World Music News Wire

Putumayo Goes Indie: Brazilian Beat Uncovers the Roots-Powered Edge of the Worldwide Brazilian Music Scene

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Glittering break beats are at home with bouncing berimbaus while rolling Afro-Brazilian rhythms, retro samba soul and velvety bossa nova vocals mesh and groove organically. This is the unstoppable Brazilian Beat.

Selected from tens of thousands of songs collected by the pioneering label created to introduce new global music to broad audiences, Brazilian Beat chronicles the vibrant indie scene in Brazil and around the world. Musicians are taking samba, bossa nova, and MPB (Brazilian popular music) and deftly incorporating electronica, soul, funk, and just about every other music imaginable.

Sultry or upbeat, the tracks on this compilation of hip, rootsy artists aim to raise listeners’ moods and introduce even die-hard fans to a new crop of Brazilian music innovators. Featured alongside unsung icons such as samba soul master Marcos Valle are rising new stars like Tita Lima, daughter of the bassist from psychedelic hipster darlings Os Mutantes.

Brazilian music has bubbled into an indie scene-to-beat-all-indie scenes in underground clubs and on small labels from São Paulo to Rome. “You can go to Italy and find a hot bossa nova scene, and they have their own sound,” like Roman bossa band BungaLove’s “Minha Loucura,” explains Jacob Edgar, longtime head of A&R for Putumayo and passionate follower of the Brazilian music scene. “These retro sounds end up back in Brazil and shake things up.”

A diverse array of young musicians, such as Fino Colectivo, draw on Jorge Ben’s lush ’70s samba-soul sound—and transform it. It’s a realm of discovery, even for ardent followers of global music. “One of the exciting things we at Putumayo do is introduce artists to people who don’t know them,” says Dan Storper, head of Putumayo and avid musical traveler and collector. “It has to be upbeat and melodic, and it has to move us.”

“We’re probably the most voracious music listeners on the planet,” Edgar exclaims, “and we have an elaborate process of cataloguing the tens of thousands of tracks we hear. As we’re listening and traveling, we just keep hearing great music that seems to work together.”

This exhaustive, music-driven approach uncovered artists such as Michigan-born, Brazilian singer-songwriter Mônica da Silva or the Brazilian child-star turned pop diva Bruna Caram, whose carefree vocals dance over cool horns and sparkling keys on “Feriando Pessoul.” It unearthed the wonderfully gritty sounds of a long-unreleased super group session led by New York-based Brazilian saxophonist Leo Gandelman (Brazilian Groove Band’s “Bananiera”) and highlighted the earthy pleasures of Rio-based Rogê’s clavinet-flecked samba (“A Nega e O Malandra”).

“You can really hear the intersection between past and present in the music of Brazilian artists,” Storper reflects. “We didn’t make an effort to seek it out; this is what musicians are doing. They respect their traditional music but are adding new flavors with real passion.”

New Release from Little Known Government of TriBeCaStan: Capital New Deli Found to Have Irregular Time-Space Continuum

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News Alert. This morning Aljazzeera reported that the questionable nation of TriBeCaStan (www.tribecastan.tv) has made scientific breakthroughs in time travel. The unrecognized republic of nomads has broken the code of the time/space continuum. And by broken we mean: it no longer works. Applying sonic techniques once only known to a small group of punk rock shamans, the nation's most prestigious scientific entity, the TriBeCaStani FolkLorkEstra, uses sound alone to simultaneously place listeners in eras separated by decades and terrains separated by oceans. The breakthrough is outlined in an auditory compendium titled New Deli, a recording that allows the world to experience a type of soulful networking more insidious than Facebook's privacy policies.

To fully grasp TriBeCaStan's methodology, one must note the movements of the commonwealth's Minister of Foreign Expatriation Jeff Greene and Archduke of the Forward Guard John Kruth.

Kruth--the sonic engineer and composer of the melodic formulas concocted for New Deli--carried out extensive research with auditory specialists among Bosnian Gypsies, Indians, and Moroccans, while Greene conducted top secret junkets to Western China, Cuba, and Uzbekistan collecting artifacts key to the timbral sound bending necessary to achieve dimensional shifts. Research by the two culminated in their participation in the 2011 International Jews Harp Congress (sic) in the diamond and permafrost capital of Russia, Yakutsk. The Congress broke the record for most jews harps played at once, while the TriBeCaStan delegates broke wind on the stage of the Yakutsk Opera House, with their jews harps.

The plot thickens when one realizes that it is the double-spy tendency of these two former rebels which led to the new discovery. After the revolution, Parliament decided that rather than changing governments every few years, they would do so intentionally every few weeks, creating more instability than even a coup could handle. Thus all government leaders are forced to spend three weeks out of every six weeks in New York City's subways, bars, and, most importantly and considered most sacred, spice-filled delis. One mythical deli in particular inspired the re-naming of the nation's capital to New Deli.

A revolving door of temporarily expatriated patriots led to the swelling ranks of the Folklorkestra. “Everywhere I go, the musicians I meet want to hear and play American music, particularly, blues and country," says Kruth as he smokes dates and eats tobacco. "Musicians all over the world listened to Curtis Mayfield and the Temptations. But for the last decade or two the shoe has been on the other foot. We’ve not only been inspired by world-class global musicians like Bachir Attar of the Master Musicians of Jajouka, Carnatic mandolin master U. Rajesh, and the Austrian hurdy-gurdy virtuoso Mathias Loibner, we invited them to play as guests on New Deli. ”

"As we say in TriBeCaStan," adds Greene, "'If your toes all face one way, you will walk crooked.' This means we must be in solidarity with all of the world to find the right direction. If you dig around in the '60s and '70s in music from India, Thailand and Ethiopia you hear how the musicians borrowed from and reworked American music. We’re just doing the same thing, but in reverse."

Kruth came up with “Bed Bugs” and “Dive Bomber” while swatting bed bugs and mosquitoes with his mandolin late into the night in a pest-ridden Chennai hotel room, while Greene strummed the charango and thumped the marimbula (large thumb piano) in rural Cuba with local musicians until his fingers bled, leading to the romp “El Bumpa.” Bruce Huebner, American-born master of the shakuhachi (pentatonic bamboo Japanese flute), was tricked into joining an atmospheric blues with the ethereal “A Crack in the Clouds.” Little did they all know what was taking place at the time in Fukushima and how the emerging sound of hope would stand as a sonic portrait honoring the victims of the recent Japanese disaster.

In the past Kruth’s “Banshee” mandolin could be heard on stage with the raw flaming sound of punk bands the Violent Femmes and the Meat Puppets. These days he can be found, when not traipsing the globe with Greene, shooting pool with Ornette Coleman, learning the subtleties of improvisation and composition from the revolutionary saxophonist. Which brings us to a new, unexpected era of TriBeCaStan…

With the addition of baritone saxophonist Claire Daly, a former James Brown and Taj Mahal side woman and a fave of both the Downbeat poll and former President Clinton, along with John Turner's versatile ska trumpet tossed into the mix, the band digs deep into an eclectic '60’s bag covering Ornette Coleman, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, and Don Cherry. Kirk is the subject of Kruth’s first biography, Bright Moments, and composer of the funky “Freaks for the Festival,” which TriBeCaStan recorded live at Bill Laswell’s studio with Kirk alumni Steve Turre blowing a massive trombone solo.

New Deli's cover art was created by comrade Cal Schenkel, Frank Zappa's resident album cover artist known for a collage and outsider style consistent with the TriBeCaStani culture.

Free your marimba and your mind will follow. Dig into the flesh-and-blood immediacy of worn wood, twisted metal, and buzzing reeds, and you'll get grooves that can set the room jumping and the mind soaring. It's the wacky virtuosity of the Mothers of Invention playing unplugged for Bosnian gypsies doing the tango ("Jovanka"). It's the Pygmy bottle trick turned into a Latvian favorite sing-a-long ("One Day, His Axe Fell into Honey"). It's Don Cherry's Africa reinterpreted for China ("Guinea"). It's the prog rock of the Ottomans, complete with a wailing harmonica ("Dive Bomber").

TriBeCaStan finds these hidden channels, making ancient instruments and techniques feel right at home on the edge of the time and space discontinuum.

Think Funky: KG Omulo Hits Positive Highs with Ayah Ye! Moving Train and First Major U.S. Tour

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Singer, songwriter, and dance-floor instigator KG Omulo can do anything.

He regularly packs American clubs with gritty calls for justice and hard-hitting Afrofunk. He has moved sold-out arenas with his baritone voice in his native Kenya. He takes on the dark ironies of politics, with anger in the groove, reveling in the potential to shake things up while shaking your thing.

Now on his first major U.S. tour and on Ayah Ye! Moving Train, he calls on the spirit of Bob and Fela, of Marvin and Stevie, and gets right to the point. No vamping or self-righteousness, just banging horn breaks, sweet and snarling guitar, and a voice that can croon, cry out, and urge on.

“I can be conscious and get people stirred up instead of bringing them down,” Omulo explains. “I make positive music that educates without judging. I want to create awareness and still make people dance.”

~~~

Omulo’s dance-floor positivity has deep roots. His family was very pious, yet savored lively political discussions. His mother had conservative religious views, but still shared the Motown hits, East and West African classics of her youth with her son. Omulo learned that the spirit could shape the world—and could do so through powerful music.

This faith and pop savvy combo led to his first musical coup: As a teenager, Omulo and two close friends from his rural Kenyan high school sang gospel a cappella for stadium crowds. “We were a barber shop-style trio, doing something between doo wop and Ladysmith Black Mambazo, because we didn’t have any instruments at our school,” Omulo recalls. “We recorded a simple tape and before we knew it, we were traveling to Nairobi and singing for 35,000 people a show. We never thought it would get so serious.”

But when Omulo’s parents moved to Rhode Island, KG had to follow. “I had to start from scratch,” he says.

The challenge opened new musical vistas for Omulo, who wanted to reach a whole new set of ears. His education took him to Florida, far from any Kenyan émigré community and even farther from his roots. He knew he needed a live band. He knew he wanted to move people—move them to toss aside apathy, fight for their rights, work together for justice. He began to think funky.

“I needed to find common ground, a cross-over point,” Omulo reflects. “I’m one of those people who can adapt to the immediate surroundings. I could have stuck to what I was doing so well back in Kenya, but that didn’t make sense in Florida.”

What made sense was a rock-infused, reggae-powered take on Afrobeat and Afropop that doesn’t linger in long instrumentals, but goes straight to the irresistible hook. Fueling all the carefully crafted tracks, Omulo’s longing for a different, more just world gives his good-time music a compelling depth of meaning.

It’s not just about making it—as an immigrant, as a musician—but about making it matter. Omulo uses the groove to rile up and wake up, to praise the often unsung efforts of the world’s women (“Quality Women”) or to point out the political roots of economic hard times (“Intervention”).

On stage and in the studio, KG runs the show. He writes all the music, brainstorms lyrics in English and Swahili, and even uses visual editing skills gleaned from post-production film work to perfect tracks in the studio.

But he knows when to bring in friends to the mix, and Omulo’s Florida-grown backing band has worked with everyone from Ray Charles to T-Pain. “Cleary Boulevard,” an uptempo shout-out to the vibrant South Florida scene, features recording engineer, producer, and close friend Ramsees Mechan bantering in Spanish as KG waxes poetic in Swahili. “Ready to Love” features guitarist and MC Fareed Salamah (“Ripstah”), originally from the Virgin Islands, who lays down lush, purring guitar on the reggae-styled anthem to an open heart...

“I always think as I’m making music, ‘This doesn’t end here, even if this one situation doesn’t work, life goes on,’” Omulo muses. “I want people to live, to love, to fight for what they believe in. To belong and to care about others. If you can reach that special place in your heart, you can achieve anything.”

All-Access Planet: globalFEST 2012 Opens New Spaces for Traditions Transformed

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Malian roots rap and sensually fresh samba. Eerily avant jaw harps and 21st-century tarantella. Heritage never sounded so cool.

Whether continuing famous musical lineages or pushing forward on new paths, the artists of globalFEST (January 8, 2012 at New York City’s Webster Hall; full info at globalfest.org) show how world music has matured from a quaint, catch-all niche to a meaningful, deeply rooted challenge to the musical status quo. Artists are crafting history into new sounds.

This year’s edition of the annual world music showcase and all-night party includes three U.S. debuts, as well as several fresh programs and approaches from a bevy of respected global performers.

BélO: Haiti’s acoustic innovator and social activist channels his home’s deep and diverse Afro-Caribbean roots with catchy, reggae-inflected songs.

Canzoniere Grecanico Salentino: Southern Italy’s hottest band revitalizes the ancient ritual pizzica tarantata, said to cure the deadly spider’s bite with frenzied trance dances.

Debo Band: Boston-based crew reinvents the Golden Age of Ethiopian and East African funk and jazz.

Diogo Nogueira: Brazil’s red-hot samba (and television) star adds a contemporary twist to the beloved rhythms of Rio.

M.A.K.U. Sound System: Queens, NY-based Afro-Colombian underground band’s roaring guitars, bold brass, and hard-hitting Latin beats and vocals bring down the house.

Mayra Andrade: Golden-voiced Cape Verde singer brings a Parisian and Brazilian flair to her island roots with a new acoustic trio.

SMOD (U.S. Debut): Malian folk rappers, featuring the son of Amadou and Mariam, work serious lyrical flow to create Afro-Rap, wrapped in Manu Chao’s signature globe-trotting production.

The Gloaming (U.S. Debut): Irish and American roots supergroup (Martin Hayes, Dennis Cahill, Iarla Ó Lionaird, and Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh with NY’s indie pianist Thomas Bartlett (aka Doveman), marries edgy but harmonious, sparse yet beautiful elements to age-old and new tunes.

The Silk Road Ensemble: An international collective of virtuoso musicians from around the globe, this ensemble carries on the cross-cultural legacy of founder and artistic director Yo-Yo Ma, drawing inspiration from the historical Silk Road and contemporary musical crossroads.

Wang Li (U.S. Debut): France-based Chinese jaw harp master-improviser creates wildly unexpected and deeply meditative melodies, discovering the infinite nuances that breath, tongue, and throat can make.

Yemen Blues: Yemeni-Israeli electrifying singer and his global band make Mediterranean sounds rock and soar.

Zaz: French street sounds meet quirky global influences in young singer's plush bluesy voice.

***

Though many of this edition’s artists have taken up the torch from family members or musical mentors, they are reaching into new sonic territory, whether they are funkifying cumbia or transforming the role of the spike fiddle or jaw harp. globalFEST, as America’s vital world music springboard event coinciding with the annual Arts Presenters Conference (APAP), aims to bring musicians to ears and even into venues once closed to global artists.

“In addition to summer rock and folk music festivals, we’ve started to see an embracing of world music throughout the performing arts field, including more traditionally classical venues,” explains festival co-organizer Bill Bragin (Acidophilus: Live and Active Cultures). “Many of this year’s globalFEST artists are performers who would be appropriate in more traditional concert halls, which are responding to the desire to diversify their programs.”

The goal of access has been at the heart of the festival’s mission since it was founded post-9/11, when dedicated global music presenters looked to restart the stalled influx of international music at a crucial moment. globalFEST remains committed to supporting exchange—both cultural and economic—and has emphasized artists of note from Louisiana after Hurricane Katrina, and from Haiti since the earthquake that struck there in 2010.

“globalFEST needs to constantly be aware of its mission,” continues co-organizer Isabel Soffer (Live Sounds). “We spotlight artists we believe presenters will want to book, will be successful in their venues and will bring new audiences. Our curatorial decisions are made with this in mind, and in this way, we feel we can encourage presenters to rethink artists that are on tour.”

2012’s festival promises to indeed be great, filling the multiple, varied performance spaces at Webster Hall with irresistible dance sounds, reflective beauty, and singer-songwriter intensity. globalFEST’s emphasis on access—access to the U.S. market for innovative musicians, continued access to new global music for music fans through reasonable ticket prices supported via globalFEST’s  Kickstarter campaign—now extends beyond good times in the early January cultural doldrums.

With support from the Ford Foundation, the globalFEST Touring Fund is launching to support festival alums on U.S. tours, as well as creating a new program to reimburse festival performers for expenses related to their globalFEST appearances. This, added to ongoing support from founding sponsor, the Cultural Services of the French Embassy, will strengthen the festival’s ability to find uncommonly good, often unheard sounds and bring them to the States.

“Starting this edition, we will be able to offset some of our artists’ expenses, the cost of coming to New York to play a showcase festival,” notes globalFEST co-organizer Shanta Thake (Joe’s Pub at The Public Theater). “It will encourage musicians and expand the pool of artists who can commit to that investment. We are excited about the possibilities these new programs will create to widen globalFEST’s geographical and musical scope.”

“Global citizenry is a priority for France, and for many people worldwide. We support globalFEST in hopes of sharing the multicultural musical heritages of France-based, France-produced and Francophone artists," says Emmanuel Morlet, Director of the Music Office of the French Embassy, the festival’s founding sponsor since its first edition. “From increasing cultural understanding to the real economic role the festival plays for emerging performers, now more than ever globalFEST plays a great role in connecting people across political boundaries.” And gets them dancing while doing it.

globalFEST, Inc. is a not-for-profit production presented in association with Live Sounds, Joe’s Pub at the Public Theater, Acidophilus: Live & Active Cultures and The Bowery Presents. Support provided by The Ford Foundation and The Cultural Services of the French Embassy with additional support from the French Music Export Office, recognizing France’s pre-eminent role as a hotbed of global music activity. The globalFEST media sponsors are WNYC Radio and NPR.org. Artist visa services are provided courtesy of Tamizdat. Publicity services are provided by rock paper scissors, inc.

The Reluctant Muse: How Deep Roots and Blue Pop Found Singer-Songwriter Kami Thompson on Love Lies

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Catchy, moody debut by velvet-voiced young daughter of famous roots-rock family

Love may lie, but Kami Thompson doesn’t.

The young singer-songwriter speaks of intimate moments, using her husky, lovely voice, unflinching honesty, and long-honed musical sensibilities to craft a strikingly full-fledged debut effort, Love Lies.

Drawing inspiration from her life-long love of roots music and deep ties of love and friendship—her father Richard Thompson and brother Teddy, family friends Sean Lennon and Martha Wainwright—Kami’s songs suggest the freshest strains of Americana (“Little Boy Blue”), storied British lyric traditions (“Blood Wedding”), and clear-sighted, bittersweet pop (“4,000 Miles” and “Stormy”).

“I wasn’t writing any of these songs on purpose,” Thompson muses. “I was writing as I felt.”

Thompson was not eager to leap into the family business. Her father and mother Linda had broken new ground in the roots-rock, singer-songwriter realm. Her brother was making his way as a professional musician in Los Angeles. She’d grown up surrounded by musical families and seen the whole business from the inside, right down to selling merch at her father’s shows.

“I kept thinking, ‘I don’t want to go into the family biz, and into a whole new world of personal judgment,’” Thompson explains. “In a musical family, everything is heard with professional ears, and even though everyone has been extremely supportive, they’ve also been brutally honest when they’ve heard my songs.”

But the music started coming, despite Kami’s reluctance. “I had all these ideas, all half-finished,” Thompson recalls. “In my early 20s, I started writing whole songs. I did it for my own pleasure, coming home after long week at work, sitting with my guitar and playing away. It seemed like a good alternative to sitting around the TV and drinking another bottle of red wine.”

The songs that arrived, though dealing with the complexities of love gone wrong, find unexpected approaches to that time-tested theme. “Blood Wedding” imagines a conversation between Thompson and her mother, as it may have unfolded in an English ballad several centuries ago, and is graced with her father’s heartfelt mandolin solo. “Gotta Hold On” mixes heartbreak and defiance with a devil-may-care honky-tonk vibe. “Don’t Bother Me” finds a new, almost eerie perspective on a George Harrison classic.

Thompson’s music eventually saw the light of day, by complete accident. She played a gig with her father, singing a duet that caught the ear of Will Oldham (aka Bonny Prince Billy), who just happened to be in the audience that night. He tracked her down and invited her to join him on tour in New Zealand and Australia.

“It took someone from outside the hothouse world I grew up in,” notes Thompson. “I realized I should finish these songs that I’d half written.”

Once finished, Kami worked with Brad Albetta, bassist, producer, and partner of close friend Martha Wainwright, and Ed Haber, saving up her money to fly into New York for studio sessions, wandering the streets between takes, and wondering at her good fortune. The songs took on a distinctly American sound, a fact Thompson credits to the recording location and musicians involved, including Martha and Lucy Wainwright on vocals.

“If we’d done it in Britain with British musicians,” she says, “it would have had a totally different sound. It wasn’t intentional; everyone just played what they wanted to, and it turned out beautifully.”

Yet there is something universal in Thompson’s songs, something that springs from their quiet beginnings and careful tending over the course of years.

Blast! Squeeze! Whack! The Horns-to-the-Wall Sound of Raya Brass Band

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Raya Brass Band make accordions and tubas feral and sexy. From Russian bath denizens to usually staid city officials, their serpentine grooves inspired by Greek, Macedonian, Romany, and Serbian roots get everyone leaping, gyrating and causing a ruckus.

But don’t blame it on the Balkans: This crack quintet is all NYC. You might catch them wailing mid-span on the Brooklyn Bridge under a full moon. Or making partiers above Bushwick dance so hard that the roof bounces—literally. They’ve played passionate solos in Brighton Beach hot tubs, snaked through unsuspecting fashionistas on Staten Island, and gotten listeners in one upstate town so riled up, the police nearly intervened at a street gig one cold December day.

Dancing on Roses, Dancing on Cinders bursts with this frenetic joie de vivre—and with the intense love for Balkan traditions and focus on musicianship that power the high-energy party. Digging into black-market compilations, Eastern European carnival traditions and their own eclectic musical pasts (out jazz, New Orleans brass, punk), Raya Brass Band has the chops to match their irrational exuberance.

***

Raya Brass Band, with its portable but powerful show, plays crazy gigs as a matter of course and can scramble and leap into any party breach. The beautiful mayhem runs side-by-side with a serious grounding in the music of Eastern Europe.

This includes a striking sense of the compound rhythms, odd meters and curlicue melodies of Northern Greece, one particularly strong source of inspiration for Raya’s players. Masquerade traditions and an early-winter carnival repertoire set the region apart. Accordions often take center stage in Greek Macedonia and rhythms get complex even by Balkan standards.

“This draws a lot of us to the music,” explains Raya’s reeds man Greg Squared. “The challenge of the meters. All over the Balkans, you get lots of dances and songs in seven or sometimes in nine. But in Greece, you get tunes in 9+7, in these amazing compound odd meters with certain beats that swing and stretch.” Which adds up to an intriguing time for musicians and dancers alike.

Beyond the musical intricacies, there’s a warm, welcoming social core to the music that Raya communicates. “When I was in Greece, I remember hearing this incredible music coming down street. It was a brass band, wandering through the village,” recalls accordion player Matthew Fass. “I was struck by the immediacy and the intimacy. That drew all of us to this. We don’t want to play on stage so much; we love to be out on the dance floor, to break down the walls between us and the audience.” This intimacy shines on traditional Greek tunes like “Endeka/Patinada” and on “Melochrino,” a santouri (Greek hammered dulcimer) number Fass took up a notch.

Devoted to the roots, Raya Brass Band unabashedly plays around with their favorite beats and forms. They turned Macedonian mystery synth blasts into funky, dubbed out dance tunes like “Cell Phone Song.” Named for the wacky ringtone Greg Squared crafted from an enigmatic track he found in Skopje on a black-market compilation, the track bounds through melodic curves and unexpected quarter tones—and still gets dancers waving their own phones in the air like lighters at a classic rock show.

And other influences—from avant-garde to down and dirty—sneak into Raya’s explorations. Witness “Tavernitsa,” an original tune by trumpet player Ben Syversen. “Most of the tune is fairly traditional sounding, but there is an interlude between the trumpet and sax solos that is more reminiscent of Julius Hemphill or Henry Threadgill than something that you would typically hear in a Balkan folk song,” Syversen reflects. “I always imagined watching folk dancers turn their heads and make faces during that part of the tune, all while continuing to dance. In practice, I haven't seen too many shocked looks.” Only smiles, hoots, and flying feet.

“Nevestinsko Oro,” traditionally played during the bride’s first dance at Macedonian weddings, got a dancehall-inflected revamp, at Fass’s insistence. The straight-up Balkan brass arrangement just wasn’t grooving enough. “We had fun with that one,” laughs Fass. “After starting out with just the tupan [double-sided bass drum] and two other players, the band roars out with this big major chord. We get into the groove. People start singing, in anticipation of that big moment.”

Though complex and subtle as any out jazz, Balkan brass is ultimately celebratory music. At the same time, for musicians like Greg Squared and the band’s tuba player Don Godwin, it harnesses the raw, bold power of the hardcore music they grew up with. It’s got punk oomph, but deeply joyful roots.
 
“That’s the beauty of the music,” Greg reflects. “You can’t really make a half-statement. It doesn’t work. You have to say, ‘This is how I feel and this is what I think right now.’ You say it in complicated ways, but there’s this amazing, direct sense of presence in the music and the playing.” This presence, unamplified and unmediated, moving directly through the crowd, is what Raya Brass Band is all about.

The Vaults of (Roots Music) Heaven: Chicago’s Old Town School of Folk Music Unlocks the Lost Gems and Wild Creativity of its Live Archives

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Venerable vernacular music institution releases 127 live tracks by the best in American and global music from last half century.

On a stack of DATs in a shoebox lay the history of American music. There were local legends and major icons, global musicians and indie rockers. Some captured beautifully from the board, some gleaned quietly from the dusty archives of a radio station, the recordings held wildly creative decades of sound from Chicago’s Old Town School of Folk Music, a roots-music touchstone for nearly 55 years. And no one had heard them.

Joan Baez and Donovan, Big Bill Broonzy and Ella Jenkins, Pete Seeger and Taj Mahal, Martin Carthy and Steve Earle, Doc Watson and Mahalia Jackson: It was a literal who’s-who of folk, gospel, country, bluegrass, blues, and world music, caught in hours of exciting performances. But someone had to put the pieces together—all 127 tracks worth—and someone had to clear all the rights with 85 different artists.

They succeeded, against odds that would have stopped others in their tracks. Live From The Old Town School (Old Town School Recordings; release: December 13, 2011) reveals not only the venerable institution’s storied start, but its role in the recent infusion of new energy into the roots music world, with everyone from Toumani Diabate and Oumou Sangare to Andrew Bird and Lila Downs.

This crucial collection of rare live gems is available for download from iTunes, Amazon, and CD Baby, with most of the proceeds going to benefit the School’s educational work with children and adults. And though very diverse, the tracks share a common quality.

“These are all performers who know how to communicate with the audience in a very personal way,” says Colby Maddox, librarian/archivist and teacher at the Old Town School, who spearheaded the project and attracted support for it from the Donnelley Foundation. “They don’t need that distance, that huge arena. They want to get down close and make people happy. And they are all coming from well-established traditions, all different, but all strong.”

***

“You can feel the immense energy in the concerts and what we’re presenting,” explains Maddox. “Take Andrew Bird’s show. He was called in as an opening act on short notice, and he put together a band last minute. All these great musicians ran in to play with him, and you can really feel the spontaneity and excitement of that show in the recording.”

Immense energy and deep commitment are at the heart of the Old Town School’s work, past and present. From humble, grassroots beginnings in the lessons and singing circles during the folk revival’s heyday, the School became an established part of the thriving Chicago folk scene, a scene that temporarily rivaled New York and Berkeley in its vibrancy. At the School, folk stars of the day crooned, moved audiences, and even jokingly imitated each other.

Behind the scenes, even as the School became a highly respected fixture of the Chicago music scene and a sought-after venue for many musicians, the spirit of its origins remained. Jam sessions would go on all evening, in the dressing rooms, hallways, and elevators. Annual parties would last all night. Unlikely duos and trios would perform at unforgettable one-off shows, fortunately caught on tape (and now released for all to enjoy). Moments like Odetta’s striking version of “Strawberry Fields Forever” or Jeff Tweedy of Wilco’s unexpected cover of Schoolhouse Rock anthem (and De La Soul inspiration), “Three Is the Magic Number.”

“We once did a show with Robbie Fulks and Cowboy Jack Clement, the rockabilly producer from Sun Studios who wrote, ‘I Guess Things Happen That Way,’ for Johnny Cash,” recalls Jon Langford of The Mekons, an alt-country and punk legend in his own right and a longtime supporter of the School whose gritty cover of Procol Harum’s “Homburg” is part of the Live From collection. “At the end of the night, he joined us onstage for a ragged version, then played his ukulele for us all the way back to the dressing room, even in the elevator.”

But to bring these key moments and gorgeous relics to light also demanded intense energy. Maddox’s predecessor, Paul Tyler, meticulously copied early live tapes at the radio station that had become an unknowing repository for the School’s first concert recordings. “They had accumulated hundreds of tapes of performances and interviews. I would tuck our rack-mount DAT under my arm and hop on the El,” he remembers with a chuckle. Tyler grabbed tapes sitting in the station’s warehouse and recorded what he could in a vacant studio while his welcome lasted, gleaning famous performances from the late 1950s and 1960s. In addition to the older archives Tyler created, the School itself harbored shelves of digital recordings, started during its second heyday at the turn of the early 21st century.

Then they had to get the right to release the highest quality tracks. Some established artists, like eccentric folk rocker Donovan, were highly skeptical at first, but came around as they got mixes from Maddox and his team. Some composers, like the Puerto Rican songwriters behind some of Los Plenaros de la 21’s hot numbers, could not be found, no matter how the team tried. Months of back and forth, and they had their 127 choice tracks, merely the tip of the iceberg, Maddox notes.

“We transferred thousands of hours of music,” Maddox recalls. “I couldn’t cut it off; there was just so much good stuff. I knew this might be the only time we’d get to do this. I didn’t want to tell anyone no!”

Daughter Africa: Sia Tolno’s Bold Critique and Bright Joys on My Life

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Sia Tolno is one tough singer.

With a velvet and gravel voice reminiscent of the great Miriam Makeba, Tolno has triumphed over war, abuse, exile, and migration. She’s worked as a palm oil saleswoman and a cabaret singer. She’s defied deadly conflicts and immigrant woes, filled with a fiery sense of right and wrong and with a deep love of music that bursts out of every twist and moan of her compelling voice.

With songs that spring from her hard-earned wisdom and experience, Tolno shares My Life (Lusafrica), arranged by French prog-rock legend François Bréant, respected for his work with artists like Salif Keita. My Life blends Afropop, delicate moments of soul and rock, and traditional instruments to match Tolno’s earthy sophistication.

“In my songs, even when I’m talking about sadness, it’s not about despair or self-pity,” muses Tolno. “I want people to know that I went through all these things but still, I’m leaving the past to walk toward the things I love. I’m so happy for that. And the only way to share this happiness is to make others happy through my songs.”

***

It’s easy to get caught up in Tolno’s story: daughter of a strict father and abusive stepmother who fled her home to wind up living in an apartment with thirty other people, she was forced to leave war-ravaged Sierra Leone for Guinea, losing many loved ones and watching her once strong community crumble into bloodshed.

Ever resourceful, Tolno sang in clubs, gaining respect and devoted fans. She sold palm oil. She did what she had to do, until she was discovered by a European music exec at a talent contest (she won third place—but started an international career that exceeded her wildest hopes).

But Tolno’s real truth lies in fervent hope and intense joy she conveys. It flows from deep roots and her own keen sense of uprootedness, from the village she conjures in songs like “Blamah Blamah,” a rolling, upbeat tribute to remembered festivities of her childhood.

“Blama is the name of the town in Sierra Leone where we would all go for a festival at the end of every year,” Tolno explains, a town now dominated by ruins. “I wanted to tell people that in this town we had a very joyful festival, where we just sing and play all these traditional instruments. I wanted to open with my tradition, to show where I am from.”

Even when condemning the corruption and violence that dismays her, or pointing out the disrespect afforded to women of all stations around her, Tolno keeps a driving positivity whether she’s mounting a catchy Afrobeat-inflected call to respect African women (“Odju Watcha”) or a searing indictment of careless politicians (“Polli Polli” and “Shame On U”) or thankless lovers “Di Ya Leh.”

Her joy springs from one source: Music, whether it’s Congolese rumba (“Tonia”) or a desert blues-flavored anthems like “Touma Touma;” whether she’s whipping out gritty lines in Creole or English, or soaring through twining melodies in her native Kissi.

In the few truly content moments she remembers, Tolno used to comfort herself by singing along to Tina Turner and Edith Piaf. “Their songs talk about the reality. That’s the same role I would like to play in my music,” Tolno notes. “I always wanted to be a lawyer as a child, to defend innocent people. Now I try to give out political and life messages, in a very positive way. I’ve lived war and I know what it’s like—and why it has to stop.”

“There is no country in Africa where you can build a house and know it will still stand in a hundred years,” Tolno reflects. “With our history, you have to keep building things over and over, saying things over and over. It’s time we opened our eyes and mended our minds. We have to fight positively.” This positive fight Tolno wages in rippling, high-energy form, rich with her powerful, warm alto and relentless optimism.

The Sound of Songwriter José Cónde: Just Jose Conde

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José Cónde lives his lyrics. He gets grooves from the names of trees. He leaves melody lines on his own answering machine. He can turn a playful refrain to his dog into a dance anthem. His songs are odes to hot dresses, Brazilian muses, discombobulated elephants, and life-giving springs.

Cónde brings a new focus and maturity to this whimsical world on Jose Conde. He turns highly personal songs into new global grooves and reflective, dynamic ballads.

“When I was in my 20s, I didn’t dance at all. I had to come out of my shell,” Cónde exclaims with a laugh. “I’m a late bloomer, though I’ve always been explorer. Now I’ll go anywhere and do anything, I’ll try anything, experimenting with flavors and playing around with different elements and sounds.”

As a songwriter and bandleader, Cónde developed a striking instinct for merging his Miami upbringing, Cuban roots, and the sizzle of New York’s Latin underground. But the new self-titled album is distinguished by a universality; catchy melodies and danceable rhythms likely to draw listeners of all stripes.  Cónde has traded in his Cuban tres for a vintage Gresch guitar (and Hammond B3 and a dozen other instruments). Pan-American and trans-Atlantic influences flow effortlessly on Jose Conde. “The whole idea of fusing elements of American funk, Cuban son, and Brazilian music has been kicking around in my head for years. But it was still in the context of a ‘Latin’ band. Now I’m free to move in any and all directions.”

Cónde rocks a smoking tango (“El Vestido”) or sways through a sensuous, gentle samba (“Mabel”). Lyrically, he points to the absurdness of the habitat displacement that led to an elephant wandering into a Zambian hotel lobby (taken straight from the pages of National Geographic; on “Elephante en Hotel”). Or to the crazy, rockabilly-tinged capers of his dog (“Gordito Cabezon”).

Rumba meets infectious Brooklyn break beats on “Amor y Felicidad.” The hard-grooving “Matapalo Matamusa” sparkles with electro blips while raising the roof off the sucker, thanks to funky guitar riffs and an irresistible bass line. Cónde’s musical exuberance bursts out at the least provocation. Witness the cool cha-cha-cha-suggesting phrase in the South African language of Tsonga (“Munghana Wamina”).Yet the irrepressible spontaneity is balanced by an emotional and introspective side that turns grooves into poetry.

Cónde’s strong sense of himself as an artist, evolved over a long incubation period, demanding just the right sound. After years of working with different collaborators, for the latest record, Cónde played, recorded, and mixed the majority of the album himself, which culminated in sequestering himself for days in his bedroom with a NEVE analog mixer and a menagerie of instruments.

When no bassist could give him just the right swing on tracks like "Matapalo," he bought and polished his long dormant bass chops until his hands were shot. “I had trouble communicating the exact vibe to bass players,” says Cónde. “There’s an unusual relationship between vocal and bass phrasing that the song demanded, an interplay that lets the vocals breathe and lets the bass line get funky. It had to sound exactly as I heard it in my head.”

Yet Cónde also knew when to dip into the bubbling Brooklyn melting pot to find the right groove players. Drummer Gintas Janusonis (Anjelique Kidjo), Brazilian percussionist Ze Mauricio (Chorro Ensemble), Cuban conga player Roman Diaz, and Chilean Yayo Cerca on cajon. Cónde also recruited diverse and funky keyboard players, guitarists, and bassists from the scene, such as Jorge Bringas (La Excelencia), funky Caracas-born guitarist Rafael Gomez (Lila Downs), and Chilean keyboardist Pablo Vergara (Groove Collective).

“This isn’t just another project or a concept,” he said. “This record is about me as a songwriter. It’s about one guy in Brooklyn, his songs, and his voice. Everything else is secondary.”


about José Cónde

Brooklyn singer songwriter José Cónde reimagined the Latin conjunto. He blazed through salsa and son. He unleashed long trippy jams and massive brass sections. He dug deep into his Cuban heritage and Miami upbringing. He’s done the world music and Latin alternative thing, won the awards, and played to jubilant, rain-soaked crowds.

A fixture on the alt Latin scene, Cónde has indeed experimented with a multitude of formats, approaches, and projects, as a markedly independent musician. His music has been featured on the BBC and Californication. He won Best Latin Album at the Independent Music Awards (2008) and has gotten crowds hopping from the Montreal Jazz Festival to DC’s Kennedy Center, including a recent Central Park SummerStage show that got thousands of damp but dancing listeners in a downpour.

Cónde seriously spiced up kid’s music as the musical director and singer for Baby Loves Salsa (Rope a Dope Records/Sony; 2008). Cónde’s video, “Respondele a Obama,” which has garnered hundreds of thousands of views on YouTube, became an anthem of the U.S. 2008 presidential campaign.

As a songwriter and bandleader for his big band Ola Fresca, Cónde developed a striking instinct for merging his Miami upbringing, Cuban roots, and New York’s Latin underground. In two critically acclaimed albums, Ay! Que Rico (PiPiKi/Universal; 2004) and the award winning (R)Evolución (Mr. Bongo Records UK; 2007), Cónde drew on Puerto Rican bomba and Haitian compas, Cuban son and New Orleans swamp-funk. Five songs from these albums have been featured on Putumayo and Rough Guide Records compilations.

But forget all that: “Now I just don’t give a damn where I fit in. I’m just José Cónde.”

DIY Roar: MarchFourth Marching Band Tighten Grooves and Unleash Magnificent Beast

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Here they come! MarchFourth!       

There they go, roaring through upscale plazas or past small-town gas stations, purring on stages from Denver to Philly, from Miami to DC.

Yes, that is a four-foot-tall cowbell and a bass amp on wheels. And yes, the stilt walker is crowd surfing. Dancers swing, the horns rip through punchy lines, the drums rattle out beats, and someone croons through a bullhorn. The feel mixes Sousa and Sgt. Pepper, a cheerier Clockwork Orange and Mardi Gras mash up.

The MarchFourth Marching Band (M4) wraps the pleasures of a booming brass parade in a hand-stitched Technicolor circus tent. Living and breathing DIY, they’ll make up new routines on their tricked tour bus en route to their next show, or craft quirky clothes to sell at their next gig.

But their latest studio album, Magnificent Beast, produced by Los Lobos’ Steve Berlin, hums with taught grooves that tighten the sound while defying genre: Burlesque goes to Bollywood (“Delhi Belly”), and Latin percussion and horns hit Tokyo pop (“Sin Camiseta”). The big band has grown up by slimming down, taking a relatively leaner approach—only 14 musicians!—while keeping the impromptu vibe alive, thanks in part to Berlin’s creative, on-the-fly influence.

“We started off as an alt marching band. But then we took it to another level,” reflects M4 co-founder, bassist, and bandleader John Averill. “We’ve turned into a dynamic dance band. We get the whole audience”—who sometimes arrive decked out in tutus or walking on stilts themselves—“dancing and moving like a good funk band or an energetic DJ would.”

“Except we’re way more mobile,” adds dancer Faith Jennings. “We can get right in the middle of the crowd and really bring the music to the people.”

***

The cowbell is no more: The albatross of a set piece was auctioned off to fund a tour in Europe.  But its glory lives on (the party-hardy shout-out to Christopher Walken’s Saturday Night Live skit, “More Cowbell”).

And gone are three-mile parades under the blazing sun and the elaborate, venue-scaring fire shows (though M4 still features some good old fire eating).

Yet MarchFourth’s original spirit, born on Portland, Oregon’s bohemian streets (the artsy ‘hood honored by “Fat Alberta”), remains. Improvisation is central. Boundaries and genres are irrelevant, if something works. Irreverence is encouraged.

“We used to use our middle finger to signal the ending of a song,” explains trumpeter Jason Wells, recounting the tale behind the mysteriously named “The Finger.” “With this one in particular, it would get faster and faster until, finally, I would stick up my finger and BAM!  It would all end with a simple little bell ding.”

Ambitious plans, from dance numbers to unexpected handmade merchandise and over-the-top props, get executed by band members—and lead to bold and unpredictably catchy leaps. Some of these leaps are literal. “Lots of people can walk on stilts, but not many can do splits while someone else lifts them up,” explains Jennings. “That particular skill with stilts not something you see often, and it’s dazzling to watch.”

Magnificent Beast producer Steve Berlin performed his own feats of daring-do, using all the nooks and crannies at the roomy studio where the band recorded. “We ended up using every space in the building for something,” recalls Berlin, “like a hallway for the sirens on ‘Fat Alberta’ or the lounge for the trombone solo on ‘Rose City Strut.’ It’s hard to fathom how we could have done it otherwise.”

When the band told him that their old friends and collaborators from the Preservation Hall Jazz Band were in town, Berlin grabbed his mobile rig. Between sound check and stage call, the No’leans elders laid down horn parts on the noir-toned “Rose City Strut.”

“It blew me away,” Averill recalls. “They killed it, though they had never heard the tune before. One player didn’t’ even get to finish his take because stage manager ran down and yanked him before the last twelve bars. We would never have gotten that, if we’d had to do it in the studio.”

What the band did gain in the studio was a less-is-more power that lets the songs groove harder, often building from spare interlocking parts into full-on metal (“Lesley Metal”) or funk (“Git It All,” a cover of one of the overlooked 70s funk band Mandrill’s feel-good songs).

“We have all the elements in place for complete chaos,” Averill notes with a smile. “We’re like a mini-orchestra, and we become more effective by simplifying what we’re doing. So we’ve streamlined our sound.”

“We have this energy and enthusiasm that people sense instantly,” Jennings muses. “They get sucked in. We love each other and what we’re doing and that’s really obvious to the audience. It’s not just about our dancing skills or special arrangements; it’s about our very real joy.”