Eddie

Silence Magnifies Sound

Instrumental bands have become increasingly popular in the Bay Area, perhaps due to bad experiences with “frontmen” that should’ve invested in vocal lessons. What separates TSPS from the hordes of bad instrumental startups is its ability to write brooding melodies without relying on overt repetition. From the album’s opener, “In a Late Style of Fire,” to the magnificent title-track, the presence of viola, e-bow and even lapsteel are welcome additions. Allen Karpinski and Tim Gerak play around the confines of sweltering, downtempo rhythms. As leading exponents of an extremely elite movement, which includes Swords Project, Oma Yang and Mogwai, this Brady Lake, Ohio-based band makes melancholy music for those downcast days driving along the coast or the great expanse of Interstate 5. Just as silence magnifies sound, beautiful, non-lyrical ventures like this can leave us dumbfounded and silent.

(SN&R)

How I Do

Res (pronounced Reese), a 23-year-old from Manhattan via Philadelphia, is sure to baffle throngs of listeners. The reason? How I Do is not just another hip-hop record; from the catchy chorus of “They Say Vision” to “If There Ain’t Nothing,” she urges listeners to use her lyrics as a lesson book. If Ambersunshower collided with the groovier moments of Jill Scott, we might understand where Res is coming from. With the production work of Doc (Esthero), who handles most of the production chores, and A Kid Called Roots (Memphis Bleek) on “The Hustler,” Res’ debut is a combination of laid-back hip-hop, sultry rock and electronic beats. Res is takin’ care of business by bringing elements not common with urban artists (acoustics, electronic beats, etc.) and fusing them with a smooth R&B tenor. A nice first effort from a girl who claims the Eurythmics and Stevie Wonder as influences in the same breath.

(SN&R)

Zakk Wylde Black Label Society

Zakk Wylde was slated to play last month’s Ozzfest, which will be history by the time you read this. In fact, most people know his name from his short-lived—but integral to his success—stint with Ozzy Osbourne. After succumbing to Ozzy’s periodic ax-wielding, Wylde found solace in a solo career. After a brief period on Geffen, a huge change in his guitar playing (and demeanor) occurred. Wylde’s latest double-CD is a live set of songs from past and present that showcases the Queen of Vilification himself—if it hasn’t been slandered or messed with, Wylde probably hasn’t gotten his grimy hands on it. Although it’s a far cry from the tuneage of such nu-metal bands as Nonpoint, Endo, Spineshank and others, Wylde’s music (even the five studio bonus tracks) drips with his passion for good-time rock ‘n’ roll. Kudos to the lad for staying true to his name. At least he hasn’t ventured into prog rock—yet.

(SN&R)

Omaru Portuondo

If you’ve been following the Buena Vista Social Club and its extended family, you must be familiar with this legendary Cuban chanteuse. Her last outing on Nonesuch won her great critical praise, landed her a sold-out theater tour in major markets and established her as one of Cuba’s greatest heritage artists. This collection, on the U.K.-based Tumi Music label, displays some of her greatest recordings from 1973 to the present and features an equally impressive line-up of guest stars. Los Van Van, the wonderful Juan Formell and even Inti-Illimani lend their talents to this fine compilation. Although not the perfect introductory piece to represent Portuondo’s body of work, Dos Gardenias is broad enough in scope and focus to suck in those world music-fearing naysayers. Check out “Gracias a la Vida” (1973) or “Que Manera de Quererte” (1997)—just a few of the standout tracks from Havana’s latest export.

(SN&R)

Scene & Heard

Of headcrabs …
Maybe it’s because Sacramento was White Zombie and Metallica’s No. 1 BDS market (that’s radio play) that shows like Oma Yang’s recent Monday night gig at the Capitol Garage suffered from low turnout. Or perhaps it was just those indie kids showing how indie they can be by staying home and not letting their favorite bands get too big.

Whatever, serendipity was in the house for the 20 or so stragglers that caught the set from the San Diego-based instrumental four-piece, named after the fictitious talking crab that lives inside the band members’ heads. (That same crab, drawn haphazardly on my notebook, also graced the 2001 tour posters adorning the front windows.) Oma Yang treated the sparse crowd to a delightful pastiche of discordance, dissonance and ambience.

The band came to town touting a sound akin to A Minor Forest, a now-defunct San Francisco-based act, and Don Caballero, one of Chicago-based Touch and Go Records’ finer ensembles, but it barreled through a set displaying sides you might not associate with those bands. Fueled by a rhythm section consisting of Dong-Ping Wong on drums and keys and Jacob Glenn-Levin on bass, guitarists Nick Lesley—who also played keyboards—and Andy Kortman mirrored some of Sonic Youth’s instrumental moments and then delved in Cluster and Eno territory without losing a beat, except for one nice drumstick drop at the most frenetic moment of the set.

Oma Yang is signed, if you can call it that, to Slowdance Records, the same label that brought the beautiful sounds of Roots of Orchis. Since Slowdance is a true “bedroom” label, it’s highly unlikely you’ll be seeing Oma Yang on a theater tour next time around. But that’s why this scene is so cool. For roughly 12 bucks, you can see a show, pick up a CD—I bought a cool, little compilation in a manila envelope, hand numbered, even—and slam an iced espresso.

… and double master blasters
Normally, you hit the American River bike trail to get away from the everyday racket, correct? But on a Sunday afternoon, if you think you’re gonna get much bucolic quiet time there, you’re a maroon. Especially around Discovery Park, which is often teeming with people busy cremating meat to the amplified old-school sounds of Parliament-Funkadelic and Sly & the Family Stone.

Now, tape-deck jams may be the Señor Kitty’s double master blaster, but music in an all-the-way-live context is the hepcat’s meow. So imagine wheeling around the corner and hearing the cool textural jazzoid sounds of electric guitar, tenor sax, bass and drums, collectively known as the Sardonics, over whose sounds a couple of chaps were freestyle rapping. The weather was not only tolerably non-blast furnace-like, but downright cool; the light crowd was socalizing over beers and some Jack (but no apparent bluntage). It was a pretty sweet vibe, which is to say that uninvited bicyclists were not thrown into the berry bushes by hired gorillas. Suits this lad.

(SN&R)

All Natural

The Family Tree is an independent hip-hop collective that includes the members of All Natural. Tone B. Nimble and Capital D, the nucleus of All Natural, show their roots on this impressive effort via their homemade lyrics, beats and scratches. Even more impressive are their self-penned tracks, especially tunes like “The Stick-Up” and “Here’s the Hate on Chicago,” which work like storybooks. All Natural has a formidable fan base already; it sold 5,000 copies of its debut, No Additives, No Preservatives, and seems poised to take over college radio, proving that, once again, the group is in the game for all the right reasons. As Thrill Jockey’s 99th release, it would only seem proper that these boys get the kudos and accolades of their label mates. Coming from a label that has consistently put out great records for the better part of the ’90s, All Natural follows that tradition and then some.

(SN&R)

Mortician

The masters of horrorcore are back with their latest entry into the electronic death-metal arena. Using B-horror movie samples, an unhealthy dose of fuzz bass and the worst vocal distortion on Earth, Mortician’s down-tuned death metal is in a class by itself. This two-piece (Will Rahmer: bass, vocals; Roger Beaujard: guitars, programming) goes from zero to 180 bpm in seconds with music that contains elements of grindcore and death metal—imagine Gutted, Disgorge (Mexico), and Benumb rolled up into a giant mass and you’re halfway there. Domain Of Death‘s lyrics cover such topics as mental telepathy, ax murders, world disasters and serial killers. Sounding like Rahmer and Beaujard ate too many Cool Ranch Doritos [ed. note: Huh?], Domain of Death should make you and your family nauseous at first listen. How about some Pepto-Bismol with the next album? Simply crushing. Nine out of 10 urinal cakes

(SN&R)