The Bullpen 006

I don’t agree to that (me neither)

Alina Ibragimova, Vladimir Jurowski, State Academic Symphony Orchestra of Russia: Shostakovich: Violin Concertos (2020)

That this configuration of artists won’t come about again until Putin dies—expat Russian conductor Jurowski is an outspoken critic—does add extra-musical pathos to the First Concerto, which Shostakovich wrote in the ’40s and kept in the file drawer until Stalin died. Ibragimova, who’s also made the (easy) choice to stay west, doesn’t make Shosty too florid, keeping things repressed and/or ironic until the third movement bursts into song, then reaching the emotionally ambiguous cadenza and the technically insane finale. The only catch is that the Second Concerto, a much more minor work, can’t hope to compare. (Violin Concerto No. 1)

Elvie Shane: Damascus

Country singer who dropped out of Western Kentucky to pursue music, went on Idol, and had a radio hit with “My Boy”, one of the most sensitive songs about stepparenthood. This second album is solid—he’s a bit shouty as a singer but is effective enough, and each song is distinct. Most forceful is “Forgotten Man”, a statement of pride in his identity—“the color of my neck’s still the same as my blood”. Given this, it’s maybe surprising that I’m not a hundred percent sure which box he ticked to get his “I voted” sticker; his strongest political statement is that “we could agree to disagree”. Well, we can’t: no matter how admirably if carefully multiracial the working class is in his video, it remains more diverse in lived experience than his songs allow for, and for many of them what’s at stake in politics is the right to live without fear in the United States. However, art is about the only force left that can expand the empathy of anyone done with formal education, now that most of the rest of mass culture is the anti-empathetic Internet. So I’ll keep listening, and ask Elvie to play “Jesus at the Taco Truck”. (“Forgotten Man”, “Chicken Shit”, “Fan on High”)

Hilary Hahn: Ysaÿe: Six Sonatas for Violin Solo

These 1923 compositions, each written for a different violinist peer of Ysaÿe, are famed for their difficulty; their primary past use has been to stop even the finest prodigies from getting too big for their bowties. It’s a miracle, then, that Hahn makes them sound musical—not just No. 3, which people play for fun despite the finger-shredding sixths and tenths, but even No. 6, which starts with a physiologically insane octaves passage and doesn’t get nicer. And yet this clarifies that these works, played as well as a human can, don’t touch the virtuosic violin pieces that also happen to be great music, like Paganini’s or Bartok’s, let alone Bach’s. Still, getting them to B+ after a century is some achievement. (Sonata No. 6 in E Major, Sonata No. 3 in D minor, Sonata No. 5 in G major)

Ivo Perelman, Mark Helias, Tom Rainey: Truth Seeker

I should pick one album by major avant-saxist Perelman semi-randomly, declare it my favorite, and make it the one I play all the time. No reason why it shouldn’t be this one. There’s a good mix of Perelman rolling with what passes for a groove by his standards and him just going nuts; on “Spiritual Growth”, he flips between both modes. Bassist Helias and drummer Rainey are prepared to follow him: if Perelman can play impossible high notes on his instrument so can I, says Helias, while Rainey proves capable of extreme abstraction in time signatures with no common factors. On the other hand, there’s no necessity for this to be my favorite over, say, 2013’s Serendipity or last year’s Molten Gold. At some point I should roll a die. (“Life’s Meaning”, “Spiritual Growth”, “Mystical Vibration”)

El Khat: Mute

Arabic Jewish band, formed in Jaffa and now based in Berlin, with a way of sneaking dinky hooks into their modernizations of Levantine and North African music, like the drunken organ on “Commodore Lothan” or the stuttering keyb on “Almania”. Yet despite the homemade instruments and leader Eyal el Wahab’s self-taught background, there’s a rigorous engagement with trad Arabic music, microtones and all, and a real depth of feeling. The songs concern leavings and emigrations of many kinds; the wedding song “Zafa” has a hardness to it that feels built from layers of generations owning up to past mistakes as the bride heads off. The subsequent “Talaatam” makes it clearer that the hardness is more literally built from Lotan Yaish’s heavy-handed percussion and some guest brass, which accelerates at the end as if to prove that whether one prefers the journey or destination, sometimes the most important thing is to get the fuck out. (“Commodore Lothan”, “Zafa”, “Almania”)

Madi Diaz: Weird Faith

Slightly-not-overwhelmingly weird, whereas the faith part seems aspirational. Whether from Berklee or from hanging around her country friends or from five previous solo albums, Diaz has learned to write a proper tune around her voice, with long notes and short notes fitted to appropriate parts of her range. Her set-ups are intriguing: they’re sometimes borderline perverse (“sorry I’m your ex’s girlfriend”), sometimes matter-of-fact (“if you lay in my bed, I know we’re gonna have sex”). Old schoolers might think she could use a few late twists or domain expansions, but it’s not like many of her country friends do that these days. Production is spare and samey; the main concession to fashion is to turn up the reverb on the instruments—not the lead vocals, thank you. If she’s going to say “I’m not a God person”, she’s gonna make sure He or She can hear. (“Girlfriend”, “Same Risk”, “Get to Know Me”)

Nicole Horts: Nica

Mexican singer-songwriter making beat music, with some politics (she samples Trump, and even if it’s on a song called “F00l” I don’t need to hear that for at least four years) and a lot of self-empowerment, sometimes at the same time—“no quiero diamonds, quiero equal pay”. “La Calle” is the only real banger in terms of pure music. But she has an easy manner singing over the usual kick-heavy programming, effortlessly telling an ex “Fok Yo” (“yo” meaning you not I, my unidiomatic Spanglish thinks), and can rap okay when she needs to get her words in. Solid record that’d be better if Warnermoth México gave her a megabudget, even if that’d undercut the anti-plutocratic message. (“La Calle”, “Fok Yo”, “Ahora”)

That Mexican OT: Texas Technician

Technician, sure: he crams in his flows-in-all-tempos and is easy and exciting to listen to. As that job description suggests, however, he’s workmanlike at times: his b-words and threats of violence seem de rigueur compared to, say, guest DaBaby’s, though the fact that DaBaby is on there at all cuts against any assumption of morality on TMOT’s part. More often he resonates with his features, situating Fredo Bang’s gangsterism in the tradition of Pancho Villa, or commiserating over the perfidy of woman with, well, everyone. The penultimate “Mucho Gracias” shows a much wider range of emotions, and it’s a relief, yet it’s still unclear whether it’s present just because that too is what’s expected of him. His skills and rolled r’s may turn him into someone truly distinctive, but he’s not quite there. (“Hola”, “Bull Riding”, “Mucho Gracias”)

Vylet Pony: Girls Who Are Wizards

The eighteenth My Little Pony-themed electronic album—and I did listen to an old one to verify there’s been development; there has—by a gamer/Skrillex fan from Portland but really from the Internet. The aim here is to soften brostep without losing the sense of “now that’s a siiiick sound” that made it irresistible in the first place, and as far as I can tell, it’s successful (someone more knowledgeable than me should write up something on Feminist Mixing Theory to explain how it was done.) Still, as someone who never A-listed solo Skrillex, there’s a ceiling on how much I currently enjoy this in practice rather than in principle. But I’ll try to grow into it. (“Girls Who Are Wizards”, “The Wizard of Wubz (Wub Anthem)”, “There’s a Menu Theme Nestled Within Us All”)