Archive for Uncategorized

critic’s pick 316: various artists, ‘god don’t ever change – the songs of blind willie johnson

god don't ever changeFew artists lived the blues with a severity that equaled their performance drive as Blind Willie Johnson. Born poor, supposedly blinded by his stepmother after having lye thrown in his face and dead by age 48, Johnson led an existence even Southern sharecroppers that cultivated blues and gospel music over the last century would shutter from. But he sang the music with rigid conviction, underscoring his ragged tenor (and occasional bass) singing with slide guitar that provided wiry counterpoint to his immovable faith.

In the extensive, Grammy-worthy liner notes to the new Johnson tribute album God Don’t Ever Change, producer Jeffrey Gaskill terms the lost blues giant’s music as “imperishable,” a quality brought often eerily to life by an all-star roster that includes Tom Waits, Lucinda Williams, the Blind Boys of Alabama and Tedechi-Trucks, among others.

Unsurprisingly, the Waits tunes – The Soul of a Man and John the Revelator – alone make the album a worthwhile purchase. The lean, earnest might of both songs are carried by the singer’s familiar doomsday chant and the thundering percussion of drummer/son Casey Waits.

Williams, a versed blues stylist long before her sublime original music garnered attention, travels similar and seemingly murky paths during It’s Nobody’s Fault But Mine and God Don’t Ever Change’s title tune, the latter sporting a powerfully stark intro that Williams sings alone before her band’s groove oozes in like a bayou river.

Similarly, the husband-and-wife crew of Derek Trucks and Susan Tedeschi, give their orchestra-sized band the day off and tackle Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burning as a bare bones gospel piece with Trucks’ potent but unforced slide guitar colors leading the charge. The Blind Boys of Alabama’s Mother’s Children Have a Hard Time (a retitled Motherless Children) is a slice of sweet, churchy solace while Luther Dickinson’s version of Bye and Bye I’m Going to See the King with the Rising Star Fife and Drum Band is a cheery requiem full of rustic, percussive Southern soul.

Now for the surprise. Cowboy Junkies awaken from Americana purgatory to pull a rabbit of the hat with Jesus Is Coming Soon. Singer Margo Timmons sounds positively possessed as she chants verses about a land’s desperate quest for faith amid the decimation of Spanish Flu alongside a sample of Johnson singing the chorus. It’s a wild, fuzzed out spiritual nightmare and the last thing you would expect from the usually sleepy sounding Junkies.

Conversely, Maria McKee’s Let Your Light Shine on Me does just that. Amid the darker corners of God Don’t Ever Change, the singer serves up gospel testimony that is effortlessly bright and soulful. It’s more than call to wake the spirits. It’s a summons for Johnson to take his forgotten place in the pantheon of blues righteousness.

critic’s pick 312: lucinda Williams, ‘the ghosts of highway 20’

LW_Ghosts_Cvr_hi-758x758“Baby, you’re one piece of work,” sings Lucinda Williams during one of the arguably lighter moments of The Ghosts of Highway 20. The tune this confession seeps out of, Can’t Close the Door on Love, is aural scar tissue – a rumination sung with such slurred, sagging and exhaustive reflection that you almost miss the hope and trust waiting at its core. Williams is a champion of these battle worn laments. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is – bliss, breakup or death. Williams writes and sings like she has been through the wringer and then some. But the true beauty is how she is always left standing.

The Ghosts of Highway 20 is Williams’ second double-disc opus in only 16 months – a remarkable feat given her previous reputation for leaving long layovers between albums. In many ways, it is a companion piece to its predecessor, Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone. Both are sparsely arranged, swirl around the guitar exchanges of Greg Leisz and jazz/Americana journeyman Bill Frisell and embrace their vivid emotions with little concern for convention. The songs are often lengthy – mostly four to six minutes with each disc ending, respectively, with nine and 12 minute epics. More than that, they are unhurried. There are a few electric outbursts, but The Ghosts of Highway 20 plays out largely as a boozy séance with streams of contemplation and unrest colored by an ambience that is, indeed, rather ghostly.

Death Came, for instance, rolls along like the river that serves as imagery for a life Williams almost seductively laments for while Bitter Memory jangles along with a honky tonk drive that makes the tune sound like an invited hangover. There is also a cover of Bruce Springsteen’s Factory that is slowed from a blue collar anthem into a ragged but still affirmative family dirge.

The mammoth tunes, though, are quite extraordinary. Louisiana Story parallels two childhood remembrances – one of open family warmth, the other ruled by stricter laws of the Bible and, eventually, fear. Both are sung in succession with no variance whatsoever in Williams’ world weary singing.

The longer Faith & Grace is a combustible revival that uses its main chorus (“Faith and grace will help me run this race”) along with the title of a thematically similar 2001 Williams tune, Get Right with God, as mantras over fragments and washes of guitar melodies from Frisell that add their own level of righteousness.

Sometimes they’re ghosts. In other instances, the flesh and blood of the here and now do the talking. Williams channels them all into another beguiling séance of an album that takes the spirit even closer to the bone.

critic’s pick 295: david gilmour, ‘rattle that lock

david gilmourThere are three David Gilmours at work on Rattle That Lock. The first is the Pink Floyd chieftain, now self-relieved of duty, weaving his way through post-psychedelic ambience that regularly recalls his former group’s glories. The second seeks to flip that history on its side by shunning the deeper Floyd-ian abyss in favor of warmer, more hopeful temperaments. Having wife Polly Samson penning lyrics in place of Floyd narcissist emeritus Roger Waters helps with that. The third is a journeyman out for something different entirely – a pop turn here, a jazz twist there. Let them all lose and you have Gilmour’s most realized and, at times, surprising solo venture.

The title track highlights Gilmour No. 3. It surfaces out of a keyboard riff that repeats like a mantra but coalesces into a surge of effervescent pop. The results are almost, dare we say, dance-worthy. Vocals ooze in and out in waves, promoting the song’s self-help chorus (“rattle that lock and lose those chains”) while splashes of still-sterling guitar color the soundscape. It may be the most commercial sounding thing Gilmour has ever put his name to, which may rattle the locks of Floyd fans still marooned on the dark side of the moon.

That’s not half as surprising as the after hours cocktail jazz of The Girl in the Yellow Dress. But Gilmour comes armed with top flight assistance for the mission, with Jools Holland adding suitably nocturnal piano rolls and fellow progressive warhorse Robert Wyatt serenading on cornet.

Gilmour No. 2 likes to rough things up. Dancing Right in Front of Me is like a sprint through late ‘60s British rock, from the opening, Kinks-like phrasing to its Procol Harum-inspired power chords. But the killer is Today, an affirmation at day’s end that bleeds into a funk-fortified riff that bounces about within the music (and, eventually, into your brain) to best define the musical path Gilmour travels today.

But so many roads on Rattle That Lock link with the past and Gilmour No. 1. The keyboard notes that drop like singular raindrops at the start of Faces of Stone, recall the late Floyd keyboardist Richard Wright by almost directly quoting the classic Echoes from 1971. Later, Roger Eno guests on the instrumental Beauty to offer a sunnier, more contemplative backdrop that takes its cue from the otherworldly orchestration Wright constructed for 1975’s Shine on You Crazy Diamond.

Best of all are two instrumentals – 5 A.M. and And Then… – that bookend this gloriously engineered and mixed album to spotlight Gilmour’s elegiac guitar reflections. Pastoral in design but still wild enough in tone to briefly summon the Floyd spirit, the tune cements the very solid ground on which Gilmour currently stands – a terrain that owes greatly to a legendary past but leads without hesitation into the future.

critic’s pick 288: wilco, ‘star wars’

wilco star warsNow that two full decades have elapsed since Wilco surfaced with its alt-country leaning debut disc A.M., Jeff Tweedy and company have earned the kind of pop clout to journey down whatever stylistic path it chooses. But the marvelous thing about Wilco’s enduring appeal, an aspect underscored by its total blast of a new album, Star Wars, is whatever artistic profile it has amassed has been reinforced by pure fearlessness.

On the 11 new songs that make up Star Wars, the pattern would seem to reference every record it has made since A.M. Specifically, the game plan centers around pure pop with the edges corroded and refashioned to the band’s specifications. How else do you explain the New Morning-era Dylan surge of I Was Only Asking that flirts with psychedelia as it heads into the home stretch or the catacylismic finale tune Magnetized that surrenders to it completely. Then there is the fuzzed out bass that bumps and bounces under Tweedy’s skittish singing on Pickled Finger, a tune as deliciously peculiar as its title. Best of all is the way Star Wars heads straight for the ditch right out of the starting gate with 76 seconds of frenzy called EKG that introduces the two chief constructionists of Wilco’s warped pop charge – guitarist Nels Cline and drummer (and University of Kentucky grad, lest we forget) Glenn Kotche – through a woozy calliope of criss-crossed riffs and beats that set the album’s gleefully irregular heartbeat.

Humor and unrest, as always, abound in Tweedy’s songs and especially in his vocalwork. His wily pop spirit has a field day on the merrily wigged out Random Name Generator. You could easily imagine an entire horn section fueling the tune’s roaring groove. Instead, guitars define the rhythm in a way that better befits Tweedy’s cheery mumble (“I kind of like it when I make you cry, a miracle only once in awhile”). This is the Star Wars tune destined to stick to your brain after your first listen to the album.

But the Dylan-esque grin resurfaces on the hapless The Joke Explained, a quixotic meditation masquerading as a bit of defused pop fun. “It’s a staring contest in a hall of mirrors,” Tweedy sings as if the lyrics were pouring out of his mouth as an aside. “I sweat tears but I don’t ever cry.”

The only real problem with the album is its length. It clocks in at a scant 33 minutes. Then again, the secret to any presentation is to state your case, engage your audience and leave it wanting more. On that score, all that can be said for Star Wars is Roger Wilco that.

critic’s pick 287: sly and the family stone, ‘live at fillmore east – october 4th & 5th, 1968’

sly stone“We would like to play a few songs,” says Sly Stone at the onset of the second disc to the monumental new archival release Live at Fillmore East – October 4th & 5th, 1968. With that, the vanguard rock and soul stylist gathers the Family Stone for a party chant that makes you think you’re on hand for a sporting event rather than a pop concert. Then the combustible soul groove of Sly and the Family Stone blows up and the party is underway.

As a concert chronicle and timepiece, Fillmore East is a diamond mine. A four-disc set that collects a quartet of performances captured over a two-night stand at Bill Graham’s famed New York venue, this music was recorded with the intention of an official release over 45 years ago. Stone and company were rising stars at the time with Dance to the Music already a major hit. But then came the avalanche – the chart-topping success of Everyday People, the atomic fourth album Stand! and a career defining 1969 appearance at Woodstock. Subsequently, the live recordings were shelved. Now they emerge as a long belated affirmation of the Family Stone’s ceremonious soul charge.

Fillmore East is rich with performances that reveal just how wildly resourceful the band was. Sly Stone may have been the ringleader with an organ and vocal punch that connected gospel fervency with pure pop immediacy. But there was so much more going on, like the electric bass runs of Larry Graham that sounded positively monstrous on their own (during solo snippets of M’Lady and Dance to the Music) as well as when strapped to the band’s two member horn team on the first disc’s introductory Are You Ready. Sister Rosie Stone also stretches out with versions on each disc of the 1961 Aretha Franklin hit Won’t Be Long. Hearing her voice crack and crackle with R&B vibrancy is one of the many great sleeper moments to Fillmore East.

All of this combines for a soul sound with a remarkable sense of dynamics. The Sly original Color Me True swirls with fearsome funk urgency but also cools down to where the only sounds driving the ensemble are organ and percussion. Later on the first disc, We Love All (Freedom) suggests the psychedelia that exploded within the band’s music in 1969.

You also can’t discount the calls for peace and unity the Family Stone offer as rallying cries – vital stuff considering the performances came just five months after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

“Don’t hate the black, don’t hate the white,” Sly offers during Are You Ready. “If you get bitten, just hate the bite. Make sure your heart is beating right.”

That party vibe remains as vital today as when it rang out at the Fillmore East in another lifetime.

our man reeves

reeves gabrels. photo by mauro melis.

reeves gabrels. photo by mauro melis.

Reeves Gabrels was so assured in the wisdom of journeying down rock ‘n’ roll roads less traveled that he had no qualms in bluntly expressing his exuberance to a one time boss. For over a decade, the pioneering guitarist worked as a band member and high level musical lieutenant to David Bowie, from the latter’s elemental but experimental guitar rock troupe Tin Machine to the comparatively streamlined 1999 solo record ‘hours.’

“It kind of goes back to a conversation I had with David when we started Tin Machine,” said Gabrels, who performs Saturday at the Green Lantern with his Imaginary Friends power trio. “He had music he wanted to make and then there was the music he was making. I asked him, ‘You have full creative control. Does the record label have to put out whatever you give them?’ He said, ‘Well, yeah. They do.’ So I said, ‘Then the real problem here is not the record company, it’s your fear of rejection and your concern that people won’t like what you put out.’

“If you really have a conviction to do this kind of music and you really want to do this kind of music, then the only person in your way is you.”

In that sense, Gabrels has been fearless in his sense of guitar exploration. He can create torrents of coarse sonic dissonance one minute, open up into a spacious yet playful groove the next and also simply rock away with the loose support of youthful cohorts. From his Bowie days to his current stint as principal guitarist for The Cure (which he joined in 2012) to an adjoining solo career that is now two decades old, Gabrels has forged a potent, versed and adventurous reputation as a guitar stylist and songwriter.

“The first solo record I did was in ’95 at Bowie’s insistence,” Gabrels said. “He was like, ‘You’re always doing this stuff but you never put it out, so why don’t you put a record together and I’ll put it out on my label.’ Then I put a record together and he decided not to start the label. So I looked around and found someone to release it.

“My point is at other times in my life, I was very, like, ‘You’ve got to be this way.’ I was really obsessive about my music. I don’t think of myself as controlling, really, but I know I can be obsessive. With the new record (the self-titled Reeves Gabrels and his Imaginary Friends), I just really took my hands off the wheel a bit and let the project find its own level.”

A prolific guitar stylist and solo artist, Gabrels also thrives on collaboration, as witnessed by his work with Bowie and The Cure. A particular highlight among his catalogue is a 2014 instrumental work with fellow guitar titan and one time Be Bop Deluxe chieftain Bill Nelson called Fantastic Guitars.

“That was fun to do,” Gabrels said. “I was always a huge Bill Nelson fan. I bought Presence by Led Zeppelin and Be Bop Deluxe’s Sunburst Finish on the same day. I think I was 17 or 18. I listened to Presence and then put Sunburst Finish on and kept it on the turntable for the next three weeks.

“I met Bill during the first Tin Machine tour, so I was over the moon about that. But we stayed in touch. When I played at Leeds with The Cure in 2012, we just got together and said, ‘Maybe we should do a record.’ So this was about 20 years in the making. It involved a lot of very old school recording that we did in his house over the course of a year and a half. It’s a nice little sonic romp, that record.”

While performances alongside Bowie and The Cure have placed Gabrels in front of audiences that have sometimes exceeded 200,000 on a single night, the guitarist is more than eager to engage in a current swing of small club concerts with the Imaginary Friends that will, in the case of tonight’s show at The Green Lantern, place a modest sized crowd right in his lap.

“That feedback that you get from playing in a sweaty, small place… that’s really at the core of why I do this. I welcome the heckles. I like when people yell things at me while I’m playing. We’re truly looking forward to it.”

Reeves Gabrels and his Imaginary Friends perform at 10 p.m. July 25 at the Green Lantern, 497 W. Third. Cover charge is $7. Call (859) 252-9539.

one voice, many styles

michael mcdonald.

michael mcdonald.

It’s one thing to call Michael McDonald one of the most identifiable voices in contemporary music. For more than three decades, his seasoned pop-soul tenor, and the frequent falsetto extremes it reaches to, has fortified a generation of hits.

But what remains so fascinating about the singer’s body of work is the sheer variety of settings you are apt hear that voice in and the styles his vocals are often surrounded by.

Sure, there are the obvious radio classics like What a Fool Believes and Takin’ It to the Streets that retooled the radio rock of the Doobie Brothers into R&B-slanted pop during the late ‘70s. But there are also chart-topping duets with soul maestros like Patti LaBelle and James Ingram as well as fusion flavored journeys with Steely Dan where, even as a harmony or background singer, McDonald gloriously stood out.

But dig deeper into the five-time Grammy winner’s resume and you discover just how many – and how many stylistically different – artists have called upon of one pop’s most recognized voices for their recordings.

A partial list includes classicists Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin and Joni Mitchell as well as newer generation indie acts like Grizzly Bear and Holy Ghost. Oh, and did we mention McDonald even sang under the closing credits of South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut?

For McDonald, juggling vocal roles and genres continues to fuel a career that brings him back to Lexington for a Tuesday concert at the Opera House. Longtime fans will note the venue is just a few streets over from Rupp Arena, where the singer/keyboardist played regularly during the late ‘70s with the Doobie Brothers.

“Knowledge of one kind of music is always going to enhance your enjoyment of another,” McDonald said. “As a kid growing up, I enjoyed a lot of different kinds of music even though what I was introduced to as a kid probably would not have been the music I would listen to later as a teenager.

“My dad was a singer. Growing up with him, my first instrument was tenor banjo playing ragtime and music of another whole other era before I was born. Even as a kid, I loved the music of Rodgers and Hammerstein, Rodgers and Hart, stuff like that. Those guys to me are still part of what I consider to be American classical music. So my tastes have always been kind of diverse.”

Then came the ‘60s, which turned the St. Louis native to the electric sounds of the day, By 1970, that music prompted a move to Los Angeles.

“Like most guys of my generation, I wanted to play rock ‘n roll,” McDonald said. “My first band kind of emulated all of the British Invasion bands. Then rhythm and blues got to be a favorite music. But I always saw a similarity in all of it. There was always something from one genre that I borrowed to approach the next one I had an infatuation with. That’s the thing about music. There is always going to be a similarity.”

That sense of musical kinship dominates a 2014 recording that reteamed McDonald with the Doobie Brothers. But the resulting album, Southbound, wasn’t a reunion as much as a refashioning as it presented new versions of Doobies classics cut with contemporary country artists.

For McDonald, that meant taking new looks at hits he popularized during his tenure with the band. Specifically, What a Fool Believes was shared with Sara Evans and Takin’ It to the Streets with Love & Theft. It also enlisted Vince Gill for guitar color during You Belong to Me, a 1977 Doobies song McDonald co-wrote with Carly Simon (it was a Top 10 hit for the latter in 1978).

“Oh, that was a lot of fun,” McDonald said of the recording. “We (the Doobies) don’t always get that many opportunities or excuses to get back in the studio because we’re always going in different directions at this point. So any time something like this comes up for me, it’s fun. But it was also an opportunity to work with some great new artists in the country scene, most of which we probably wouldn’t otherwise have had a chance to get into the studio.”

Michael McDonald performs at 7:30 p.m. June 16 at the Lexington Opera House. Tickets: $85.50-$175. Call (859) 233-3535, (800) 745-3000 or go to

ticketmaster.com.

hanging with swing king

ray benson.

ray benson.

The prospect of Asleep at the Wheel devoting an entire recording project to the music of Bob Wills seems more than inevitable. It is essentially business as usual.

For the better part of 45 years, founder, bandleader, guitarist and vocalist Ray Benson and a rotating arsenal of expert instrumentalists have been torch bearers for a brand of Western swing inspired by, along with numerous country and jazz influences, the sounds Wills and his famed Texas Playboys band created in the ‘20s, ‘30s and ’40s. Benson has cut two previous Wills tribute albums with the multi-Grammy winning Asleep at the Wheel. But for the new Still the King record, Benson wanted a fiddle driven Wills swing party that would defy the ages.

“The whole idea was you would have Asleep at the Wheel as the band along with every fiddle player under the sun,” said Benson, who brings the current Wheel gang to the Lyric Theatre on Monday for the 800th taping of the WoodSongs Old-Time Radio Hour. “We’re just trying to let people continue to experience the really great Bob Wills Western swing music.

As fiddlers go, Still the King has a bounty of them, including Lone Star sensation Carrie

Rodriguez. But that’s just the tip of guest list. The roster also enlists such country/Americana pros as Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, George Strait and Lyle Lovett (all veterans of Asleep at the Wheel’s previous Wills tribute records) as well as a healthy lineup of stylistically varied new generation acts that includes Brad Paisley, Old Crow Medicine Show, The Avett Brothers, The Devil Makes Three, Amos Lee and Kat Edmonson.

“That’s always been the purpose of these records – to get multi-generational support,” Benson said. “But we also wanted to get folks who haven’t had an opportunity to play real Western swing on a record to do that.

“We have people of five generations playing this music on this record, from one of the Quebe Sisters (the Fort Worth-based fiddle trio), who is 20 or 21 years old, right on up to Billy Briggs, one of the old Texas Playboys. He plays sax and is 92 years old.”

Just the King also chronicles one of the final recorded performances of Dawn Sears, vocalist for the all-star Nashville roots and swing troupe The Time Jumpers, who died from lung cancer in December. She and the entire Time Jumpers line-up join Asleep at the Wheel on Faded Love.

“Yeah, Dawn sang the bridge on Faded Love,” Benson said. “She just killed it. That was very sad. Of course, her husband Kenny was one of the fiddlers on the session along with Larry Franklin, my old fiddle player. There was me, Ranger Doug (from Riders in the Sky), (Louisiana fiddler) Joe Spivey, (former Asleep at the Wheel vocalist) Elizabeth McQueen. Jason (Roberts), our old fiddler, plays and sings, too. There were so many people. Ah, what a session. It’s as beautiful a version of Faded Love as you’ll hear and it’s done in the style of, I think, the most modern Western swing music.

“Then you hear the Old Crow Medicine Show (which performs the classic Tiger Rag) and you have the most basic raw version of Western swing. We’ve got this incredible array of styles and music.”

But what about Benson himself? As practiced as he is in the ways of such continually influential swing, are there elements of Wills’ music that continue to surprise and inspire?

“Absolutely. Every night. I think one of the things the audiences don’t realize – well, hopefully they do – is that this is improvisational music. So every night, I sing it a little different. I play my solos a lot different. Within the framework of the song, you get to jam quite a bit. So improvisation is not only fun for a musician, it also keeps you from being bored.

“Every night, you have to impress the people you’re playing with, impress yourself and, hopefully, entertain the audience.”

Asleep at the Wheel performs for the 800th broadcast of the WoodSongs Old-Time Radio Hour at 7 p.m. March 23 at the Lyric Theatre and Cultural Arts Center, 300 East Third. Tickets are $20, $30. Call (859) 280-2218 or go to lexingtonlyric.com.

Come back tomorrow to The Musical Box for more of our interview with Ray Benson.

redefining the organ

cameron carpenter.

cameron carpenter.

Flamboyant. It is almost impossible to read a review of a Cameron Carpenter performance where the word is not utilized as a critical summation to a concert sound that is wholly revolutionary.

It’s also a tag Carpenter can’t get his head around. A pioneer of the classical organ, he has literally uprooted the instrument from its cathedral roots, modernized it into a creation of his own portable design and built a repertoire around it that runs from Bach to Bernstein to Bacharach. Depending on your viewpoint, that makes Carpenter a renaissance man or a renegade.

But flamboyant? That’s a tag he neither understands nor appreciates.

“There is a continuing suspicion that the music and the personality are different, and I’ve never understood why this should seem so,” said Carpenter, via email this week from his home in Berlin. “ ‘Flamboyance’ is, at this point, a word that has more meaning as a euphemism for queer – a state which can still ill afford to allow any euphemisms.”

The current thrust of the Julliard trained, Grammy nominated Carpenter’s career is an instrument of his own design called the International Touring Organ. A digital creation utilizing samples of traditional pipe organs (as well as such offspring as the Wurlitzer), it is a modernization of instruments housed in cathedrals around the world. In Cameron’s hands, though, the most epic of organ sounds have become portable.

“The instrument behaves exactly as we – meaning, not only me, but its visionary builders, (the Massachusetts team of) Marshall & Ogletree – envisioned, and is almost anticlimatically consistent and well-behaved in this wonderful way. With a few correctible exceptions, I seem to have not totally embarrassed myself in its design, which proposes a hybridization of the mid-century prim and poetic American classical organ with its less respectable, ruder, decadent, not-too-well preserved, off-color half-sister, the much more eccentric theater organ. Their reunion has been difficult to negotiate but I think we’ve broken ground there.

“Understanding this, I am constantly revising it, usually to add more wildness, violence, vulgarity, and randomness, which any great organ must have in spades. Glorious, holy, and majestic are illusions and, as such, squarely easy to manufacture musically and acoustically. Any old electronic organ with light-up thingummies, any old racks of pipes in whatever church balcony can imply that in a ‘good enough for anyone’ sort of way. The richness and personality of real imperfection, though, is a more challenging task.”

Last year, Carpenter put the new International Touring Organ to work in the recording studio. The result was If You Could Read My Mind, a record with a repertoire as distinctive as its sound. Alongside an adaptation of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 Prelude, Rachmaninov’s Vocalise and his own Music for an Imaginary Film are organ revisions of Leonard Bernstein’ Overture to Candide, Burt Bacharach’s Alfie, the Patsy Cline hit Back in My Baby’s Arms and the Gordon Lightfoot classic that serves as the record’s title composition.

“The International Touring Organ is, actually, totally remarkable in several regards, but it’s still just an organ. It’s a conduit to a live emotional experience. It’s not actually the organ at all that I’m interested in promoting, but, of course, the music I’m making. Here you find one of the organ’s perilous paradoxes. It’s the most impressive instrument technically and physically, but miles of pipe and wire are meaningless on their own. The scale of the machine, in league with its weighty history, is observably a stumbling block to any organist who pays the usual unskeptical obeisance to it in demeanor, repertoire, and style.”

How then, does the viewpoint of many classical enthusiasts that see modifications of performance, repertoire and instrumentation deemed traditional as a form of musical heresy enter into Carpenter’s new world order of the International Touring Organ?

“I don’t care for anyone’s opinions, good or ill, other than my own,” he said. “A funny thing: there’s a lot of lip service in the collective consciousness about how great it is not to care about other’s opinions, but in practice it’s usually received as arrogance, or antisociality. Therein comes the real test of whether you care or not, of course.”

Cameron Carpenter performs at 8 p.m. Feb. 27 at Newlin Hall, Norton Center for the Arts, 600 W. Walnut St. in Danville. Tickets: $25-$46. Call (877) 448-7469, (859) 236-4692 or got to www.nortoncenter.com.

Carpenter will also participate in a pre-concert Gallery Talk with Centre College art professor Sheldon Tapley entitled “Reinterpreting Traditional Art Forms in Contemporary Society.” The 7 p.m. discussion will be held at the Grand Foyer of the Norton Center in conjunction with Beyond the Window, an exhibition of paintings by Zeuxis artists.

critic’s pick 260: bob dylan, ‘shadows in the night’

Bob-Dylan-ShadowsOn paper, Shadows in the Night suggests a train wreck at bay. Imagine it. Bob Dylan, the pop poet laureate of several generations – whose singing, at least from a technical standpoint, is perhaps his least admired artistic trait – interpreting an album’s worth of standards recorded by Frank Sinatra, a stylist for whom vocal finesse was everything. But that’s what we have in Shadows in the Night. Now, get a load of this. The results are pretty righteous.

The reasons are two-fold. First, there is Dylan’s vocal work, which is a real jaw-dropper. Instead of the death rattle rasp displayed on his last few albums, Dylan sings here with astonishing and wholly unexpected focus. Ol’ Blue Eyes, he ain’t. But that’s not even remotely the intention. Still, there is a clarity in Dylan’s voice during tunes like Why Try to Change Me Now and especially Autumn Leaves that has been absent since the early ’70s. To hear such purpose stretched over an entire album, you would have to go back to John Wesley Harding in 1968.

Frankly, it’s hard to fathom Dylan even had this sort of subtlety and control as a vocalist left in him. Year after year, he concerts have descended into performance sketches where singing amounted to scribbling – highly emotive and immediate scribbling, mind you, but scribbling nonetheless. Let’s be clear, though, we’re not talking Michael Buble here. Place Dylan’s noir-like take on Full Moon and Empty Arms under a microscope and you hear all kinds of technical hiccups – a flat note here, an over annunciation there and a slight overall wheeze that reminds you of who is at work. But place Shadows in the Night next to latter day Dylan classics like Time Out of Mind and it sounds like the work of an entirely different artist.

What completes the vision of Shadows in the Night is its overall mood. All 10 tunes pair the primarily orchestral arrangements of the versions cut by Sinatra (and others, like Frankie Laine, who had hits with this material in another lifetime) down to fit Dylan’s combo-sized band. Even then, the group, augmented by occasional muted brass, plays at the level of a whisper. The sole dominating instrumental voice is the pedal steel guitar of one-time BR549 member Donny Herron. But this isn’t country music either. This is late night, off-in-the-distance blues speaking in a vintage pop dialect. It is half tradition and half Twilight Zone. Then, again, who else but Dylan could make Some Enchanted Evening sound so distinctively surreal?

Maybe half the thrill of the recording is its sheer sense of surprise. For a folk monument like Dylan, who you would think have played every stylistic card dealt to him by now, Shadows in the Night is the sound of something old made remarkably new.

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