Art Ensemble of Chicago's Tutankhamun

My latest Vinyl Anachronist music review is now live at Part-Time Audiophile. This one is about the ORG Music reissue of the Art Ensemble of Chicago's 1969 album Tutankhamun. You can read it here.

Cecil Taylor's Silent Tongues from ORG Music

The ORG Music reissue of Cecil Taylor's classic Silent Tongues from Montreux '74 is now live at Part-Time Audiophile. You can read it here.

Tav Falco's Cabaret of Daggers

When it comes to the massive care package I received from ORG Music a couple of months ago, I saved the best for last. When I first listened to Tav Falco's Cabaret of Daggers, I had a lot of questions: Who is Tav Falco? What kind of music is this? Is this a reissue, or is this a current release? This album doesn't include the copious liner notes that most ORG Music releases have, but from the credits I deduced that Tav Falco is the guitarist and singer for an Italian retro-cabaret-rock ensemble. Cabaret of Daggers was recorded in Rome, but mastered in Memphis. From the cover photos, these five musicians aren't young kids trying to get their big break by performing American--they look like they've been around for a long time. (That's not meant to be a diss, by the way--I'll discuss this in a bit.)

So I wound up Wiki-ing Tav and his band, and it turns out he's an American-born musician who's been performing with a band named Panther Burns since 1979. He was born in Philly but moved to Arkansas and then Memphis, where he picked up his musical tastes. His Wiki page is pretty long and detailed, which indicates I should be ashamed for not knowing who he is. But that doesn't matter--we're here now, in 2019, and this album is fantastic.

Cabaret of Daggers is indeed a new release, one recorded with a group of Italian musicians that he previously used for 2015's Command Performance--guitarist Mario Monterosso, keyboardist Francesco D'Agnolo, bassist Giuseppi Sangirardi and drummer Riccardo Colasante. I'd have to go back into the Panther Burns catalog to see how different this album is from the work he did in 1979, but this is my interpretation of this gloriously off-key LP: it's weary, but by design. That's right, these guys sound like Lily Von Shtupp, and they're just as charming. Falco's vocals are drenched in reverb, which accentuates his oh-so-tired demeanor that sounds like this was the final performance of a tour that lasted thirty years. He's flat, out of key much of the time, and yet he has that same underlying musical genius you'd find in someone like Jonathan Richman.

The genius, of course, is that this is the type of music that sounds like one thing on the surface, but another thing once you take a step or two closer. It's funny, of course--the lyrics are wry and delivered with exhausted conviction. The entire package is somewhat calculated, but it takes someone with decades of experience as a professional musician to bring this sort of sustained attitude to the mix and make it totally believable--or perhaps maybe Falco really is this tired. Then you'll hear something from the band, a beautiful, inspired solo, or even something from Falco's splendid and bluesy old Hofner, that gives up the game. It doesn't matter, though--whether or not this is all an act is beside the point. The concept is sound, the delivery is impeccable and Cabaret of Daggers is both serious music and a whole lot of fun.

Wurm's Exhumed

"My name is Chuck Dukowski and I'm a bass player. In the late 1970's my friends and I started a band called Black Flag, but Black Flag would have never happened if I hadn't started Wurm."

Growing up in LA during the 1970s and 1980s, I knew all about Chuck Dukowski and Black Flag. In my college days I was obsessed with SST Records, the label that put out Black Flag, Minutemen, Husker Du and others. My hardcore friends loved Chuck, and they hated Henry Rollins--for them, Rollins caused Black Flag to jump the shark when he joined. Chuck was pure, a punk god, a part of the original big bang that forced punk out of its womb. I didn't know much about Wurm, unfortunately, although I believe those same old friends of mine were big fans. Needless to say, I wouldn't be able to identify Wurm's music in a lineup. That's why this ORG Music release, another title that debuted on Record Store Day 2018, is such a revelation.

Exhumed contains most of Wurm's legacy--the I'm Dead EP from 1982, a couple of compilation tracks from 1983 and the complete Feast album, their only LP, which was released in 1985. Most importantly, Exhumed contains previously unreleased practice tapes from 1977. Wurm, I should note, first formed back in 1973, when punk was still a twinkle in rock and roll's eye. While many still debate the origins of punk--Ramones, New York Dolls, MC5--Wurm has a pretty strong claim to the title of first hardcore punk band, and those practice tapes help to confirm this--on the West Coast, at least.

All of this material has been remastered. This is hardcore punk, however, recorded with a strict punk aesthetic in mind, and that means it doesn't sound like your UHQR pressing of Tea for the Tillerman. That aesthetic is anti-establishment, of course, that it was all done on the cheap in the heat of the moment. What ORG has done, however, is capture that original energy with a clean pressing. Everything on the original tapes is presented as is, the massive anger, the brilliant street-wise humor, the feeling that every performance is unique and deserving of preservation.

I still love listening to classic Black Flag, even with Henry, because it's so stripped down and brutal...yet somehow smart. Wurm is a slightly different experience because it was so raw and in search of firm footing. By listening to both the 1977 rehearsals and the 1985 swan song, however, you're able to view the creative peak of hardcore punk going backwards and forwards. Since this is a two-LP set, there's plenty to study from a historical standpoint. Most importantly, I'm amazed that some of this music is over 40 years old, but it doesn't sound that dated. (Imagine how music from the Great Depression would sound in the context of 1977.) Perhaps that's because there are still musicians making this sort of music in 2019, and not because they're paying tribute to it. They're carrying on that punk aesthetic and declaring it immortal. That's why Exhumed is still a vital listen for the people who were there.

Presenting the Ad Libs

"There's a piece of real estate where all the hippies congregate..."

So begins "On the Corner," the first track on the Ad Libs' 1965 debut Presenting the Ad Libs. That opening sentence provides a considerable amount of context for this LP reissue from ORG Music, a beautiful purple pressing from the Pallas Group in Germany. The Ad Libs were a classic doo-wop group from Bayonne, New Jersey, and this album came out at a time when doo-wop was waning in popularity. The Ad Libs jumped right out and proved they were no ordinary doo-wop group--they were among the few groups with a female singing lead, and their lyrics were unusually relevant and sophisticated. In a time when Motown was taking over the R&B charts with such acts as The Supremes and the British Invasion was in full force, the Ad Libs made a minor but significant impact on pop music.

The Ad Libs only had one big hit--"The Boy From New York City," which appears here. You know the one..."Oo ah oo ah oo oo, Kitty, tell us 'bout the boy from New York City." Yet they performed together well into the '80s and experienced a comeback of sorts when the Manhattan Transfer had a hit with "The Boy From New York City" in 1981. Despite their partnership with Jerry Lieber and Mike Stoller, they never really had any sales and were dropped from Red Bird Records after three non-performing albums. That, of course, is a shame, because there's a lot of talent here.

As I mentioned, the Ad Libs were notable because they flipped the normal doo-wop conventions when Mary Ann Thomas stepped to the front of the stage, leaving founders Danny and Austin and Hugh Harris, along with baritone Norman Donegan and bass vocalist David Allen Watt to supply the four-part harmonies. This strategy could have been implemented to stand out from the crowd, but I prefer to think of a less calculated reason--Thomas' appealing vocals. She's distinctive, soulful and yet innocent, a young woman who's still trying to figure out the complexities of love. Why didn't she become a big star on her own?

The sound quality on this album is clean and vibrant. There's a minimalism in the studio that keeps the recording small and distant, but that's okay since this was music that was meant to be played on small radios. Presenting the Ad Libs, therefore, is a document of a fun group that should have gone on to bigger things. It's not an audiophile release, but it is something authentic, something that can shake up a party and get everyone dancing. Afterwards everyone will ask, "who was that?" And you'll be able to tell them the story.

Les Paul and His Trio's After You've Gone

You've probably noticed that I've been very enthusiastic about these new LP releases from ORG Music. These pressings have been as clean as can be, and they sound great thanks to the work at both Infrasonic Mastering and the Pallas Group in Germany. Last week I was able to visit the Furnace records pressing plant in Alexandria, Virginia. Furnace actually owns five of the LP presses at Pallas and just moved to larger facilities to share more in the actual pressing chores. I received an in-depth tour of Furnace, and I will be writing a feature for my first issue of The Occasional. The pressings are first rate and the sound quality is stellar--I know the reasons why now--but I haven't talked about the third leg of the tripod. That, of course, would be ORG's fabulous taste in music, exemplified by this new mono remastering of Les Paul's After You've Gone.

This is a generous chunk of classic music from this master guitarist, 28 songs spread out over two LPs that have been meticulously pressed and packaged with love. These tracks were recorded with his trio, which includes bassist Nicki Parrot and pianist John Colianni, from 1944-45. It's hard to say this was during his peak since the only time he really wasn't at his peak was when he accidentally electrocuted himself in 1941 and when he broke his arm when he and Mary Ford got into a car accident in 1948. Both events required a couple of years of recovery but preceded an unusually productive time for Paul--and these performances were captured right in between.

I don't have to tell you about Les Paul, of course. I just want to talk about the music on this album, which is simply fantastic. For years I've wanted that perfect Les Paul recording, the one where I can learn more about who he was and what he did. I've had a few LPs over the years, and they capturing those magical flying fingers and that one-of-a-kind style, but few have really moved me like this one. This is such a beautiful and quiet recording and gets to the heart of that legendary sound. It's all in mono, obviously, but that means you aren't focused as much on the space around the instruments as you are the tone, that pure tone of a master. If you're one of those people who still balk at mono recordings as a means to experiencing fidelity, I'll refer you to an old Vinyl Anachronist column I did back in 2002 called "Adventures in Mono."

Quite simply, this is the perfect album to play when you just want to sink into cushions and think about how things used to be. There's such a vibrancy to Les Paul's guitar and you're reminded every second that this is the sound of an extraordinary human who was a master of his craft. It's a hell of a lot of fun, too, and another momentous success from ORG Music.

ORG Reissue of Hank Jones' Arigato

I need to get hoppin' on these new LP reissues from ORG Music--a big box arrived yesterday with a load of new titles from many different genres, everything from classic R&B to hardcore punk to something really bizarre from a guy named Tav Falco. (I mean bizarre in a really nice way, because it's very unique and fun.) In my new role as managing editor of The Occasional, I've been very busy covering trade shows and running to the west coast for events and even receiving and organizing a pile of audio equipment to review, all while my mailbox is still filled almost daily with new music. Last month I made 41 blog entries, a record for The Vinyl Anachronist, but less than half were actual music reviews. I've had Hank Jones' Arigato waiting patiently for far too long, and that's a shame because it's really good.

Hank Jones is one of those jazz pianists who is considered among the greats, but I feel like I rarely hear about him. He's the gentleman who plays piano on Cannonball Adderley's legendary Somethin' Else, and he's also the pianist who accompanied Marilyn Monroe when she sang "Happy Birthday" to JFK. (As a side note, his full name is Henry Jones Jr., which makes me wonder if Steven Spielberg and George Lucas were quietly paying tribute to him.) He's recorded 60 albums as a leader/front man, and I don't own any of them. Younger brothers Thad Jones and Elvin Jones, yes. Hank Jones, no. That's my bad.

Arigato was recorded and released in 1976 during his second wind of recording in the studio. In the '50s and '60s he was everywhere, playing with everyone, and he found a solid gig as the "staff pianist" for CBS from 1959 to 1975. He experienced a renewal of interest in his work in the '70s due to his involvement in the musical Ain't Misbehavin', and Arigato comes from that period. This is a simple collection of standards, performed by a stellar trio that included bassist Richard Davis and drummer Ronnie Bedford. What you'll notice first about this album is the sheer energy--Jones has a quick, lyrical style that has been described as "impeccable," and his two cohorts are game to turn the key and start the engines. This is a fast jazz album in the sense that it just speeds by, and it leaves you wanting more.

I'm starting to wax rhapsodic about these ORG Music reissues in the same way I gush about 2L Recordings, but for a slightly different reason. ORG is doing a fantastic job of preserving those countless historic windows no matter the view. There are a few great-sounding jazz albums from late '70s--a couple from Chico Freeman come to mind--but there's a thin quality that often seeps in, a digital clarity that suggests the recording engineers were turning their backs on the pure and effective methods used in the '50s and '60s and looking to bring out more detail at the cost of warmth. I noticed this on the ORG reissue of Roland Hanna's Perugia. These ORG reissues from that period shine, however, because they're both faithful to the original recording and yet there's just a tad more warmth and humanity than in the original pressings.

That means Arigato sounds a little light on its feet, but at the same time you get to dig deep into what makes Hank Jones tick. For someone like me, who is being introduced to such a skilled and fascinating pianist, that's a gift.