Jerry Weber in memorium

 Damn. Damn damn damn damn damn. I'm taking to this medium again after someone else important has died recently. He wasn't the creative force of either Betty Davis or Bruce Anderson, but an important person nonetheless. 

Jerry Weber, Vinyl Man. Jerry of Jerry's Records, previously of Garbage Records and (I'm told, before my time) the Record Graveyard.

Jerry was the sort of person that gives a city its character. Every city, every town of a certain size, has at least a few. Someone you don't meet every day.

Everyone who went to Jerry's Records on at least a semi-regular basis will probably at least one or two Jerry anecdotes. I've been sharing Jerry stories on Facebook, and will repeat and add a few here. 

I found a Stefan Wolpe album on Esoteric Records there. Stefan was a pretty good mid-century academic avant-garde composer, if that sums him up correctly. When I took it to the counter, Jerry looked it over and said, "You don't see that every day. I don't know what the hell it is, but you don't see it every day!"

Jerry would tell me occasionally of the celebrity shoppers he'd had. One person was Robert Plant. Jerry: "I shoulda had him autograph his solo albums. Maybe then I coulda sold them!"

I came in one day, and Jerry told me the day before DJ Jazzy Jeff had shopped there. Jerry: "He spent $1,000 on weird stuff. Children's records, stuff like that."

Like many a good shop owner, Jerry learned his customer's tastes. He knew I liked the avant garde, independent jazz records, and the like, but bought a broad range of things. He said he had names for different types of customers. He called me a "grazer," someone who bought a little bit of everything. Once I purchased a weird primitive noise rock band album (I'd have to look up what it actually was), and he seemed a little embarrassed. He offered to buy it back from me if I didn't like it. Of course I didn't do that.

Walking into the store one day, he asked if I could identify a particular artist. He put on a 7", a kind of hollerin' blues recording. It took me a moment but I recognized it as "I'm Gonna Unmask the Batman," a Sun Ra single. It was barely playable, and he said the reverse side ("The Perfect Man") was completely unplayable. He wondered if he could get anything for it. I said, a collector might give him a couple of dollars, being an original Saturn Records issue. I didn't make an offer. The next time I saw him, he gave it to me free of charge. On the blank sleeve, he wrote: "To Ben Opie 'The Perfect Man' from Sun Jerry and his Gastro-Intestinal Fookestra". Jeez, I get choked up a little even recalling that. 

 Jerry sold his store in 2017. I was talking to Mike Prosser about Jerry a few days ago. Mike worked there, has worked for Get Hip Records, currently works at Eide's. I know him from working at Borders. Mike recounted how Jerry said, "There used to be days when I'd want to talk to this many customers [holding his hands two feet apart] and there'd be this many assholes [holding his fingers two inches apart]. Lately it's been the exact opposite." According to Mike, "That's when Jerry knew he had to get out."

Jerry continued though, running a low key store out of his Swissvale warehouse. I'd been to that location only two times. The first was when he held a classical sale on a weekend, upstairs, when he still had the Jerry's Records store. I bought some Stravinsky, as I recall. The second was after he sold his store and was running Vinyl Man's Clubhouse in the bottom floor. He was selling most stock for $5 apiece. I bought: a live Don Byas collection which included some early Thelonious Monk; Keith Jarrett's "Spirits"; and on a lark, a picture disc copy of Mike Oldfield's "Tubular Bells." (I'm not proud.) Jerry said he still had a huge collection of classical albums upstairs, knowing my interesting in 20th century composers in general. He gave me his phone number and said he'd let me in to browse for things if I wanted. 

Well, regrets. I never did follow up on that. It wasn't so long ago, a year and a half +/-? COVID-era.

If you were a customer of Jerry's, you knew he would write with a Sharpie on the outer record covers sometimes. "Great. Buy it! -J" would be typical. "Very rare," "Rare Blue Note," "Great import," etc etc. These miniature missives seem like gold leaf cast into the wind now. I have many, and like others familiar with the Jerry's experience, they seem as vital as some of the records themselves.

Two last anecdotes. 

Jerry sat on his throne in Squirrel Hill when I came in, as he usually did. He enjoyed telling me stories. "There was this young couple that came in, musta been in their 20s. He bought a record, and I said, this is a fifty year old record. You're a young guy, you'll live at least fifty more years. So if you keep this, you'll have something 100 years old. It'll sound just as good at a hundred as it does now." I think I cynically said, "Yeah, it'll be just as scratched up then as it is now." But I love Jerry's sense of continuity. We are passing through this world, but the artifacts we make and collect live on. 

---

I shared this on Facebook. This is 100% Jerry: I walked into the store one day and he said, "Hey Ben, I gotta play something for you." He put on one of the most bizarre things I've ever heard: Clarence (Sawdust) Kelley, "Twin Singing Saws On The Sawdust Trail." Imagine a bowed saw performance, with gated reverb, playing a solo rendition of "Amazing Grace." It gave me a headache listening to it, so of course I asked him how much he wanted for it. "Oh no," he exclaimed, "this is going in Jerry's 'weird pile.'" I would have given him whatever he asked. Some months later I asked about the saw record again, and he said, "Oh that? I think I sold that months ago." 

Jerry, you jerk! I still love ya man!

Below, Ben & Jerry. 

Betty Davis in memorium

 Harrumph. Coming back to my blog because another significant person has died. 

Betty Grey Mabry Davis. Mademoiselle Mabry. Backseat Betty.

For many years I knew very little about Betty. (Come to think of it, I still don't know that much.) I'd read John Szwed's excellent biography about Miles Davis, most of which I've forgotten. Betty was Miles' second wife, responsible for updating his wardrobe and getting him to listen to Sly Stone and Jimi Hendrix. Betty helped usher in the Miles Electric period. Oh, and Miles helped to get her recorded as a singer.

These things are factual but an unfair simplification for both parties. In Miles' case, something was going to shake up in his music eventually, regardless of Betty's influence. Miles was restless in that respect. He was always shifting, always probing. If you generally know his body of work but were to listen to a recording of his you hadn't heard before, there's a good chance you could pin it down to a 2-3 year period. The idea of jazz practices was stretched nearly beyond recognition with his classic Shorter/Hancock/Carter/Williams quintet. Where do you go from there? Reductionism was one way Miles went. Simpler materials, played collectively. I don't recall the exact quote, but I read one critic's comment that Bitches Brew reaffirmed jazz as a collective activity. 

As for Betty: first of all, what a startling looking woman. I find myself a bit transfixed when I see images of her. Besides the afro, well...beautiful face, doe-eyed, African and Native American and I don't know what else. In some pictures she looks like she's 3/4 legs. 

I'll write something that's been increasingly clear in recent years: this was a major artist in her own right. 

I only really listened to her music when I picked up a copy of the relatively recently issued LP, The Columbia Years 1968-69. There had been a buzz about these unearthed sessions. I was curious, and with money in my pocket one day at The Attic, I bought a copy. 

Much of it is quite good. "Politician Man" hits pretty hard in a Hendrix kind of way. Betty's a good singer, on pitch but based on these sessions, not a huge range. I thought 2/3 of the record was a solid period rock/soul statement, with the remaining 1/3 good but not amazing.

A few years ago, I met Danielle Maggio. She at the time was working on her doctoral dissertation about Betty's music. She knew Betty personally. In our conversation, I said I had bought this record and enjoyed it. She told me Betty didn't understand the fuss, these were demo tapes. 

More recently, I bought a reissue LP of Betty's first released LP. WOW. This was, as the saying goes, a horse of a different color. The Columbia sessions have some really great moments, but it's much more of its time. It is no cliche that Betty Davis was ahead of its time.

This record burns. She burns. Betty sings, coos, shouts, groans. The songs are (largely) great. They smack you in the face. They're sexually explosive years before Prince. (Controversy, indeed.) She pretty much wrote it all, sang, produced. And it doesn't sound like an extension of the 1960s. This was new and remains so.

Yes, I love this record. And I admire Betty, in ways that I can't express. This was one creative, brave, talented human.

I wanted to meet Betty, once I knew she was local to Pittsburgh. I just wanted to say, hello, I'm pleased to meet you. I wouldn't expect to talk about her music, but would have if she brought it up. I wouldn't have hit her up for a gig. I just wanted to be in her presence. A first person witness to history. 

Bruce Anderson in memorium

 Bruce Anderson died last week. Who? Bruce was the guitarist for MX-80 Sound (later just MX-80).

I had started to write a memorial blog post to him, but it went on and on and on, and was ultimately more about my pompous opinions than anything else. Better to keep it shorter. 

How do I describe Bruce's playing? Virtuosic sloppiness? That would suggest he didn't know what he was doing. I'd put him in a category with Andy Gill, guitarist for the original Gang of Four, and Marshall Allen, alto saxophone for the Sun Ra Arkestra. An action player. A very physical relationship with the instrument. 

But damn, he could burn a solo and be funky as hell. 

Personally, it takes me back forty years. I was a freshman conservatory music student at Carnegie Mellon. Okay on the musical academic side, not terrible but woefully unprepared as a saxophone performance major. 

The Ralph Records bug bit me as a senior in high school. I had most of the singles and a few records at the time. Snakefinger, The Residents' "Duck Stab." But the record I listened to over and over that freshman college year was MX-80's "Out of the Tunnel." It was unusual, noisy, energetic, and in many ways exactly the opposite of what I was studying. Was that what appealed to me? I don't know, but after repeated listenings I found it strangely comforting. I'd put it on after a hard day at school and fall into an afternoon nap.

I don't get personally grievous over the deaths of people I admire. I didn't shed tears when Ornette Coleman died. He had a good run, lived a long life, made an immense impact. 

Bruce? I was more saddened by his passing than usual. I had no idea it might happen. I haven't followed MX-80 in many years. His death reminds me of a long gone time, when his blistering solos set my hair on end, but also comforted me. 

I wish I could have told Bruce in person. So I advise anyone reading to express your appreciation to you favorite unheralded artists. They deserve it. 

This was the B side of their first Ralph Record single. I assume it was recorded at the same time as "Out of the Tunnel," but I didn't understand why it was left off. I understand it's named for Dan White. Look it up. 

Peace out. 

Another Messiaen post

It's been a number of months since I last wrote to my little audio diary and promotional blog. I made a few drafts, but never got around to finishing them. Yesterday I discovered a Messiaen work with which I was unfamiliar. Because I spent so much effort months ago listening to his music and writing my impressions, I figured I would follow up.

The story begins at the library. Ah, the library, one of my favorite places to be. It's quiet. The staff is not only usually helpful, they are sometimes enthusiastic to be of assistance when you need it (which is not often in my case, I know my way around our main branch pretty well). You can not only browse literally tons of materials, in most cases you can take them home. I usually have something that I'm hunting down, but half the enjoyment is browsing whatever else is on the stacks. One of my greatest disappointments during the pandemic lockdown has been the closing of the libraries. At one point you could order and pick things up, but what's the fun in that?

Recently I've had a particular interest in the German post-war composer Bernd Alois Zimmermann. That itself is an aside. Some months back, Duquesne University sold off its entire remaining collection of vinyl LPs to Jerry's Records. (I write "remaining" because I'm uncertain whether students and faculty had the option of picking through the collection first.) As far as I know, it's overwhelmingly classical recordings, and the majority of that is "standard practice" era (1750-1900). There are some very nice 20th century and avant garde recordings scattered throughout, which is what interests me and a few other people. My favorite buys from the collection have been some Zimmermann recordings, most significantly his opera Die Soldaten on a three-LP set. For $5, that's value.

The library reopened for browsing (with limitations) about a month ago. I'll take it! I've been checking out Zimmermann scores recently. When looking for the score of his ballet Présence, I noticed a Messiaen score with an unfamiliar name, Chant Des Déportés. Having listened to over 32 hours of Messiaen's music during the initial lockdown and not recognizing this title, I had to check it out. 

It's a work that was once considered to be lost in the Radio France archives. It was performed once in 1945 to mark the end of the war, filed away, to be rediscovered before the composer's death in 1992. 

When you consider the work, it's not surprising that it's not performed more often (apart from being considered lost at one time). It calls for a reasonably sizable orchestra (woodwinds, brass, percussion, glockenspiel, piano, "many" strings) plus a sizable choir of sopranos and tenors only. For all those numbers, Chants takes under 3.5 minutes to perform. You could fit it on one side of a 45rpm 7" single.

I'm not big on analysis. That is to say, I'll examine scores and look for basic elements: form, structures, densities, particular harmonies, and so forth. But I'm not looking to understand the significance of the two tetrachords in measure six, etc. However, looking at this score, I had a pretty immediate reaction to its relative simplicity of materials, despite its density.

There are three basic elements of the piece:

• The melody. It's sung by the chorus, sopranos and tenors singing entirely in octaves, generally simple rhythms and longer note values. This is doubled and harmonized in the strings and brass, with tuba and basses playing only on the longer notes.
• The glockenspiel plays a constant eighth note triplet line, everyone of which is a three-note chord, until the last note. This is reinforced in the flutes and oboes, with occasional rests along the way for breathing. 
• The piano is the center of the third element. It has a rhythmic cell, displaced by an eighth note between the left and right hands, longer note values but all based on 16th note lengths (no triplets). This is doubled in the clarinets, bassoons, and percussion. 

The piece has the melody out front, but the other elements add a general level of density that underscores the piece. Also, it's entirely in 4/4 time, no tempo changes, and scored as being in B flat major.

Two notes in, there's no question that it's Messiaen. A few more notes, and there's little question that it's period Messiaen, 1940s, when he's in his prime. 

What's curious is the work's brevity. I'm sure it was written pretty quickly. It bursts out, no preparation, no build, it's just there, stays basically at a single dynamic level its length, and before you know it, it's done. It sounds like the concluding section of a much longer movement. 

Here's a video with not only a performance, but some additional background information:

Ennio Morricone 11

Una lucertola con la pelle di donna (AKA Lizard in a Woman's Skin AKA Schizo) 1971, double LP reissue on Death Waltz Recording Company

I kept this for later in this mini-project because I knew it was one of my favorites. Of my vinyl Morricone, I only have a double LP collection left.

Unlike most of the film scores I've described so far, this one I have seen. Well, sort of. I have a DVD copy. In my old college classroom, I had a TV monitor with a blu ray player attached. I'd run DVDs when I had to sit for hours grading. It slowed down my work to be sure, but it made the time less tedious. I've put this movie on twice, but both times I really only half-watched it. I'll give it my full attention some time soon.

And well...Ennio Morricone meets Lucio Fulci. This wasn't their first film working together, which would be the 1964 film I due evasi di Sing Sing (Two Escape from Sing Sing). Fulci is now best remembered for his extremely bloody and (literally) visceral horror films: Zombie, City of the Living Dead, The Beyond, House by the Cemetery, A Cat in the Brain. Those all came later than this film. Prior to this, he was usually directing comedies and westerns.

I'll confess that Fulci is a bit of a guilty pleasure that's grown for me over the years. His films often don't make a great deal of sense (which he would defend). And even a superfan would have to get a laugh out of the shark vs. zombie scene in Zombie.

The liner notes read that Fulci specifically asked for Morricone for this film, based on his work on Argento's original "animal" giallo trilogy (The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, The Cat O'Nine Tails, Four Flies on Grey Velvet). The producers wanted the word "lizard" in an attempt to exploit the success of the Argento films.

Morricone is in full-out weirdo freak out mode here, befitting the "is it real" nature of the film. Well, with the variety I've described before: some space lounge (though uncredited, it's doubtlessly Edda Dell'Orso again), groove bass and drums with wah wah/fuzz guitar, as well as some sound that I can't identify. A squirrel call or squeaky toy? Percussion? Also cluster strings, whistling, a couple of pipe organ breaks, improvisation, duo flutes.

There's a harmonic device he uses on a track that I identified while listening to his score for Giornata nera per l'ariete (The Fifth Cord), also of 1971. All the chords have the minor seventh in the bass. The first four chords in that score are C/B♭, D/C, E♭/D♭, B♭/A♭. I couldn't put my finger on it the first couple of times, because the harmony that results isn't jarring but it is constantly unsettled. He's permitted to recycle ideas (Jeez, with something like 500 soundtracks under his belt, how could you not?), and I'm sure he didn't consider the possibility that someone would be listening to a big chunk of this work separately from the films as I have.

I wonder if any, or how many, Morricone scores have never been issued on vinyl or digitally? And if so, are they any good? I really like this score, and Autopsy and Veruschka, but there's no question he's mining similar ideas in all three.

I should mention that the liner notes indicate that Morricone refused the chance to score A Clockwork Orange. Can you imagine? But then, that reminds me of how Alex North composed an original score for 2001: A Space Odyssey, which Kubrick replaced but didn't tell North, even when he attended the film.

I've written before that I don't like when film directors rely too heavily on pre-existing music. I'll admit it's hard to argue with Kubrick's use of music in 2001. But what of The Shining? Was it really necessary there? Hearing "Koyaanisqatsi" in the middle of Watchmen was entirely too easy to set a particular mood. Scorsese does this sometimes (Taxi Driver beings a notable and excellent exception) and Tarantino is among the worst offenders in this case. And wouldn't you know, the one original score to a film by Tarrantino is by Morricone, he himself borrowing ideas from The Thing and Exorcist II.

I'd like to see Morricone's "The Ecstasy of Gold" permanently retired from all future films and especially commercials.

Not Morricone 2

Steve Moore, The Guest 2014 on Death Waltz Recording Company

Another soundtrack tonight, but a break from the Morricone. One of my favorites is coming, possibly tomorrow.

I remember this popping up on the Death Waltz/Mondo site, and selling out pretty quickly. I can't recall where, but I later found a used copy of it and snagged it.

I don't think I had noticed at the time that this work is by Pittsburgher Steve Moore, also of the band Zombi. I don't know Steve myself but we have mutual friends. I've seen Zombi just once, as the headliner at an old Flux event. They have a way of making a big sound for two guys.

It's my understanding that the name Zombi, and their initial musical inspiration, comes from Italian horror movie soundtrack music. So there is a through-line from some of these films to this band, and this particular work. The film Zombi was scored by Fabio Frizzi, as was several other Lucio Fulci films. I like Frizzi's work and I'll have to put one on again soon. Steve and Zombi's music comes much closer in spirit and sound to Frizzi's music than to Morricone's, to be certain.

With that information in hand, this soundtrack is along the lines of what I'd expect. Lush synth soundscapes, musical minimalism. You can make an argument that sometimes Morricone and Bernard Herrmann wrote film music that could sometimes compete for your attention from the film, rather than complement it. They certain push that line at times, but it also makes for a more interesting listening experience separately from the film. Based on listening to this (without, again, having seen the film) I'd say Steve possibly wants to sit in the background a little more, be more like atmosphere.

It's all synthesized sounds in some way, and he puts energy into choosing his sounds carefully. A list of his gear is on the back of the LP, which I assume is some sort of home studio setup: Arp Axxe. Korg M1, Korg Mono//Poly, Korg Polysix, Korg Wavestation SR, Moog Minitaur, Moog Slim Phatty, Moog Opus 3, Moog the Rogue, Moog the Source, Oberheim Matrix 1000, Roland Compurhythm CR-78, Roland D-50, Roldand Juno-60, Sequential Circuits Drumtracks, Sequential Circuits Pro-One, Sequential Circuits Prophet 600, Yamaha DX7II-FD. Whew!

This would be lazy record reviewing, but I'm not a serious reviewer, so here goes. The music sounds less like Fabio Frizzi than maybe Phaedra-era Tangerine Dream. Even that's not fair to write, as TD could be kind of wooly and even a bit sloppy at times. TD of course has done many soundtracks, but the lineup has changed so many times, it's almost not fair to consider it to be the same band. I've never heard it but I'd be most interested in their work on William Friedkin's Sorcerer, with the classic Frose/Franke/Baumann lineup.

Another soundtrack I liked on Death Waltz that's vaguely similar is Sinoia Caves' Beyond the Black Rainbow. I have seen that film, and the soundtrack works not only as supporting mood, but also as literally the soundtrack in a promotional film that appears within the film.

Ennio Morricone 10

Tonight! Exorcist II: The Heretic 1977

Full and not particularly interesting disclosure: I have a vinyl copy of this. I was thrilled to find a $5 copy, and I should have known better. It's warped to the point where, for some reason, only the second side is playable. I'm streaming this through the Hoopla app (which I recommend) but looking at the cover of my physical copy.

I admit it, I love vinyl. I love the physicality of it. I love the graphical presentation, the size of the image on the cover. I love how the medium has been manipulated: colored vinyl, concentric groove records (I was watching a documentary series today on Monty Python, and this came up regarding Matching Tie and Handkerchief), grooves that play from the outside in, or one of the most extreme examples being my friend tENTATIVELY, a cONVENIENCE's "Audio Obstacle Course", which is the audio cut to play outer edge in, AND inner edge out, superimposed. Wow! I had never thought of that. We all know the rpms: 33&1/3, 45, 78; how about 16 rpm? 8rpm? I have at least one of each of those too.

I know I haven't said anything about the music on this record yet. It's coming.

If you want more examples of vinyl and cassette extremes, check out this article on the Conglomerate Records collection I bought. The first item was a composite record glued together from multiple cut-up records. https://anomalyindex.com/2020/07/17/unsolved-mysteries-conglomerate-records/

So....Exorcist II. Among the most maligned of all sequels. I listened to a podcast by The Projection Booth about this film, with several people defending it passionately. I later watched it, and, well...I don't think it's as terrible as its reputation would indicate, but it's definitely not as great as the superfans might have you believe, in my opinion.

What is very clear is that nobody counted on director John Boorman making a film that was so markedly different from its origin work. The superfans speaking in defense of the film in that podcast do make a good point though: Exorcist II is a very controlled film, it's not a train wreck. The color scheme is very limited. The filmmaker knew what he was doing.

I think part of the break from the original film also involved hiring Morricone to score this. I wonder what he thought of it all, but he'd scored trashier films than this before.

There's no sign, as far as I can tell, of Edda Dell'Soro here. There are prominent female vocals a few times, particularly in the strangely-titled "Little Afro-Flemish Mass" and "Night Flight."

There are two primary themes throughout the score: the Regan theme (pretty, minor melody) and the Pazuzu theme (nasally vocals, stranger). The latter theme plays into "Magic and Ecstacy", which was covered by Snakefinger on his debut LP Chewing Hides the Sound.  That's where I heard it first.

You know what's not part of this score? Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells. That's the primary theme of The Exorcist. It's an eerie and affecting theme to be sure. But it's not original music, and sometimes I find that to be cheating. I'm looking at you, Quentin Tarrantino! For that matter, Martin Scorsese relies on pre-existing music too often.

From a listening standpoint, the ending of this record is no less of a head scratcher than anything else on this project. The final three tracks: "Night Flight", an intense work for orchestra and voices. Follow that with "Interrupted Melody", possibly the sweetest moment on the soundtrack, and then "Exorcism", orchestra clusters and voice, percussion, almost recalls the Pazuzu theme. It's under a minute and then it's gone. What?

I've just re-ordered an interview book of Morricone, and I wonder if he has anything to say about this one.