VOTD 4/13/2023

 The Golden Palominos: The Golden Palominos (OAO/Celluloid)

Purchased at Jerry's Records

I've written here before about the question, why and how do I make my choices for listening? Often it's an escape from the harsh realities of the so-called real world. Escape isn't quite the right word though, nor is relief. I want to be drawn into a sound world.

In my darkest moments, sometimes I want the darkest music. That doesn't sound like escape to me, more like another word I don't like, and that's expression. An outward expression of my inner world. 

I've also written that I think the idea of "expression" in music is overrated, that music doesn't need to be expressive. Music can be expressive of itself, not of our emotions. Emotions are fleeting; music can be timeless.

So what did I want to put on? I turn 60 in about twelve hours' time as I write this, something that doesn't particularly make me happy. Yes, it's an accomplishment, especially considering that I haven't exactly been diligent about taking care of my health. I also visited an old friend yesterday who is in hospice and is close to death. It was very difficult to see someone robust at one time, reduced to a shell of her former self.

I've gone more nostalgic in his choice. The first LP by The Golden Palominos. It seems appropriate that I bought the former WYEP copy from Jerry's for $2.83 + tax. (More recently they just fold the tax into the price.)

The year, 1983. A rather turbulent time in my life, I was figuring things out to a great extent. Thankfully I was at the start of my relationship with my future wife, who must be given credit for being as patient with me as she has over the years. 

Musically it was a time of great optimism, though. I was loving the boom in independent music, and followed OP magazine almost religiously. Not only were people releasing their own music their own way (often on cassette), but there was apparently enough of a budget from some labels to put together a studio project such as this. And it is specifically a studio creation, even if there were GP performances in later years. 

Although there's nobody claiming it was meant to be this, I thought of this record as being the third of a loose trilogy, the first being Memory Serves by Material, and Killing Time by Massacre. The important common factor in all three was Bill Laswell, though Fred Frith was involved with all three too. Laswell might dominate these sessions even more than bandleader Anton Fier on the drums. 

Memory Serves has more of a jazz flavor (vaguely) of the three; Killing Time is the strange punk-influenced prog power trio; this album is the funkiest. It's also the one that took me the longest to digest and appreciate. It's aggressive and weird much of the time, with improvisors working over hard hitting bass and drum grooves. It's never too long until the next time John Zorn adds game call shrieks, and David Moss plays some completely un-grooving percussion texture. Also prominent is Arto Lindsay's weird, improvised vocals and detuned guitar. And I haven't mentioned Jamaaladeen Tacuma, adding some funky high-end snap bass lines. 

My colleague and friend Paul Thompson has a very active Youtube channel, his topic often analyzing other bassists' playing and albums. I've suggested he should look into Laswell, but he hasn't bitten yet. This would be a good start.

Listening to this makes me happy. I won't say things were great in my life in 1983-4, but it was a time before Trump, fentynal, COVID, Spotify, before I had to manage my hypertension, before I saw friends dying of cancer. Permit me some nostalgia, some wistfulness, of walking around town listening to this on a Walkman on a cassette dub I made at WRCT. Sometimes I miss those days, other times not so much. Even if Anton Fier would quickly take a different direction after this LP, this music continues to live on. I'd even say it has more staying power than much of what he did later. It is so much a reflection of its time, but it also indeed timeless.