Rhythms and quintessence

Don't let these discs slip by

by Jim Macnie

Gordon Lightfoot

Some people use the summer to bask in the cheesy radiance of the radio. Me, I tried to scrutinize some of the things that slipped by in the spring while keeping an ear on both jazz and pop. No, I wasn't immune to the uptempo charms of "Livin' La Vida Loca" and "Steal My Sunshine." But there's other stuff out there, too, right?

Tim Hagans: Animation/Imagination (Blue Note)

Hooked up with samplers, programmers and DJs, the 40-something trumpeter sounds like a guy enjoying a florid mid-life fantasy. I won't call it a crisis, because for the most part, Hagans and associates seem amused by, and in control of, the computronic clackety-clack that defines their decidedly impudent opus. Years ago, critic Howard Hampton spoke of music so aggressive it "spoke back to the deadness rotting away in passive lives." With roots in both early '70s Miles and modern jungle music, Hagans lets Animation/ Imagination rip with a blend of technodelic swing and fusion that pulverizes timidity. And he breaks new ground without abandoning the crucial tenets of his previous work. Producer Bob Belden says he hears the disc being more Freddie Hubbard than Miles Davis, and though there are a few parallels to lava lamp riff discs like Red Clay and Skydive, what he's really talking about is Hubbard's mix of brashness and brains. Hagans underscored both on his last acoustic disc, Audible Architecture; get past the plugged-in façade here, and the same attention to line is obvious. He adjusts for mood -- he wouldn't be the improviser he is if he didn't -- but he also makes mood walk his way.

Ned Sublette: Cowboy Rumba (Palm)

Epiphanies usually alter longstanding patterns, and when New York experimentalist Sublette fell into the world of salsa in the mid-'80s, it was goodbye dissonance, and hello montuno. But one old love refused to be forsaken. Nothing, not even the most ecstatic merengue band, would let him discount the country music of his West Texas youth. So here we have it: almost two decades after Eugene Chadbourne dragged Johnny Paycheck through the squeaks and squawks of free improv, Sublette takes honky-tonk to Havana.

And guess what -- it works. A majordomo on the Latin scene, Sublette helms the tiny but potent Qbadisc label. So he's down with NG La Banda and other titans of the style, and he knows where all the accents go. And while you might think I'm loco, some of the originals he's penned for Cowboy Rumba are worthy of Jones or Haggard. "Cheater's Motel" explains the tawdry joy of paying $16.98 for an afternoon of sin. "Feelin' No Pain" exalts the haze of whiskey-soaked evening. The singer's bosso conjures vintage-era John Stewart, and he slides around the claves with enough aplomb to make Cowboy Rumba a totally entertaining oddity.

Regina Carter: Rhythms of the Heart (Verve)

Striving for diversity is common in an era where genres steadily bump into each other. But danger awaits those who flit from branch to branch without a thoughtful game plan: their stylistic choices may seem hollow, mere stop-off points instead of integral links. This kind of contrivance is fatal in most cases, making the programs amusing, not compelling. The jazz violinist avoids such pitfalls: here, each track has its own validity. Swooping through the rhythmic diaspora -- bossa, reggae, swing, funk, bop, et al. -- Carter's tunes stand on their own while relating to their kin. The segue between Kenny Barron's "Cook's Bay" and the Temptations' "Papa Was a Rolling Stone," (with a very evocative vocal by Cassandra Wilson) is typical of the logic. A Caribbean lilt drives the former; light-hearted skanking marks the latter. I've always gotten the feeling that Carter's heart is in pop as much as it is jazz, and overall, the production's elan has a tail-wagging vibe geared to seduce the commercially crucial dabbler demographic. I'll bet they bite.

Richard Thompson: Mock Tudor (Capitol)

"Life is just as deadly as it looks," sings a decidedly grave Richard Thompson two tracks into his fourth Capitol record. Nothing new there: scornful resignation has been part of the writer's world view since Fairport Convention cut his "Tale In Hard Time" in '68. But the combination of vehemence and eloquence that earned his rep as one of our premier artistes is revitalized on this new studio date. Mock Tudor is a cut above the guitarist's recent outings because it banks on fierceness. The "mock" of the title is a characteristic barb from the genial guy who frequently writes with a misanthropic cackle. These new tunes loosely deal with his old London stomping ground, but a Muswell Hillbillies nostalgia fest it ain't. In some spots you can see the venom coming a mile away. "Hard On Me" milks that ominous minor chord he uses to vent anger and create guitar pandemonium; "Two-Faced Love" addresses treachery as if it was a routine part of romance. Explaining how the deceitful, shit-upon, and willfully ignorant should have seen their fate coming, the singer has only Randy Newman as an equal. Mock Tudor reminds us of his authority as well-spoken cynic.

Gordon Lightfoot: Songbook (Rhino)

Because his vocals are earnest even when gliding through ditties like "Cotton Jenny," Gordon Lightfoot has cast himself as one of our most solemn singer songwriters. Nineteen albums to his credit and barely a smirk -- gotta be some kind of record. I'm pro caprice, so how do I justify a three decade regard for Gordo and his poker face? Pure melody. From early attempts at Jim Reeves C&W to late career rewrites of earlier motifs, these 88 songs define coercive tunefulness. It resounds in the newly issued "A Message to the Wind." And it's there in "That Same Old Obsession," a gorgeous track from 1972. Time and again, melody helps regulate the preciousness which tries to swamp the Canadian vet's work. Songbook aptly connects the dots of a rounded career arc -- the well-regarded folkie of the '60s has a wistfulness similar to the lite pop hitmaker of the '70s. And though I'm dubious of any compilation that forsakes "Minstrel of the Dawn" for trivia like "A Lesson In Love," this package has a sense of completeness about it. By the time it closes out, old Gordo seems more persuasive than ever.

Kevin Burke: In Concert (Green Linnet)

With the Corrs and B*witched coming on like Spice leprechauns, and Riverdance filling auditoriums with lasers, the schism between trad and pop Celtic music has never been wider. Playing in the Bothy Band and Patrick Street, virtuoso Irish fiddler Burke has touted the homier verities for decades, relying on ancient airs and buoyant jigs to engage listeners without flash. This gorgeous solo recital, his first such endeavor, was recorded in an Oregon coffeehouse, and its small scale provides a great view of Burke's ability to be both spirited and sentimental the old-fashioned way. "The Butterfly" is a slip jig that explains the program's aesthetic -- the fiddler futzes with tempo, milking nuance to create the unpredictable flittering of his subject. That kind of subtlety resounds on this disc. The gorgeous long tones of his ancient Jewish wedding tune allow for the mood to be both melancholy and joyous. And when pal Martin Hayes sits in on three tracks, momentum dominates melody. It's not easy to sculpt a fully compelling solo session, but Burke manages quite nicely.

Stan Getz

Stan Getz Quartet with Chet Baker: Quintessence (Concord)

No grand statements, no whirlwind flourishes -- not even an italicized exclamation point. Yet this 1983 document of a Norway gig ranks anyway. The late-in-life tour that united the faded avatar of West Coast cool and his East Coast counterpart didn't exactly make waves, but it sure was responsible for some wonderful ripples. Refinement is expected as masters mature, and Quintessence has a obvious grace. Getz was 56 when he recorded these tracks; his authority could be heard in one note. Distilling every passage to its essence, he captivated listeners by wrapping them in billowing ribbons of sound -- call him the Christo of the tenor. It would be silly to claim that Baker had a similar level of expertise at this point, but his lines certainly have flair. On "Star Eyes," where the pair momentarily glide around each other before going their own way, he holds his own. And when his time comes to walk alone, his withered technique manages to yield a cohesive string of licks. As far as Baker's vocals go, well, he sounds a bit like Blossom Dearie recorded at 78 and played at 33 -- a tone that provides historic precedent for "Popsicle Toes," among other things. That said, charm overrules chops. Don't expect too much and you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Pavement: Terror Twilight (Matador)

College rock applauds conundrums, mainstream pop rewards hooks, and Pavement has always split the dif. Their knack at pitching the arcane has been obvious since "sha-la-la"s helped grease Slanted & Enchanted's knotty program. The gorgeous turns on Terror Twilight aren't particularly conventional, but after four discs worth of refinement, they are expert at making obscurity seem inviting. Between Steven Malkmus' poetry-stimulated lyrics and the band's natural way with hairpin turns, shards become smooth(er). That balancing act positions these sublime absurdists as skewed classicists, something 1997's Brighten the Corners hinted at, too. I'm not using the "C" word because allusions to Aerosmith's "Same Old Song and Dance" and Guess Who's "New Mother Nature" flit by -- that's just plain old indie fun. But even the wobbliest moments have an equilibrium and a shimmer. A decade down the road, with little chance of sneaking into Hitsville, these wiseacres prove their pleasures aren't only based on word play; the music has its own parched glamour. "Tuck in your thoughts/It's there or it's not," sings Malkmus at one point. On Terror Twilight, it's there all the way.

Spade Cooley: Shame On You (Bloodshot)

Several reviews of this great radio transcription have focused on Cooley's grizzly murder of his wife. Yeah, the bandleader was one evil dude. One accomplished dude, too. During the 1940s, he and his Western Swing crew rocked their SoCal stomping grounds with an amalgamation of polkas, shuffles, rags, blues and improv that was every bit as developed as Bob Wills' stuff. Shame On You bounces along with a snap in its step.A lack of available material has kept Cooley's rep in the dark compared to Wills, so this vivacious program has historic value. Musically, odd riffs and clever arrangements help individualize the hallmarks of a style most American music zealots are familiar with. As far as Western Swing goes, Cooley did things his way. Here "I Found a New Baby" has a rather ominous feel, even as it invites you on the dance floor. And "Swinging the Devil's Dream" borders on a Raymond Scott design. I'll take the riff-driven instrumentals, with fiddles and accordions blazing, over the croonerly vocal tracks that feature singer Tex Williams, but each has a function, and both dancers and sit-down listeners will will likely swoon to these archival chestnuts.