"New Dylans"

Back in the early 70's, the appearance of every guitar strumming talent prompted murmurings of "the new Dylan."  We heard it famously about Springsteen when he burst forth with "Greetings..", but we also heard it endless, about Loudon Wainwright, John Prine, Patti Smith, Warren Zevon.  Dylan was barely in his 30's by then, but he was the reference point.  If you sang sophisticated lyrics and had an unconventional voice, you were the "new Dylan."

Flash forward forty years.  Here's Jason Isbell, lately a member of the alt-country Drive By Truckers.  He has the aching vocal strain of Ryan Adams, the lyrical sophistication (and bleakness) of Zevon.   Songs of hard luck, regret and hope.  A shoe-in for my top ten of 2013.

You know his "Stockholm" from your favorite indie radio station. His poignant, "Different Days" will remind you of another new Dylan, Cat Stevens (in his best moments).

But the masterpiece is this heartbreaker, "Relatively Easy."

Stuff of Dad's

My Dad died three and half years ago at 88 and the speed with which my Mother emptied the closets was breathtaking.  This is a widow's prerogative and no one would question how they choose to grieve and begin to live their lives without a partner.  But by the time I looked up from my own grief, the personal trappings of his life were mostly dispersed. 

I have held onto four things.  First, a blue plaid Brooks Brothers shirt that I gave him to brighten his wardrobe and pamper him; he would have never spent this much on a shirt, as he tirelessly declared about so many things.  I wear it now rarely and usually to family gatherings where no one seems to recognize it as his. It's a reminder of our different frames in all senses.  

Second, is a too narrow, shamrock covered tie, a St. Patrick's Day staple of his when it was a proud declaration of his heritage.  Being Irish, for him and me, entails at its core a sharp awareness of the blessings that illuminate a troubled world.  My family finds this perplexing enough.  I do not need to wear the tie to remind them.

Then there's his Cross pen which he was never without.  "Anyone have a pen?" He always had this one.  The first appeared in the late 60's when they were the ne plus ultra of corporate gifts.  A stream arrived, bearing logos and inscriptions; I lost every one he gave me until my Mother gave me this one of his after his death. After a frantic few days when I thought I had misplaced it, this one rarely leaves my bureau.  When I hold it, I feel connected to him. It's totemic. 

And finally there's this music.  I introduced him to Louis Jordan when I was in my thirties and our relationship had been repaired.  While Jordan's music was from his generation, it was unknown to him.   He loved it as much as I did.  I heard the roots of rock and roll taking shape and he heard the romp of the big bands. 

To hear it now is to see his face beaming, in thrall of its syncopated rhythm and sly wordplay.  "Take me right back to the track, Jack."

Sister Act: Haim

Remember the Roches, the fresh young things who broke onto the folk scene in the late '70's?  They haunted last remaining folk clubs of that era with a charming irony and a knowing feminism.  C'mon, you remember how they'd open, "We are Maggie and Terri and Suzy..."  Oh forget it.  The bridge I'm building here is to sister acts and the Pointer Sisters don't get me where I'm going.

The Roches fooled around for one album with guitarist Robert Fripp, who sent a blippy, electronic pulse through the record that underscored the uncanny way that those sisters were wired together.

So that's how we get to Haim, three Los Angeles sisters who are making electro-folk that's infectious and joyful and once again demonstrates that there's something special about sister acts.

This is a wave that's still forming off-shore: a couple of EP's to their credit and a first album due at the end of September.  They will be big.

Beat the Heat: The Piano Man

No, not Billy Joel.  Did you think I had taken leave of my senses in the heat?

The jazz pianist Brad Mehldau is the piano man of my summer dreams.  And on this, the hottest day of the year (so far), I am keeping my sanity and my cool by listening to his extraordinarily nuanced recordings of "new standards."

The jazz crowd love Mehldau for his virtuosity and musical originality, changing keys and time signatures and completely shifting the listener's perspective on familiar composition.

Me?  I love the songs he covers -- jazz takes on Radiohead, Paul Simon, Soundgarden, the Beatles and 60's pop.

Listen to him steal "Alfie" back from the realm of Musak:

On his trio recordings, the bass and percussion bring electricity to even the subtlest ballads, like a softly burning candle that sparks and crackles.    His treatment of L&M's "Blackbird" is revelatory:

Mehldau now has a place on my list of go-to jazz pianists, who always satisfy. It's rare company:  Bill Evans, Keith Jarrett, Ahmad Jamal, Herbie Hancock and, of course, Thelonius Monk.

You can beat the heat with any these guys, but Mehldau is for me the new, new thing.

C'mon a my house: Mansions on the Moon

Another great Los Angeles quartet that you should know about, Mansions on the Moon sit at the corner of CSN and Kraftwerk.  Bet you didn't think those streets would ever intersect, did you? Well they do in 2013 and there's a chillwave party going on on this corner.


Check out their video linking two songs from their recent EP, Lightyears.

The Unexpected Kurt Vile

Kurt Vile.  You'd figure him for a punk, right?  Sid Vicious. Jello Biafra. Richard Hell.  Those are not names for singer/songwriters.  So you, like me, might have passed right by Mr. Vile, a Philadelphian who spent some time in the band War on Drugs.  Word up: slow down.

Vile (born Kurt Samuel Vile; who would do that to a kid?) records in a variety of styles but the stuff that grabbed me is from his 2013 Walking on A Pretty Daze, a mashup of the Velvets, Neil Young and the Kinks, all in their low decibel mode.   A psychedelic stew of low-fi, reverb and mumble-core vocals.

"Walking on a Pretty Day," the 9-minute title track (sort of) would have been right at home on Young's Everybody Knows this is Nowhere, but Vile's vocals are easier on the ears.

"Never Run Away" is more succinct and on it, Vile sounds to me like the love child of Ray Davies and Dean Wareham of Luna.  His parents must be so proud.  

Bonus:  In 1985, Lou Reed turned up on Lost in the Stars, a "tribute" album to the real Kurt Weill that, I'm embarrassed to say, was where I figured out who Weill was and was put wise to his weird sensibility.  Reed's version of "September Song" was worth the price of that disk.  It's still a keeper.

The Rhye-light Zone

Rhye
Woman








Submitted for your consideration:  A dreamy, musical world that percolates with a Sade feel, which is to say, tinged with melancholy and ache, but somehow makes you happy.  A high, clear vocal presence that confuses you with gender references until you learn it's actually a guy, Mike Milosh, who possesses a beautiful countertenor.  An album cover that celebrates the beauty of the female form with a a grace that Mapplethorpe would admire.  Musical influences that build a completely contemporary chill-wave soundscape:  Golden Years-era Bowie, Bare Trees-vintage Fleetwood Mac, all with a Gamble & Huff gloss.  Welcome to the Rhye-light Zone. You'll be wanting to stay a while.