving us for a brief moment only to enjoy a resurgence a few years later. Why is it that we constantly hear the same tired, uninspired song lyrics cropping up throughout pop music? Every time I hear it, I silently hope that it will be the last time, alas, it never is. Maybe it’s an lyrical rite of passage to write a song marrying “maybe” with “baby” or “girl” with “world,” but then, maybe these songs should never receive airplay to begin with.

But the most egregiously overused rhyme in music today (and yesterday, too) is the pairing of “air” with “care.” Or more directly, this sentence: “Throw your hands in the air and wave them around like you just don’t care.” The original lyricist should be receiving royalties for the number of times it’s reprised in pop music. Artists ranging from OutKast, Dr. Dre and Ed Lover to Sting have made use of the lyric somewhere along their careers. And hey, I get it, you want people to get into the music. You want them to show their interest and get them excited. But there has GOT to be another way to do it. What about asking crowds to piggy-back on each other? Or wave just one arm? There are a ton of words that you could rhyme with “arm.” (“Everybody throw up an arm! For lunch I ate a chicken parm!” See how easy that was?)

The latest iteration of the well-worn Air/Care rhyme comes in the form of Michael Stipe’s tenor whinny on REM’s single “Man-Sized Wreath.” While not taken verbatim, Stipe offers “Throw it in the air, kick it around the dance floor like you just don’t care.” While I understand writing lyrics can be difficult I would expect more from an accomplished lyricist like Stipe. These lyrics are tired, worn and in need of a rest. There are too many other words out there to be used for artists to constantly be leaning on these old hands (see my arm suggestion earlier).

I therefore resolve that lyrics such as these be retired and enshrined in Cleveland’s Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame. Think of it, each rhyme could have a gold plaque lined with the artists that have sung their praises through the years. Maybe this would finally force some artists to offer us something new.

The New Brooklyn Interpol

Last night, I attended a majestic show at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) called “American Tunes” that featured the songbook of Paul Simon. While Simon played plenty of his hits through the years, he also invited several current musicians to join him on stage to reinvent some of his greatest songs. Performers included Amos Lee, Gillian Welch, Josh Groban, Olu Dara and a little known, Brooklyn-based, band called Grizzly Bear.

Ten minutes alone on stage was enough to establish their unique sound by reinventing two Simon classics, “Graceland” and “Mother and Child Reunion.” I was immediately struck by Grizzly Bear’s controlled sound. Every note was consciously meant and meticulously emphasized. I could hear their intent beyond the notes. “Graceland” was reinterpreted to incorporate a several minor chord changes and new syncopations while “Mother and Child Reunion” was slowed down considerably and layered with a stark guitar wailing over a sprawling, undulating bass.

So for all you Interpol lovers, the next big thing has arrived. Grizzly Bear’s quiet, haunting sound creates a deep trance similar to Interpol’s breakout “Turn on the Bright Lights.” Tracks like “Deep Sea Diver” and “Knife” are fine examples of their slow, chilling effected sound. If only we could get the Paul Simon songs recorded too.