The 1996 release of “Volume One: Sound Magic” was a departure of sorts for Peter Gabriel’s Real World Records. A label built upon the very idea of departures in the most global sense, Real World is credited with the popularization of World Music to Western Markets and spreading the influence of artists and musical traditions seldom heard in the English Speaking world. Like the influence of the Silk Routes for Medieval Europe, Imported Japanese prints on 19th Century French Painting, or The Beatles trips to India, this exposure to “world music” has a huge impact on the history of music. But in Afro Celt Sound System, Real World published music that was not an ethnographic travelogue, but instead explored the new territory that the international exposure created in modern music.
The foundation of Afro Celt Sound Systems’ music is embedded in their name. The band started as a loose affiliation of musicians from both Irish/Celtic backgrounds and African musicians, brought together to experiment with modern electronic music and recording systems. Typical “world music” recordings sought to capture a “native” or “exotic” musical tradition of a non-western culture, with an almost ‘escapist’ or ‘colonial’ approach so that the enlightened listener could appreciate a culture beyond their normal reach. Afro Celt Sound System took the opposite approach, and brought the musical traditions out of their original context and explored their possibilities in the modern recording studio and in the context of modern music.
The result is musically remarkable in the similarities and complimentary relationship between two very diverse cultures. The juxtaposition of intricate Celtic melodies and the visceral rhythmic and percussive traditions of African music is not as contrasting as it seems on paper. When brought together, the two styles highlight what they have in common both at the formal musical level as well as the conceptual level. Where traditional Celtic music is known for harps, dulcimers and other intricate stringed instruments, the technique used to play these instruments relies on highly rhythmic, arpeggiated plucking, and hammering of strings over the more fluid strumming and bowing techniques of other stringed instruments in western music. On the African side of the equation, traditional African drums are not simple percussive chambers, but are augmented with various means to modulate the sound of the drum; the “talking drum” being the most obvious stereotype, but musically, it allows the African musical tradition to express melody through percussion, compared to a western tradition where percussion provides mainly rhythm. Brought together by on this record, these two traditions interweave in the context of a single song, exchanging musical “duties” throughout the song, and making the listener aware of the ability of both traditions to explore the same goals. The result is an intricate and tightly wound Celtic knot of melody unraveling to the dynamic visceral energy of African rhythm.
On top of this juxtaposition of styles, Afro Celt Sound System further elaborates their song writing with vocals in both Celtic and African languages, moving easily between soaring atmospheric melody and primal chant driven choruses. Yet somehow through the maze of mixing cultures on this record, the listener isn’t left with a muddy mess or pastiche of styles. The songs each embody a distinct melodic structure and are built upon their own universe of catchy hooks that prompt the listener to sing along despite the foreign style or language. Finally, to propel this experiment into the arena of modern music, they layer in elements of current electronica and techno music with additional sequenced digital effects and synthetic atmospheric treatments. Remarkably the fusion of these two “world music” styles is a perfect match thematically with the “trance” and ambient genres in modern techno, where intricately interwoven melodies and rhythms fuse to create “mood” explorations and heady “trance” states of musical experienced as opposed to the more narrative A-B-A-C-A-B song structure of traditional western music.
Hailed by many critics as a celebratory cross road of musical cultures, Afro Celt Sound System continues their career folding more and more cultural styles into their fundamental mix of African and Celtic traditions with great success. Their live shows now include Persian, Middle Eastern, Indian and European elements and musicians all coming together within a single framework that both celebrates their origin and propels them forward as a new genre: world fusion. While their style continues to evolve, it’s here in their first album where the door opened onto a new musical landscape. But what sets this achievement apart from the other moments in musical history where new genre’s have leapt forth, the diverse ethnic origins of musical tradition are not eclipsed by the performance, or sterilized in some utopian digital soundscape scrubbed of local, analogue, texture. Both in listening to this record, and completely reinforced with their live performance where the listener is confronted with the spectacle of the talent required to play all the different instruments which comprise this music, the music celebrates the uniqueness of each elements origins, and the beauty inherent in the instrument and sound itself. But most importantly, the music shatters the colonial patronizing label of “world music” and provides a map forward into a multi-national, multi-lingual, poly-phonic musical tradition. This is the sound of the whole world singing together, each in its own tongue, strummed on its own strings, and drummed on its own skins, but rising together for an exploration of the musical spirit that we all share.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Monday, December 3, 2007
Beatles ' 65 - The Beatles
By rights, this should be the first entry I wrote. Spoiler here, but this is the oldest record I plan on writing about. But it is also the most daunting entry to write. What more could possibly be said about The Beatles? And what could I, not even born for the entire first half of their career and an amateur fan/historian at best, intelligently say about The Beatles? I’ll skim over the majority of the historical stuff that’s mostly already been written, and focus on a few key elements that make this a landmark album when you look at it from the perspective of late century alternative music.
Some would argue that “Beatles ‘65” isn’t really a proper Beatles album at all, in that it is really a compilation of songs found on “Beatles for Sale” and “A Hard Day’s Night”. But it’s the inclusion of a single that otherwise falls through the cracks of The Beatles discography that makes this album truly remarkable. “I Feel Fine” was released after “Beatles for Sale” and shows up nowhere else. While the rest of the songs here are remarkable due to the part they play in the constantly evolving creative trajectory of the band, “I Feel Fine” is something altogether different, and the legacy of this one song is the foundation much of the history of modern music.
But first, let’s retread some of the critical opinions on this period for The Beatles. After the crush of Beatlemania and the non-stop performing/recording circuit they tread in ‘63-’64, “Beatles for Sale” was a departure in it’s introduction of melancholic themes to pop music. Where before it was all boy-girl romantic pop songs of their signature Merseybeat style (“I Wanna Hold Your Hand,” “She Love You” etc.), the opening three tracks of both “Beatles For Sale” and “Beatles ‘65” (“No Reply”, “I’m a Loser” and “Baby’s In Black”) show not only Lennon’s new found appreciation for Dylan and American Folk music, but also a thematic turn to depression, loss and self loathing. In hindsight, even the cover of “Everybody’s Trying to be My Baby” seems a cynical look back at Beatlemania where the sheer force of their popularity outweighed the music. But beyond self-pity, these new themes found a foothold in the Beatles creativity, as Lennon and McCartney realized that rock & roll had the ability to explore and express more than just the boy-meets-girl celebrations of their past repertoire or feel good sentiment of the Chuck Berry cover included here in “Rock & Roll Music.”
We take it for granted now, but looking back this is remarkable. The first Beatles records to enter my collection and personal musical history came from my sisters. They were teenagers during the whole Beatlemania period, and were completely bought in. I remember when my sister saw that I had taken over their old record collection and was listening to them on my own she said “That was the last record I really liked from them. After that, they just got so dark and strange…” A small anecdote, but it tells volumes about not only her musical tastes, but the change in popular music that The Beatles were responsible for. Subject matter changed from the Ed Sullivan Show and Sock Hop friendly fare, to something more personal and introspective.
But the real reason I champion this record is for one song. In the first four seconds of a song that clocks in at only 2:17, “I Feel Fine” does something no other song had done before it. Those first four seconds are arguably the first instance of recorded guitar feedback in popular music. The opening sound is the pop of electricity surging through an electric guitar before the first note is played, and the sound builds to the rattling surge of an untouched string catching and increasing its own amplified vibration from a speaker through the air. A phenomenon well known by anyone who’s ever picked up an amplified instrument, and largely recognized by most listeners of rock and roll. But whether they understand the physics behind it or not is not the issue, it’s the association that Feedback as a SOUND, as an element of rock and roll, signifies for listeners of modern music. The Beatles weren’t the first to make feedback, and I’m sure the true trainspotters out there can dig up other examples of recorded feedback prior to 1965. But what’s remarkable is how this particular four second squeal entered the popular discourse about music and the meaning it developed through that discourse. And in a broader sense, this feedback is significant as moment where Rock and Roll aligned itself with Modernism at large in Artistic Theory.
The recording and release of the song actually involves two levels of deception. Although the sound is unmistakably electric, it was actually played on an acoustic Gibson and purposely distorted through the amplifiers in the Studio. Then, after the song was released to critical questioning about leaving such a sloppy “mistake” on the recording (Parlaphone’s recording policies forbid leaving such elements on the finished recording) The Beatles insisted that the sound was recorded “accidentally” and “missed” in the editing process prior to release.
What an enormous amount of myth was created by this simple little lie! Think for a minute about the state of pop music at this time: shiny happy pop songs about meeting your girl at the dance, sung by polished groups that focused mainly on vocal melodies… Although Beatlemania had already started to corrupt this ideal with their brash use of guitars, and infamously messy “mop tops,” releasing this “messy” song pushed the corruption a step further. The Beatles were already renowned for their brash immediacy, and their effortlessly clever and energetic songwriting that seemed to rejoice in its own youthful naïveté over polished and refined pop songwriting of their peers (play the comparatively brash “She Loves You (Yeah Yeah Yeah)” alongside the contemporary hits from The Supremes, The Righteous Brothers or Petula Clark!). “I Feel Fine” took it this brashness to a new level by literally showcasing their indifference to polish and formality by allowing a “mistake” to be released.
As the song rose to #1, it brought that myth along for the ride. As everyone reveled in the pure joy of the song, they embraced the idea that what mattered was not the perfection of the music as a product, but the energy of the music and the creativity of the song. The subtext of the song, both from its mythological recording as well as the formalism of the song itself, is that its creativity that springs out raw sound. Just as the ringing circular guitar riff and catchy hook of a melodic chorus, is born out of the abstract distortion, the song celebrates the spontaneous energy and creative energy of four lads with guitars.
All this, from four seconds of feedback. But think now about what feedback means in modern music. When guitarists use feedback as a stylistic embellishment or as the majority of their sonic palette in modern music, they engage the very myth started by the Beatles in 1965: rebellious energy, indifference to technical polish, and the union of creativity and raw abstract sound. All of these meanings embodied and signified by the distorted guitar have direct correlates in the mythology of “I Feel Fine”.
Obviously, I could go on and on. But let me wrap this up by dialing this back to the bigger picture of Modernism. Since Baudelaire and Manet, and more notoriously in Clement Greenberg and Jackson Pollack, one of the undisputed definitions of Modern Art has been this: A work which captures on its surface, reference or representation of the process by which it was created. (the Art Historian in me is clamoring for footnotes here, but this is the information age – Google it yourself). In the first four seconds of “I Feel Fine” we have the audio equivalent of Jackson Pollack’s brush stroke splatter. Purposely embedded in the introduction of the song is the raw sound that is the basis of its production. The squeal of feedback is equal to a drip of raw paint. And the listener is forced to confront the comparison between this pure abstract sound and the highly structured melody embodied (represented) in the major chord riff that the entire song is built upon. For all the ink spilled about modern painting, the essence of the issue is embodied right there, in that fleeting four seconds. Just as Jackson Pollack and his Abstract Expressionist would be nowhere without the daubs and drips of the Impressionists, so too Neil Young and legions of guitar heroes would be nowhere without this record.
Some would argue that “Beatles ‘65” isn’t really a proper Beatles album at all, in that it is really a compilation of songs found on “Beatles for Sale” and “A Hard Day’s Night”. But it’s the inclusion of a single that otherwise falls through the cracks of The Beatles discography that makes this album truly remarkable. “I Feel Fine” was released after “Beatles for Sale” and shows up nowhere else. While the rest of the songs here are remarkable due to the part they play in the constantly evolving creative trajectory of the band, “I Feel Fine” is something altogether different, and the legacy of this one song is the foundation much of the history of modern music.
But first, let’s retread some of the critical opinions on this period for The Beatles. After the crush of Beatlemania and the non-stop performing/recording circuit they tread in ‘63-’64, “Beatles for Sale” was a departure in it’s introduction of melancholic themes to pop music. Where before it was all boy-girl romantic pop songs of their signature Merseybeat style (“I Wanna Hold Your Hand,” “She Love You” etc.), the opening three tracks of both “Beatles For Sale” and “Beatles ‘65” (“No Reply”, “I’m a Loser” and “Baby’s In Black”) show not only Lennon’s new found appreciation for Dylan and American Folk music, but also a thematic turn to depression, loss and self loathing. In hindsight, even the cover of “Everybody’s Trying to be My Baby” seems a cynical look back at Beatlemania where the sheer force of their popularity outweighed the music. But beyond self-pity, these new themes found a foothold in the Beatles creativity, as Lennon and McCartney realized that rock & roll had the ability to explore and express more than just the boy-meets-girl celebrations of their past repertoire or feel good sentiment of the Chuck Berry cover included here in “Rock & Roll Music.”
We take it for granted now, but looking back this is remarkable. The first Beatles records to enter my collection and personal musical history came from my sisters. They were teenagers during the whole Beatlemania period, and were completely bought in. I remember when my sister saw that I had taken over their old record collection and was listening to them on my own she said “That was the last record I really liked from them. After that, they just got so dark and strange…” A small anecdote, but it tells volumes about not only her musical tastes, but the change in popular music that The Beatles were responsible for. Subject matter changed from the Ed Sullivan Show and Sock Hop friendly fare, to something more personal and introspective.
But the real reason I champion this record is for one song. In the first four seconds of a song that clocks in at only 2:17, “I Feel Fine” does something no other song had done before it. Those first four seconds are arguably the first instance of recorded guitar feedback in popular music. The opening sound is the pop of electricity surging through an electric guitar before the first note is played, and the sound builds to the rattling surge of an untouched string catching and increasing its own amplified vibration from a speaker through the air. A phenomenon well known by anyone who’s ever picked up an amplified instrument, and largely recognized by most listeners of rock and roll. But whether they understand the physics behind it or not is not the issue, it’s the association that Feedback as a SOUND, as an element of rock and roll, signifies for listeners of modern music. The Beatles weren’t the first to make feedback, and I’m sure the true trainspotters out there can dig up other examples of recorded feedback prior to 1965. But what’s remarkable is how this particular four second squeal entered the popular discourse about music and the meaning it developed through that discourse. And in a broader sense, this feedback is significant as moment where Rock and Roll aligned itself with Modernism at large in Artistic Theory.
The recording and release of the song actually involves two levels of deception. Although the sound is unmistakably electric, it was actually played on an acoustic Gibson and purposely distorted through the amplifiers in the Studio. Then, after the song was released to critical questioning about leaving such a sloppy “mistake” on the recording (Parlaphone’s recording policies forbid leaving such elements on the finished recording) The Beatles insisted that the sound was recorded “accidentally” and “missed” in the editing process prior to release.
What an enormous amount of myth was created by this simple little lie! Think for a minute about the state of pop music at this time: shiny happy pop songs about meeting your girl at the dance, sung by polished groups that focused mainly on vocal melodies… Although Beatlemania had already started to corrupt this ideal with their brash use of guitars, and infamously messy “mop tops,” releasing this “messy” song pushed the corruption a step further. The Beatles were already renowned for their brash immediacy, and their effortlessly clever and energetic songwriting that seemed to rejoice in its own youthful naïveté over polished and refined pop songwriting of their peers (play the comparatively brash “She Loves You (Yeah Yeah Yeah)” alongside the contemporary hits from The Supremes, The Righteous Brothers or Petula Clark!). “I Feel Fine” took it this brashness to a new level by literally showcasing their indifference to polish and formality by allowing a “mistake” to be released.
As the song rose to #1, it brought that myth along for the ride. As everyone reveled in the pure joy of the song, they embraced the idea that what mattered was not the perfection of the music as a product, but the energy of the music and the creativity of the song. The subtext of the song, both from its mythological recording as well as the formalism of the song itself, is that its creativity that springs out raw sound. Just as the ringing circular guitar riff and catchy hook of a melodic chorus, is born out of the abstract distortion, the song celebrates the spontaneous energy and creative energy of four lads with guitars.
All this, from four seconds of feedback. But think now about what feedback means in modern music. When guitarists use feedback as a stylistic embellishment or as the majority of their sonic palette in modern music, they engage the very myth started by the Beatles in 1965: rebellious energy, indifference to technical polish, and the union of creativity and raw abstract sound. All of these meanings embodied and signified by the distorted guitar have direct correlates in the mythology of “I Feel Fine”.
Obviously, I could go on and on. But let me wrap this up by dialing this back to the bigger picture of Modernism. Since Baudelaire and Manet, and more notoriously in Clement Greenberg and Jackson Pollack, one of the undisputed definitions of Modern Art has been this: A work which captures on its surface, reference or representation of the process by which it was created. (the Art Historian in me is clamoring for footnotes here, but this is the information age – Google it yourself). In the first four seconds of “I Feel Fine” we have the audio equivalent of Jackson Pollack’s brush stroke splatter. Purposely embedded in the introduction of the song is the raw sound that is the basis of its production. The squeal of feedback is equal to a drip of raw paint. And the listener is forced to confront the comparison between this pure abstract sound and the highly structured melody embodied (represented) in the major chord riff that the entire song is built upon. For all the ink spilled about modern painting, the essence of the issue is embodied right there, in that fleeting four seconds. Just as Jackson Pollack and his Abstract Expressionist would be nowhere without the daubs and drips of the Impressionists, so too Neil Young and legions of guitar heroes would be nowhere without this record.
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