Tuesday, June 23, 2009

The Brazilian Funk Experience


The Brazilian Funk Experience is an album packed like sardines with 20 vivacious and eclectically arranged rarities from Brazil between 1968 and 1980.  These songs, claims the pioneer of the EMI-Odeon Vaults, Patrick Forge, are considered to be among the many branches of MPB (musica popular brasilia) that developed in the 60s. While Brazil was experiencing one of its most tumultuous and restrictive government regimes, musicians developed a creative scene countering the censorship, which just suffices to say that the more you tell someone not to do something, the more they are compelled to do it. The Brazilian funk experience illuminates multiple genre influences within Brazil and from without.  The samba rhythm pervades just about every facet of this album, while, of course, African American inspired funk reigns as the predominant theme of every song.  This ingenious fusion is apparent from the very beginning as the instrumental piece by Meirelles serves to open the flood gates with its guitar, trombone, synth and organ arrangement.  Although I cannot interpret the lyrics because I do not understand Portuguese, I can determine that there is an equal representation of both men and women, at least in the music, MBP is inextricably linked to the politics of zealous leaders, and there are multiple musical marriages and experiments taking place on this compilation.  The Brazilian Funk Experience is a unifying experience that is certainly worth the search and the time to listen.

            My particular favorites on this compilation express an excitement and beauty that comes only from mixing multiple sounds together to create an innovative piece of music.  “Garra”, by Marcos Valle, for instance sighs to convey percussive sounds, and the back up singers evoke a euphoric coolness to create a smooth piece unhindered by trouble or sorrows.  Claudia’s canary-like voice in Baoba is the perfect contrast to the low instruments that play in sync, allowing the piece as a whole a richness that sends shivers up my spine. Another song that might give a similar effect is “Sai Dessa” by Elis Regina; pay attention to the electric guitar and vocals.  “Cala Boca Menino”, by Joao Donato is a very strange coupling of an twangy distorted instrument and a nasally voice accompanied by a chorus of trumpets and a classic samba rhythm.  This music is uplifting and bright.  “Bola De Meia, Bola De Gude” by 14 Bis will certainly bring the shining sun with the featured whistler and the overarching ascending melody.  “Aquele Um” is notable also for its laser keyboard solos juxtaposed with the more traditional samba.  I believe the goal in playing this kind of music was to enjoy life and to honor beauty, whether it be in nature or in humanity.  In any event there is something special in every nook and cranny of this compilation, and every round reveals yet another dimension of the Brazilian Funk Experience.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Raï: the best of the original North African Grooves


Raï: Original North African Grooves is a compilation that claims to contain all of the best original Raï songs of the 80’s and 90’s.  Raï, translated as opinion, is a genre of music that developed around the 30’s in Algeria by the Bedouin tribes and is often compared with early Rock and Roll because of its socially subversive lyrics that often deliberately defy the strict sexual repression imposed by Islamic fundamentalist belief.  Indeed, it has been a vocal chord of the Algerian and North African poor and youth, lauding life, resisting oppression, and evoking the urge to dance even though such movements are an egregious offence to traditional Muslim beliefs. Raï reached its zenith in popularity during the 80’s and 90’s, and artists, including the ones presented on this compilation, began to modernize the music with all kinds of electrical instruments.  Raï: Original North African Grooves certainly exhibits Raï’s modernization and its funky beats cure the sedentary and communicate unhindered freedom and celebratory sentiments even in the wake of a more compromising life situation.

            Even when listening to the Raï compilation, unable to understand Arabic or French, it is clear that there is an unbridled energy that is in constant motion; the frenzy is contagious and music is absolutely unstoppable.  From the very beginning, Cheb Khaled’s urgent exhalations against a hyperactive drum and synthesizer duet command the ears to listen. the body to move, and the spirit to liven instantly. From that moment the intensity seldom slows for a break. There seems to be a particularly distinct North African sound that is especially apparent in the percussion and in the manner that each artists sings, but other styles not indigenous are fused into the Raï music.  For instance, Rasto’s Le Couchemard, is sung in the former colonizer’s tongue and combines reggae and hip hop, and Chaba Fadela’s duet with Cheb Sahroui uses funk inspired guitar riffs and quirky synthetic sounds to accompany what sounds like a possibly liberated romantic discourse.  Malik’s Lila is most daring for its electric guitar power chords, vibrant male-female exchange, and outlandish drum patterns.  In addition to these songs rich in diverse influences and instruments are also a few more traditionally minded songs that use percussion, drums, and one other wind instrument, like Cheikha Rimitti’s Chab Rassi and Cheikh Djelloul Remch’s Harfek, to name a few.  These pieces, though unadorned with all the technology of synthesizers and electric instruments, exhibit a similar intensity and extroverted attitude that the more modern songs express.  Although I am new to the Raï scene, I am almost certain that this album has provided a comprehensive introduction with many opportunities to explore into multiple further directions involving this movement.  My only complaint is that I would have liked to hear more female artists on this album, as I assume their contributions to the life span of Raï are invaluable and thus due more exposure. 

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Vashti Bunyan's "Some things just stick in your mind"


Vashti Bunyan is a musician, and like Gary Wilson, she drifted into anonymity after an unsuccessful venture to establish her music in the folk and pop world. The content of her story is a bit different, however, and it takes place about 10 years earlier.  Vashti had been going to art school but soon was either kicked out or left on her own accord-whatever the case- because she wanted to focus on writing songs and performing them.  The Rolling Stone’s manager Andrew Loog Oldham discovered her playing at a pub one night and promised he would make her dreams of being recognized as an influential musician come true.  She recorded a few singles between 1964 and 1967 and finally released a full length, just another diamond day, in 1970, which did not get much attention and was quickly dropped.  No one was yet ready for Vashti’s music, it seemed, and Vashti, disenchanted with her surroundings, embarked on a traditional caravan with her partner to live in a commune with Donovan, of all people.  Though he had already left when they arrived two years after the genesis of their bon voyage, Vashti lived in what she calls “no-where” for over twenty years, not really aware of the slowly burgeoning popularity of her LP throughout certain threads of the underground.  As was the case with Gary’s rediscovery, Vashti Bunyan’s own musical unearthing can be ascribed to ravenous record collectors and musicians who search for aberrant sources to ignite inspiration.  With interest from musicians like Devendra Banhart, Joanna Newsom, and Animal Collective, Vashti Bunyan resurrected her career in the early 2000s (like Gary, might I add), engaged in multiple collaborations and musical partnerships, began releasing music again, and currently tours all over the world.  Her collection of singles and demos, Some Things Just Stick in Your Mind, spans the period between 1964 to 1967, before her first LP.  This album is absolutely enchanting, as I hear the 18 year old girl singing songs of love and female independence against a strange wintry backdrop that seems to symbolize idleness and the compulsion to reflect a broken heart without choice.  However blue and grey we may imagine this music to express, it emanates an uncanny warmth that resonates with the woman in me.

            In all of her lyrics, an eloquent maturity is evident while at the same time her youth and naivety are also perceptible only because every woman has probably felt her encapsulated feelings at least once in their lives. Of all the preoccupations that Vashti presents in this collection of songs from her early days, issues of independence, mobility, idleness, and the right to knowledge in the context of womanhood as defined by her stipulations in matters of love and loss appear to be the ascendant themes in her music. Vashti does not want to be dictated by the whims of others; she wants to travel emotionally and geographically on her own schedule. In the raga inspired “I want to be alone”, for instance, demonstrates her restlessness and tendency to feel confined in relationships, as she explains that sometimes she just wants to be alone. She sings, “don’t make me stay and walk aimlessly hand in hand. Just today set me free, let me be alone”, likening herself to a caged animal. In “I’d like to walk around in your mind”, she associates the desire for mobility with the ability to destroy the lover that destroyed a part of her. Although her lyrics are somewhat playful, her ultimate goal is to walk around in the person’s most private cerebral areas and destroy any self assurance that person harbors so closely to make himself superior to her. The ability to traverse this man’s mind and unveil his secrets would empower her subject him to the vulnerability that she has felt because of him.  She cannot take already established norms for granted, and asks “how do I know” in multiple ways to illustrate that her place as a woman is not resolved in her mind, and that she will not sit passively and accept the ideas being given to her by others. She asks, “why should you say I can’t love any man, have his children and still be free?”, alluding to the multiple protests surrounding the time period and insisting that she should be able to live life the way she wants- quite revolutionary for her time, and likewise not quite accepted by the mainstream because it was just a little too early, although I don’t know why any woman wouldn’t have championed these songs, but then again, I didn’t live in these times, and perhaps Vashti could have been misunderstood.

            As much as Vashti praises mobility, she also dreads the idleness of mourning the loss of a lover. “Winter is Blue” exemplifies being unable to move forward because of constantly remembering yesterday’s love in the wake of today’s loneliness. “Girl’s song in Winter” likewise exclaims, “I was in love when I was young and I have not been free” because of the baby that her lover left her, along with the burden of remembering. “17 pink sugar elephants” may be a metaphor of idleness, for the elephants are only consumables for little children to have during tea breaks and they “have two eyes but…couldn’t see me there” and “had four legs but couldn’t go anywhere”.  Perhaps these pink sugar elephants are women.  In her eyes women are strong as elephants, but they are fragile and sweet because they are made out of sugar, and their color, pink, presents a stigma to the rest of the world, rendering them almost inanimate. Their abilities are very limited, as their purpose is for children to enjoy.  The tone of this song is extraordinarily sad and beautiful, and it quite possibly presents a coded series of conditions that address her own fears and circumstances.

            This collection of songs and demos was written by Vashti Bunyan (with the exception of the Rolling Stones cover) mostly when she was 18 years old.  I wish I would have discovered this album when I was younger, because I am certain I would have realized so many emotions with her as she expressed her spectrum of ideals and wishes.  While she wants to be independent and casual with her relationships, she still desires one person to love and respect her. As she praises productivity and the ability to move without being attached, her anxiety is obvious in songs about stillness and retrospection. What resonates most with me, however, is the overwhelming skepticism in her love songs, and her reluctance to give herself fully because of a colossal pain which occurred early in her flowering years. All she wants is to be free of having to rely on others for happiness. Her music is sensitive and the images of winter convey a seriousness and a demand for esteem in opposition to summer time flings and love’s fleeting warmth.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Cocteau Twins' "Blue Bell Knoll"


Cocteau Twins

 

            The Cocteau Twins was found in 1981 by everlasting friends Elizabeth Fraser, vocals and Robin Guthrie, songwrier and guitarist, and was later supplemented by Simon Raymonde. On pianos, guitar, bass, and developer of the bands’ distinct sound The former two come from Grangemouth, a small industrial town in Scotland that has been described as dirty and boring (wikipedia has a nice panoramic view to support this claim), and the latter is from Tottenham, England.  Together the dynamic trio developed a unique sound which blossomed and flourished between 1982 and 1996 and inspired, not surprisingly, many notable shoe gazer bands like My Bloody Valentine and Lush. I discovered the Cocteau Twins about 6 years after they broke up from my friend’s ridiculously eccentric mom, of all people.  Her reason for liking them was mostly because “the vocalist sings all crazy and makes noises instead of singing real lyrics that anyone can understand!”  And there, a sophomore in high school, I entered a new era of understanding popular music that could never have been credited without the Cocteau Twins’ aural explanation.  Names of songs that I couldn’t make sensible image of in my mind, this kind of cheesy sense that I was surrounding myself in a pastel gothic world willingly. Blue Bell Knoll felt like death, and death didn’t seem like such an ugly state of  unbeing.  That might sound a little dramatic but this album is charged.

            Where as normally popular music conveys its message primarily through a commonly understood language, the Cocteau Twins allow themselves few discernible advantages on The Blue Bell Knoll. This album, particularly, is really special because Elizabeth uses her voice as an instrument.  Most of the lyrics on this album are sung as mouth tones holy tongues Elizabeth’s goal seems to be forgetting straightforward communication.  Words no longer possess their conventional meaning, for they are contorted by Elizabeth’s voice and woven into the instrumental orchestration of every song.  Perhaps the idea of distorting lyrics into sounds is a way to transcend the boundaries of language into a medium of communication that relies on evoking more abstract emotions and feelings in the listener.  Even in songs that supposedly contain English lyrics, the listener who attempts to decipher any clear annunciations will only do so in vain.  The lyrics are only a sketch on the napkin, a skeletal structure for the greater living thing. I am tempted to call Blue Bell Knoll an instrumental album, as the vocals contribute greatly to the atmospheric quality of the music.

            The music as one entity carries the listener with it. We are idle passengers in this 35 minute blast of sonic warmth. Songs like “Athol-Brose” will melt the ice off of any field and embrace the listener in a sparkly and soft, gooey womb. The guitar plucks in “Spooning good singing gum” and Elizabeth’s voice multiplied in “For Pheobe still a baby” are an underwater spectacle with mermaids singing and all the sea creatures acting some instrumental part.  The guitar releases in “Cico Bluff” foster this imagem and “A kissed out floatboat” emits a sea cave vibe. This album is certainly reminiscent of an old fairy tale as I know and old fairy tale to be, probably a little tinged with Disney, that is if fairy tales could have sound tracks.  Even if the vocals are not discernible, and even though words mean nothing in this album, it is clear that this album is quite optimistic and I always feel an overwhelming sense of comfort.  It is warm and child like, friendly and care free.  Blue Bell Knoll is simply beautiful.  Blue Bell Knoll is an important album because it illustrates that popular music is not just interpretable by predominating lyrics.  The listener doesn’t even have to search for another way of understanding, however.  Music becomes a universal form of communication that everyone can connect with.  Words don’t matter; everyone is welcome, as there seem to be no linguistic walls to block any listener.  

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Gary Wilson's Mary Had Brown Hair


In the very same moments when Punk rock was saying fuck you to the previous generation’s current decadence and disco techniques, Gary Wilson self-released an album called “you think you really know me”, doing it himself like so many others in 1977.  He preluded the synth craze of the 80’s with a concoction of strange sounds, funkadelic grooves, and lyrics that would make any woman’s skin crawl if only it were in the form of a silent love poem, unadulterated by the all those outlandish and distracting sounds.  His performances were (and still are) a spectacle as well- he always wears sunglasses and a wig, and on stage he will wrap bags around himself and his band with electric tape or whatever he can find. Costuming has also been DIY for Gary.  After releasing “you think you know me”, Gary stopped recording, though he claims that he still performed in smaller venues in Southern California that unfortunately did not receive him well, and the 600 albums that circulated New York and other places created a slight cult following of this clearly novel and strange mystery man that seemed to have disappeared from even the underground media’s watchful eye. Gary resurfaced in 2002, when Motel Records re-released “you think you really know me”  and “forgotten lovers” in 2003.  Unfortunately, they went under shortly after the 2003 release, but almost instantly Stones Throw Record’s Peanut Butter Wolf saw his opportunity and swooped Gary from the depths and now he resides in the hip hop label that takes a special interest in funk and funky beats.  Mary had Brown Hair is the first album released by Stone’s Throw in 2004.  It meets all expectations of a fan expecting more creepy songs about girls that you can dance lonely to, and new comers are in for a rare delicacy.

            His music is ridiculous.  It is jazzy and funky and under the influence of other worldly substances.  All of this accompanying even more absurd chants and repetitive pleas to Linda and Debbie to just pay attention to him.  Even at his creepiest in songs like “Gary’s in the park” and “Mary had Brown Hair”, I can’t help but laugh and think about when I was twelve and stalked other boys in that harmless leaving-mix-tapes-in-your-mail-box kind of way; the most harmless thing a fixated person can do is give the gift of music, free of sexual perversion and any cause for real alarm.  His music has been a healing tool for me at times when I have gotten a little too crazy with the boyfriend, too.  When my boyfriend and I would get into arguments while I was overseas, I was forced to either listen to Gary or whine to other people about my problems.  Realizing that other people probably didn’t care, I was able to detect the absurdities in my own dramatic life in Gary Wilson’s swanky and at times sleazy songs that make me shudder and giggle at the same time- a truly uncomfortable sensation.  Gary’s woes were mine, and if he could give me the worst in himself then I could loosen up a bit, too.

            But, who is the man underneath the trash bags and behind the sunglasses? The album only further mystifies the innocent maniac and brings us closer to his obsessive persona, a past filled with women and pubescent woe. We know the women by name, Linda, Debbie, Lisa, Shauna, Mary, Cindy, even Frank Roma, the guy that Gary spotted kissing Linda, but Gary refers to himself in the third person in many instances and alters between his regular speaking voice and a high pitched chipmunk, probably generated without the aide of any machines. 55 year old Gary allows himself many different personalities that have the capacity to love so many different women based on a few dates and an adolescent fantasy. His music is obsessive , insane, experimental, but that the lyrics spread themselves so thinly over an array of similar scenarios lends little to any potential depth to Gary’s purposely veiled identity. I watched his documentary today and it did not give me much else to work with.  After seeing award winning documentaries on artists like Daniel Johnston and The Brian Jonestown massacre, I was spoiled with the expectation that every documentary conveyed a defined purpose, -giving the viewer an intimate portrait of the artists(s) with the intention of explaining either the music or the artist’s path. Something like that.  But “You think you really know me” was more a sloppy synopsis of how Motel Records was able to discover Gary before anyone else, allotting them a prized amount of street cred.  I even got acquainted with Frank Roma, but the documentary didn’t really go into any detail on Roma’s relationship with Linda. During many instances Gary showed himself without anything covering himself, but I still didn’t discover the man I wanted to meet.  I wasn’t satisfied; the convoluted compositions weren’t given any story except a jazz background and an obsession with John Cage and Dion.  I suppose  the music is the only place to uncover, or atleast appreciate, the mystery of the small town freak form Endicott, New York. 


            Rock Criticism from the beginning: Amusers, bruisers, and cool headed cruisers is Co-written by two Danish men, a Swedish man, and a Norwegian man; it is not written from the perspective of an insider American, but rather a group of countries that have been influenced in one way or another by Rock and Roll from both America and Britain.  Their perspectives have the potential to differ from that of an American or British disposition, as they don’t hesitate to mention that all “serious” Rock criticism has come from America and Britain, that the field is dominated overwhelmingly by white men[1], and that a lot of it is US-centric (though not all, especially in the case of Lester Bangs). 

            Rock criticism from the beginning  starts by explaining first the difference between high culture, that of established and accepted artforms (think classical music, and eventually jazz) and low culture (rock and roll in the beginning, and most African American music in its genesis).  They mention that high culture tries to degrade low culture, but it is dependent upon it at the same time as a defining “other”.  They proceed to take Bourdieu’s reflexive sociology and applies it to rock criticism. What is this reflexive sociology?  I might be able to answer that.  His theory supposedly has transgressed the boundaries between objectivism and subjectivism, making social reality a “dynamic unity of the agents’ [or person?] dispositions [habitus] and systems of positions (fields), which are subject to historical change” (29).  Habitus is “embodied knowledge- a person’s taste, style and way with words.  It determines how people think, perceive, evaluate and act, not as a fixed prescription but rather as adjustable dispositions, which are internalized very deeply and change very slowly. Habitus is embodied socialization, determined by background, present circumstances and future prospects… the market value of certain habitus is settled only as it is realized in a social field.” (30)  Basically, The “social field” is a place of conflict “occupied by special agents and institutions”.  Fields are comprised of “production and consumption” and are “dominant and dominated”.  They are “populated by different kinds of artists, directors, producers, publishers, gallery owners, journalists, critics, editors, etc” (31).  All fields require a habitus because “in order to have any success in the game/struggle of the field the participants must have incorporated certain ways of thinking and acting, some of it consciously but always to a high degree unconsciously” (31) A field takes time to develop and is always in conflict with some other field about taste. It tries to gain credibility, or “cultural capital”, and autonomy from these other fields that are trying to suppress it.  Tastes are divided into three categories; “legitimate (already established and respected) “middlebrow” (the potential to bring highbrow to the masses) and “popular” (hedonistic pleasure, no educational worth).  But all of this explanation is just one of many lenses with which to explore their study.  They are going to keep an open mind.

            So, when thinking about Rock music, rock criticism can be seen as a field with many people in it that possess certain habitus that might be different or similar, who all possess strong urge to legitimize rock and roll through their blossoming discourse.  This discourse began a little after Rock began- in the 60’s and initially with the hope that rock would save the world. Critics felt the compulsion to write about it because it was serious to them and they felt its healing powers and hoped they could convince others of It as well.  It developed when pop art was in vogue and when new journalism (see tom wolfe and maybe even Thomspson) was in its prime.  But Rock Criticism actually started as an attempt to legitimize rock in Britain with magazines like melody maker and NME, whose writers, and musicians for that matter, thought that rock was exciting, a common first inclination of the rock fan to become the rock critic. Instead of asking rock musicians trivial questions like what’s your favourite colour, these critics sought to treat them seriously. People like welch and coleman were spreading the news abou the beatles and Clapton, making sales go up exponentially because their magazines had that much power. They also took an interest in American Blues as an “authentic” form of expression when American music critics were totally dismissing it as trash because of its lack of technical skill. In this develops the question of authenticity. Authenticity in terms of the blues was actually experiencing the blues.  If you had never had it, you couldn’t play it Interestingly British critics found the rolling stones to possess the ability to play the blues authentically because they were working class kids even though the stones denied that. Rock criticism would develop a little bit later in the us

            There were three main rock critic magazines in the 60’s – Crawdaddy!, Rolling stone, and Creem.  Crawdaddy! Was the first.  But the most influencial critics of this time period according to this book were, Jon Landau, /Robert Christgau. Greil Marcus, Steve Marsh, and Lester Bangs. Landau, based out of Boston, was a firm believer in the 50’s rock n roll as opposed to the conventional belief that the 60’s was king.  He was skeptical of white bands save the ones who played the blues right, even though he was the cause of Cream’s break up.  Landau’s credibility is based upon academic training and record production experience. His idea of authenticity is “a ressurection or extension of the spirit of early rock ‘n’ roll” .  He always promoted African American music, (despite the rolling stone’s hesitance to cover acts).  However, he is extremely US centric, and does not consider any other countries.  Rober Christgau, based in New York, was an“opinionated, self-conscious, and antielitist”,  critic who  distinguished rock from the academic.  He took no prisoners, save women and non white people, because he felt guilty. Unlike his counterparts who promoted the live experience as an atmosphere for review, christgau supported AM radio. Christgau is versatile yet has had consistent tastes for the past 4 decades.  Greil Marcus, unlike Christgau, supported the idea that rock was not counter culture, It was a part of American history and pointed to more cultural and political ideas of the 60s. This became a legitimizing force for rock music. He paid attention to overarching thenes.figures, and myths in the music which reflected American culture. Unlike other new jounrnalists who championed their own presence at an event as the credibility that reader needed to believe, marcus was more subtle.  He explained how he felt watching it instead of placing himself in the action. To marcus, rock is respectable and it forms the American identity.  He is supposedly the best person to connect rock to “wider cultural and political discourse” and has written many books about it. Dave Marsh, based in Detroit, was a supporting member of the white panthers in this ultra politically charged atmosphere, supported all the African American artists, but got his big break when he covered MC5.  He believed that “rock music” was “ aform of culture for the uncultured, and particularly as a means  of expression for those to whon more rigorously credentialed channels are denied”.  To him, good works were always collaborations, and seldom was something good was done alone.  Instead of catering to the idea that britian reintroduced rock with the british invasion, Marsh insisted that “rock and soul” are “a fruitful interplay between black church-based music and crossover rock” (173)  His writing was deeply involved in the personal experience, and when heavy metal came around, Marsh defended the freedom of expression.  Lester Bangs was a wild man who died of a drug overdose in 82. He did not write with credentials to back him up like other critics; all he had was a deep commitment to writing about music.  He was a fan of the beats and crafted his whole sensibility based on this mentality. Culture, to him, was defined by the negative ways in which culture reacted against him.  He spared no one in his interviews and became “the master of irreverence”.  Lou Reed was his hero because “he stands for all the most fucked up things that I could ever possibly conceive of” (181).  All of these critics were searching for an identity and authenticity in their writings.  They began with a love for rock and roll and helped uplift rock to legitimacy because they felt that rock was the vocal chord of some cultural movement, whatever they saw that culture being.



[1] They say that “until recently the female critic’s choice seem to have been limited to becoming a token, identifying with the male dominated approach of the critical institution or moving into another niche….publications which have a higher female readership and emply more women as journalists tend to be in the teenage pop area…which treat music in a less analytical and more anecdotal manner, and are more concerned with fashion, health, and social relationships” (21)

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Fred Frith's "Cheap at half the price"


Fred Frith is a youngest child, like I am, and he graduated with a BA and a masters in English literature (I’ve got the first half, at least). He seems like someone I’d want to be and it seems possible because our paths are similar.  His brothers are Simon Frith, famous sociologist and prominent Rock Critic, and Chris Frith, well-known psychologist.   Fred Frith is an amazing guitar player and no mode of playing is too silly or weird for him.   He experiments with different materials and sounds by making his own instruments.  On Cheap at half the price, Frith uses many of his inventions and guarantees an appropriately indicative solo in almost every song, creating an interesting piece of work that is sure to amuse and entertain.

             Cheap at half the price, released 1983 on Ralph Records (the mysterious act The Residents founded this label) is an album that migrates back and forth from the political to the personal, providing a manic tension between lyrics and instrumentation. Songs like “Some Clouds Don’t” “Cap the knife”, and “Too much, too little” all emanate carnival like atmosphere while advising listeners not to trust the wise and to be weary of those who claim to be spreading prosperity (see Ronald Reagan samples in “cap the knife”) but are really just killing others in the name of true democracy.  “Too much, too little”, is an ironic euphemism musically for its heavy content. With lyrics like “what the eye doesn’t see the heart won’t mind” it becomes certain that the lightheartedness of the music reflects the nonchalance of leaders on issues that should be taken more seriously, as well as the sad reality that much of the world’s suffering is covered shamelessly so that those causing trouble won’t be held accountable.

“True love”, “Same old me”, and “the Welcome” are more personal songs that express definite discontent and hopelessness.  For instance, after a hysterical one man fight in “true love”, an audience can be heard clapping, as if the song’s horrific occurrences were something sensationalized for entertainment. “Some clouds do” is an explosive attempt for reconciliation that does not find any middle ground or solace.  All of these songs are extremely shrill and overflowing with positivity from an instrumental standpoint.  The rest of the songs somehow slide into less rocky terrain, where the obstacles of sheer excessiveness are ironed away.  Lucidity can prevail, though maintaining complexity, less hindered by the manic depressiveness of his previous songs. 

            Turmoil eventually settles into more ambient rhythms without lyrics that begin to convey honest notions unattached to the previously pervasive irony.   The instrumental section is interesting, not only because it sounds, strangely enough, like the more avant-gard and more stimulating father of radiohead, but because it  does not follow the law of opposition to another element like the instrumentation in previous songs does with the music.  It is by itself, at once making each piece more genuine yet increasingly abstract. The instrumental movements give some resolve to Fred Frith’s worries and to adopt the role of the “Great healer” of all the trauma that world is continuously causing.  Indeed, the last song of the album is a far cry from the beginning or even the middle, which seemed hopelessly entangled in a million mental knots.  It is soft and subtle, calming and hopeful…

            And the end could possibly put you to sleep if you aren’t patient.  The majority of this album doles out a sort of sensory overload in the form of a crazy carnival that slowly wanes as it nears its final moment.  As the album progresses it sheds its mores of insanity and all the disconcerting friction caused by overly uplifting sounds underlining unpleasing issues that could cause  undue sensitivity.  Maybe Frith is making a point, that the “great healer” is only a façade,  way to end the album, close some doors, and start anew, even if things aren’t quite that way in reality.


1. Some Clouds Don't

2. Cap the Knife

3.  Evolution

4. Too Much Too Little

5. Welcome, The

6. Same Old Me

7. Some Clouds Do

8. Instant Party

9. Walking Song

10. Flying in the Face of Facts

11. Heart Bares

12. Absent Friends

13. the Great Healer