Odds & Ends 121
Now you can go on Spotify and listen to Prince/Least that's what scientists are teaching to chimps
Homeboy Sandman: There in Spirit
His long rhymestring verses contain more quotable couplets than usual, while producer Illingsworth’s sample-mash beats progress over the duration of each song maybe half as much as I’d like them to, which is still more than the contemporary alt-rap norm (“The Only Constant”, “Voices (Alright)”, “Keep That Same Energy”)
Eri Yamamoto, Chad Fowler, William Parker, Steve Hirsh: Sparks
Melodic: sometimes building a straightforward motif repeated by Fowler on sax (sorry, on “stritch” and “saxello”), other times tinkling stochastically until a pattern emerges and the band runs with it, one time letting Parker and Hirsh knock about until Fowler decides to play “You Are My Sunshine” in a minor key (“In the Garden”, “Bob’s Pink Cadillac”, “Sparks”)
Deborah Allen: The Art of Dreaming
Briefly pop ’80s country singer now sounds trad, celebrating strong and/or struggling women with old school white soul as if American Idol never happened (“A Girl Like That”, “Memphis Rendezvous”, “Run Baby Run”)
Semi-Goth Istanbul electrorock trio’s cheaply hooked, tonally varied fusion isn’t too heady, but you can dance to most of it (“Abla Deme Lazım Olur”, “Yalnız Ölü Balıklar Akıntıyı Takip Eder”, “Hata Benim Göbek Adım”)
Socially-distanced post-bop cut and pasted into something more post, less bop: while there’s a good chance I would’ve preferred the unadulterated album, Garchik’s trombone chops are evident and Sam Newsome knows one way to make soprano interesting is to play it through a hose (“Fanfare”, “Fantasia”, “Reverie”)
S.G. Goodman: Teeth Marks
Ideologically sophisticated Kentucky folkie whose rustic warble and melodic common-sense mostly overcome the production’s will to boredom isn’t more insightful about rural despair than a populist like Angaleena Presley; ideology has its uses, however, like making it clear that working until you die isn’t a life cycle to aspire to (“Work Until I Die”, “When You Say It”, “You Were Someone I Loved”)
Vince Staples: Ramona Park Broke My Heart
Dozens of producers contributing retro-Cal uppers—one song is called “DJ Quik”—notwithstanding, he certainly makes Crip life sound like a bummer, though it’s not clear if that’s due to the violence and brutality per se or if he’d be experiencing much the same ennui if he were an accountant (“When Sparks Fly”, “Magic”)
Alexander Hawkins Mirror Canon: Break a Vase
Modern-pretty compositions by pianist Hawkins, whose three solo tracks totaling six minutes are a painless frame, played by a Britjazz group with starpower from Shabaka Hutchings, more understated than usual (he plays a lot of flute) yet still distinctive with his legato phrasing and weird bird calls; most impressive is Richard Olátúndé Baker, who gets a stirring range of expression out of his Yoruban drum (“Generous Souls”, “Stamped Down, or Shovelled”)
Shayla Spradley: Dryland EP
If this country hopeful’s description of her former state of residence (“being right was never as good as kind”) is hard to reconcile with recent Indiana legislature actions, she has a shrewdness that reflects well on somebody’s education system, with a marriage/divorce song that deserves Annie money (“Bride Ideas”, “Indiana”)
Brooklyn trumpeter, a veteran of bhangra bands and leftist band break-ups, illustrates Sikh and Sufi poems and revolutionary speeches with guitar, harmonium, tabla and dhol drumming (plus there’s a Latin one for some reason); earnest fun, with Singh’s appealingly straightforward singing holding things together (“Aisee Preet”, “Chardi Kala”)
Lisa Ullén/Elsa Bergman/Anna Lund: Space
The non-blowing half of Anna Högberg Attack burns slow at times, but pianist Ullén’s weird jumps and seemingly arbitrary repetitions are enough reward before drummer Lund inevitably bangs things up (“Joint Attention”, “Tempest”)
Norma Tanega: I’m the Sky: Studio and Demo Recordings, 1964-1971
The studio tracks reveal a folkie who’s often sharp-mannered, occasionally genuinely subversive, and consistently oddball, naming her cat Dog and constructing an obituary worthy of building a vampire TV show around; the demos are demos (“Walking My Cat Named Dog”, “You’re Dead”)
Earl Sweatshirt: Sick!
He’s moved from his depressed young bastard phase to his paranoid young bastard with shiny beats phase, which is certainly progress (“2010”, “Vision”)