At the time, I knew very little about the two musicians and I knew nothing at all about the…
search
I found out about Patato & Totico all on my own, and completely by accident. It happened during the height of my salsa fixation, just after I completed my first Salsa Means Soul compilation. Searching the compact disc shelves at the Virgin Megastore for an album called Cuban Pearls, and specifically for a song called "Oriente" by Cheo Marquetti, I instead stumbled upon the Verve reissue of this 1967 work by famed congero Carlos "Patato" Valdes and vocalist Eugenio "Totico" Arango.
I've learned, unfortunately—even painfully—that not all vinyl sounds good. Crazy, I know. I would like to think that great performances make great recordings, and that's all there is to it. But it's not that simple. Even the greatest musical performance can be slashed to death by a bad recording, or by the foolish acts of the music industry. I learned the hard way. Is there any other way to learn?
We were tired but fulfilled, sitting at the old bar, admiring the albums we'd come away with from a long day of hunting at the Princeton Record Exchange. One by one…
Jenny Scheinman is one of the liveliest, quirkiest jazz musicians out there, a violinist with folk roots, a kind of bluegrass cadence, and a deepening mastery of improvisational idiom. She’s playing at the Village Vanguard through this Sunday with Jason Moran (the best pianist on the scene), Greg Cohen (one of the two or three best bassists), and Rudy Royston (a drummer who’s new to me but he’s very good too). If you’re in the tri-State area, go see her.
At the late set last Tuesday, she played mainly her own compositions—lovely slow ballads and rousing up-tempo ditties, all teeming with…
Andrew Hill, the knotty avant-garde pianist, and Chico Hamilton, the boisterous polyrhythmic drummer, seem an unlikely pair at first (or second) glance. But they set off fascinating fireworks, and carved out sinuous jags of common ground, in a duet recording, Dreams Come True, just released on Joyous Shout!, an Indiana-based label that I’ve never heard of. (Its website seems to be a sort of shrine to Chico Hamilton merchandise.)
The session was recorded in 1993, and may have been considered too off-handed for public distribution, but this looseness—like a casual conversation—accounts for…
One of my favorite jazz bands, Ben Allison’s Medicine Wheel, is playing at the Jazz Standard Nov. 4. Allison is an enticing bassist and composer, agile and inventive, flitting from Herbie Nichols to film noir to raga, ska, funky blues, and straight-ahead jazz without showing a seam, loosening his wit, or abandoning the melody or the swing. The band is first-rate (regular readers will recognize most of them): Frank Kimbrough, piano; Jenny Scheinman, violin; Ted Nash and Michael Blake, reeds; and Michael Sarin, drums.
The problem, of course, is that it’s Election Night. What to do: listen…
For Halloween, I dressed up as myself: rigid and morose. My costume was a smash at all the parties. However, the Best Costume Award goes to SnowGhost Music's Greg McGrath. Greg dressed up as an MP3. He explained:
I'm wearing a knockoff costume that doesn't look nearly as good as my friend's costume and it's giving me a rash, but I got it for free!
Heh heh. Audio humor. I love it.
Rumor has it that our music editor, Robert Baird, donned the thick black eyeliner, bad tattoos, and beehive hairdo of a certain tragic pop star. We tried to get him into rehab, but…
She stands in the long and winding Election Day line, a wonder in her cream-colored cotton sweater, black tights, and two-inch heels. Her head is down in Milan Kundera, and somewhere in her mind she sings.
The song is Neil Young's "The Needle and The Damage Done."
It was a certain sunless Sunday afternoon and we were listening to some records at the Brooklyn Navy Yard's DeVore Fidelity factory. Something had just come to an end, and I decided to take a look through a box of LPs to find something new. I found an album that was still sealed in its plastic wrapper. It was the seventh installment of Sonic Youth's SYR series, the album that started it all for me. I was shocked. Shocked. I was all exclamation points and italics.
"Dude. Dude! You haven't even opened this yet!"
John looked at me like it was no big deal. Choosing not…
Well, I've already given you the full scoop on the drama behind the construction of my system: the muffled sound, the thick thick cables, and the paper clips, but we're missing the most important part:
The music!
Despite what skeptics may tell you, hi-fi is not just about the gear. It also makes you want to listen to music. Incessantly. An indescribable urge grows in your gut to just buy more music.
I've enjoyed tons of incredible records since I first constructed my system.
Tuesday
I got home from work. We were in the midst of the Buyer's Guide…
The walls of the Stereophile offices have been shaking to the sounds of Mogwai's latest, The Hawk is Howling. Yes, we know that hawks don't howl. (Or do they?) We also know the difference between a hawk and a bald eagle. (Sourpusses.)
YouTube member "doublewords" of Finland put together this video for Mogwai's "The Sun Smells Too Loud," my favorite track off the album.
Keep an eye out for a full (LP!) review of Mogwai's The Hawk is Howling in an upcoming issue of Stereophile.