On Sunday, the New York Times ran an article about Jim O’Rourke, an underground overachiever who, in addition to recording his own solo music, has played in Sonic Youth and Gastr Del Sol, and worked in various other capacities with Wilco, Joanna Newsom, and Superchunk.

His latest project is the new solo album The Visitor, a recording that, at times, features as many as 200 tracks of instruments.

As one might imagine, an album such as this would require quite an intricate mix, which is perhaps why The Visitor will only be available on CD and vinyl—no digital download.

Read More “Has the Pushback Begun?” »

Apropos of nothing, a former Washington Post classical writer and a current Washington Post pop writer recently weighed in on the meaning of music criticism. J. Freedom du Lac claims that influence is no longer a widespread possibility—and hasn’t been since the era of Boston—but that it’s still possible put a subject under a new light. And Tim Page argues for professional criticism as a bulwark against factual errors and unnecessary meanness. Both are worth reading if only because, while technology has no doubt changed the pursuit (see: blogs and MP3s) and made it more difficult to do it professionally, music criticism predates recorded sound and will probably outlast its current low ebb.

Anyone looking for an argument in favor of globalization would do well to consider Cyminology, a promising new jazz quartet made up of musicians from Germany, France, and India. The group’s cross-border reach also extends into Iran, where Cyminology’s leader, singer Cymin Samawatie, spent summers as a youth. The daughter of Iranian parents, Samawatie writes lyrics and sings in Farsi, the Persian language widely spoken in Iran. And, if Farsi-language jazz isn’t cross-cultural enough for you, Samawatie’s wordless vocal on “Naagofte,” one of the tracks on Cyminology’s ECM debut As Ney, is reminiscent of the Brazilian singer Flora Purim. What could’ve been multi-culti mush is actually a crisp take on a familiar format: the piano-bass-drums trio fronted by a female vocalist. Were it not for the lyrics and a Middle Eastern tinge to the melodies, Cyminology might sound like an American band that was raised on Keith Jarrett and Nina Simone records. The appeal is, in other words, borderless.

Cyminology performs Friday, 5/15, at 7:30 p.m. at the Fairfax Community Church, 11451 Braddock Road, Fairfax, Va. $10-12. (703) 745-1030.

Here’s my top ten. This year, for once, I tried to focus on ten albums that I listened to a lot. In previous years, I gravitated towards major statements, and a list-wide balance marked by genre eclecticism. This led me to include records that I neither like nor listen to any more (see: Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, among many others).

If I wrote about a record on this list for publication, I’ve included an excerpt below. If not, I’ve tried to find a good excerpt from another writer, someone I admire. There are no audio samples, because: A) I’m old (mid-thirties) and I don’t even own an iPod and; B) every time I try to teach myself something new on the computer my infant son tells me, in his own baby-rageous way, that I should give up. Happy holidays.

1. Meanderthal, Torche (Hydra Head)

Pitting Torche toe-to-toe with Rihanna may be reaching (people are still grousing about the time Decibel’s resident genius/ heathen Kory Grow dropped Missy Elliot’s name in a Nachtmystium review), but even at its most skittering, math-y moments (“Little Champion”), Meanderthal has a rhythm made to shake rumps. Shame on me, shame on us, we won’t get fooled again. Maybe it’s time to start booking the arena tour. Hello, Cleveland!

—Nick Green, May 2008 issue of Decibel

2. Black Sea, Fennesz (Touch)

One gets the sense that, even as he slouches toward easy listening, Fennesz is wary of making music that is too beautiful or unblemished. There’s a cold, clinical aspect to Eno’s ambient music that’s missing from Black Sea. It’s not just the fact that you can hear Fennesz’s acoustic guitar or imagine him sitting in the space where it was recorded. It’s all of the digital pockmarks and instrumental imperfections combined. Perhaps more than any other Fennesz record, Black Sea exemplifies the kind of ambient music that’s never so seamless that you forget it was made by a human being.

—Brent Burton, Washington City Paper

[More below the jump!]

Read More “Music 2008: The Year in Burton!” »

Wednesday night was opening night for Washington National Opera’s production of Handel’s Tamerlano. The Playbill claims that all of the tickets to this baroque opera are sold, but that doesn’t mean that it was a full house. By the beginning of Act Three it was obvious that there had been a sizable exodus—due no doubt to the role of Tamerlano, which was originally performed by an alto castrato and performed last night by countertenor David Daniels (pictured above).

Daniels is impressive in this role, but the high-pitched countertenor sound is odd to modern ears. (I swear I heard some muffled giggles when he was doing his trills in the third act; perhaps some of these folks were remembering Adam Sandler’s Operaman character from Saturday Night Live.) Let’s just say that bass-baritone Andrew Foster-Williams—who plays Leone, the smallest of the opera’s six roles—brought some much-needed heft.

In Sunday’s Washington Post, Jason Cherkis checks in again with Jack Carneal, the Malian music enthusiast and label owner of Baltimore’s Yaala Yaala.

Cherkis and I tackled Carneal’s first trio of recordings almost a year ago in City Paper (“Griot Grand” and “Interview with Jack Carneal”).

Now Carneal’s got a fourth Yaala Yaala disc, a self-titled release from Yoro Sidibe, a Malian hunter and musician who is “around 70.” The album came out last week.

According to Drag City, the Chicago label that distributes Yaala Yaala, “the grooves are as uplifting as any pep talk could be. They’re low and hypnotic — and after an hour of them shaking and rattling, you too will be loose and ready for what may.”

Given that there’s no music on Yaala Yaala’s MySpace page, we’ll just have to take their word for it.

A friend just pointed out this post from Jessica Hopper’s blog, in which the blacklist-happy music writer goes after Chicago black-metal band Nachtmystium. The problem? Well, Hopper thinks they’re racist and homophobic.

Now, I loved Nachtmystium’s last album from 2006, an arty slab of psychedelic metal called Instinct: Decay. But I don’t go around doing due diligence on every band I like, so I’d never read any interviews in which frontman Blake Judd uses questionable language, or expresses questionable ideas.

But I decided to Google Nachtmystium and “Zionist conspiracy” and got nothing but Hopper’s blog. (Googling “Nachtmystium” and “Zionist” gets you here.) I didn’t bother with the f-word, because it seems clear enough that the guy is upset with message board lurkers, not, um, gay people.

Now, I’m not going to condone what Judd said, but, if Hopper’s going to call out poor Stephin Merritt for not liking rap, then perhaps she will understand that–as Faulkner once said about the South–some of us like despite, not because of.

In this week’s New Yorker, staff writer Burkhard Bilger has a good article about American folk music. It’s not online, but it’s worth seeking out.

Not only does he interview Frederick, MD’s Joe Bussard, a 78 collector who has been the subject of several Washington City Paper features (Eddie Dean’s and Andrew Beaujon’s), but he also makes some worthwhile points about American folk music and its pursuit (whether by collectors or those making field recordings).

Most interesting to me—especially having grown up around adults who, in the ‘70s and ‘80s, were still in the thrall of the fifties folk revival—is how many of those musicians, such as Robert Johnson, who—especially since the ‘60s—has been written about in mythical, almost god-like terms, owe their legend to serendipity.

Bilger writes:

“Fame in folk music can be less a matter of talent than of opportunity, [down-to-Earth folk revivalist Art Rosenbaum] said. People talk about the Delta blues because Charley Patton and Robert Johnson were from Mississippi. But if H.C. Speir hadn’t opened his music store in Jackson we might talk about Georgia Blues instead.”

And then there’s the whole issue of authenticity—finding artists untouched by the modern world. This is like manna for folk-hunters. (When Leadbelly came to New York, Bilger writes, noted folklorist John Lomax “told him to put on prison stripes.”) But Bilger notes that even some of ye olde biggies might not stand up to present-day standards:

“When John Lomax first recorded the blues, the genre was newer than hip-hop is today, and both Leadbelly and Robert Johnson learned songs from records.”

None of this invalidates a good song (and Johnson, especially, wrote quite a few), but it would seem to invalidate the collecting and compiling concept that anything that’s old and, um, folky is worth transferring and cleaning up. Some recordings you’ve never heard of because they just weren’t very good.

Ben Sisario’s NYT article about indie record stores was quite a bummer, but Sasha Frere-Jones blog post from last Friday got me thinking that the demise of 3,100 record stores since 2003 isn’t such a bad thing.

SFJ writes: “There are many educating angels out there, and I owe several kind people a lifetime’s tuition, but, good Lord, record-store employees can be grumpy. And scary. And insulting. And make you feel like never ever going into a store again. And that’s relevant.”

It is relevant. We’ve all had these High Fidelity-type experiences and if you think of this stuff in small business terms–as opposed to cultural terms–it’s especially baffling.

I certainly don’t welcome the demise of record stores, but here are some questions to think about, once again in small business terms…

Will the stores that are left over have to work much harder for your money?

Will they have to do things to differentiate themselves from the vast resources of the internet?

Will they be much happier to see you walk through the door?

I think the answer to all three is ‘yes.’ Is this a tragedy? Not at all.

Baltimore gets “Best Scene” in the new Rolling Stone “Best of Rock” issue. Does this mean that the Baltimore scene is officially over?