Tom Ze: Ma, Doi, Toc, and Mae (Maes Soliteira)
Taken from the album Estudando O Samba (1975)

What does it mean for a musician to be truly ahead of his time? As a safe measure you could say that if, thirty years after the production of the initial work, other artists–brilliant in their own right–are just barely beginning to get caught up to speed–well, that’s a good sign.

Other clues: If a wormhole seems to have enveloped the music so that its vintage production value sounds as fresh as anything coming out in a contemporary context; if the techniques (looping? sampling? anyone?) employed to deepen the music are still under exploration; if a quarter-century hasn’t diminished the content of an album–those are some pretty solid indicators, too.

By these criteria, it’s safe to say that Tom Ze was a legitimate maverick. Excuse me–is as legitimate maverick. Homeboy’s still at it. And here he is on one of his great works, Estudando O Samba. Released in 1975, this record is Ze’s post-Tropicalia masterpiece: alternately beautiful, experimental, hypnotic, fuzzy, fonky and always fresssh, it’s a record which very well could have been lost into the murky nether regions of recording obscurity, had it not been for a fortuitous interloper. But more on that in a minute.

Ah, 1975. Ze had spent the previous decade shoulder to shoulder with super-heroes–Gilberto Gil, Gal Costa, Caetano Veloso and Jorge Ben–exploding the roof off of the traditional Brazilian sound. Ze, in particular, was a cult figure, revered as much for his abstruse sound as his clever lyrics. Certainly as one of the founding members of the Tropicalia movement, it would seem that Ze had already carved his indelible mark on history. And to an extent, he had.

But Ze proved to be a little too advanced for his own good. Ardently opposed to the mainstream, he continued to make music that tested his listening public. And apparently his public didn’t want to be tested. By the early 80’s they had abandoned him. Spurned, Ze retreated from music altogether, returning to his small home town to work at a nephew’s gas station. And that might have been the end…

Until David Byrne heard Estudando O Samba and was like, “Holy Mary, Mother of Zeus! WTF?!” An envoy was sent to find the elusive Ze, and the rest is history. Byrne signed Tom Ze as the flagship artist on the then fledgling Luaka Bop and fifteen years later he’s still out there, blazing his way through left field.

Check out some of his recent work, including collabo’s and remixes with John McEntire and Sean Lennon, and his NEW ALBUM(!) which, appropriately enough, marks Ze’s impressive homage to thirty years of, yep, you guessed it, Estudando O Samba.

Viva Ze!

Unknown Ghanian Group : ???
taken from a mysterious unlabled piece of orange vinyl

Unknown Middle Eastern Artist : Jeitili
taken from a mysterious 7″ with an Express label

Unknown Malaysian Singer : ???
taken from an LP with no English on it except the label name: Eagle

Unknown Russian Group : ???
taken from an LP with no English on it

I usually restrain myself from bringing out the really otherly stuff in my collection: Hungarian sheep herding songs, Armenian lounge music, Puerto Rican political independence protest anthems… I dig this stuff in the proper setting, but I also acknowledge that it would be asking a lot of you all to share my appreciation for these sounds. My closest friends, even my own flesh and blood, have been known to give me strange glances when I play them the latest darbuka drumbreak I’ve uncovered on a forgotten bellydance album. But today’s mysterious selections aren’t here just to show off what weird things I enjoy, this time I’m looking for help from some of you. Perhaps there’s a reader in Russia (I think that’s the language on the cover) who can help identify this crazy black and green record (which also has a nasty drumbreak on it and some crazy heavy bass lines) or an Arabic listener who might be able to identify the voice singing “Jeitili”. I once played this orange West African record on my radio show and had a caller tell me that he believed it to be the Ghanian Army Band, but I’ve had no definitive confirmation of that thus far. And even if you don’t know any more information about these artists than I do, try to find something you can get excited about in here.

Also, congratulations to Piotr Bombol from Warsaw and Britton Lacey from Brooklyn for being the first to respond with the correct Anthony Hamilton info. Albums are on their way.

A Certain Ratio : Shack Up
taken from the album “Early” on Soul Jazz (2002)
-originally released as a single on Factory (1980)

Gang Of Four : Not Great Men
taken from the album “Entertainment” on Warner Brothers (1979)

Talking Heads : I Zimbra
taken from the album “Fear Of Music” on Sire (1979)

Pigbag : Sunny Day
taken from their self-titled EP on Stiff (1981)

First off, sorry for the lack of posts… Capt. P. working out of town plus young Murphy still in S. Africa equals not good for the blog. I will try to make it up to you all with a slew of music. So brace yerselves…

Second, the gracious people promoting Anthony Hamilton’s new album (see last post) have offered up two copies to giveaway. But you gotta be one of the first 2 people to answer this question in order to get yours:
What was the name and year of his first album???
e-mail answers to: captainplanet@bywayof.net

And finally, I was kinda shocked by the responses to the last post. I’m happy to hear what you all think of the selections, but one commentor actually called me a “racist bastard”… funny thing is, they must not have read what was actually written here, about how we really like the music of Amy Winehouse & Joss Stone. And maybe the said commentor missed the fact that this very blog was a part of the momentus hype- giving shine to that very same winehouse less than a month ago. I’m not too worried about being called out for what I write on here, this entire website is, after-all, a labor of love. Here in the crate we post music we love, sharing it with you in the hope that if you find yourself similarly moved by it, you’ll help spread the music even further. Perhaps bringing more attention and maybe even a few extra bucks into the hands of the artists through the purchase of an album or concert ticket.

However, in the event that you do feel inclined to criticize the opinions written here (and that’s quite alright by us), at least read what’s actually been written here first. One of the few perks in keeping this blog alive is receiving gracious comments or e-mails from you all, so please keep that coming as well – it is always appreciated.

Finally, lets all let off some collective steam in the best way I know how- whiteboy punk funk. Must one be white to enjoy the benefits of Punk? Certainly not. Does being funky require blackness? Please. We title our MP3s “Gumbo Funk” cause we tend to like it when genres (often historically defined by racial lines) blur, bend and mix.

A Certain Ratio is the shit. Gang Of Four is classic. Pigbag does not get enough propers. And Talking Heads we all know and love already, but lets play I Zimbra again just ’cause it’s so damn good.

Anthony Hamilton : Fallin In Love Again and Why
taken from the album “Southern Comfort” on Merovingian (2007)

Anthony Hamilton : The Truth
taken from the album “Ain’t Nobody Worryin'” on So So Def/Zomba/Arista (2005)

Anthony Hamilton : Comin’ From Where I’m From (DJ Still Life Remix)
the original can be found on the album “Comin’ From Where I’m From” on So So Def/Arista (2003)

Amy Winehouse and Joss Stone, talented and soulful as they may be, are definitely riding high on great white hype-ness. I’m not trying to criticize their music in the least, but the downpour of praise and attention seems to be apporaching Indonesian monsoon-type levels. It strikes me as being more than a little imbalanced when looking at other soul artists in the hustle, of a more traditionally dark complexion, who’ve been left nearly high and dry. Anthony Hamilton’s newest effort (which was actually recorded earlier and has been sitting unreleased), put out on the apparently indie Merovingian (no site yet???), is a perfect example of a contemporary soul baring gem that will likely get 1/3 the number of reviews and write-ups as “Back To Black”. Even after “Comin’ From Where I’m From” went platinum, pulled along by the ballad bomb “Charlene”, he’s still struggling to get props. While some of the production he works with is less than stunning, Hamilton rises far above the track with a voice that even brings Donny Hathaway’s greatness to mind.

The DJ Still Life remix was pulled from Ear Fuzz a while back, and does a nice job of fixing the shortcomings of the original song – namely a weak beat – by calling on the classic memphis stylings of Willie Mitchell. Maybe Hamilton needs a little help from the Dap Kings and Mr. Mark Ronson? Maybe he talks too much about the bible and not enough about rehab? Personally, I think the complete package here is more apt for repeat plays and rotation longevity. There’s a slight gimmick aspect to what I’ve heard from Winehouse and Stone, I’m not talking Matisyahu here, but just a hint of manufactured forcefulness that I don’t hear in Hamilton’s more relaxed and freeflowing croon. Maybe I’m biased though.

Big up to our other contemporary soulsters who haven’t yet gotten their due shine:
Raphael Saadiq, Leela James, Eric Roberson, Stephanie McKay, Ledisi… add on to the list, there are many more out there.

Bobbie Houston : Make It With You
originally performed by Bread

Johnny Clarke : None Shall Escape

Matumbi : Law Of The Land
originally performed by The Temptations

King Sporty : A Year Full Of Sundays

all selections taken from the compilation “20 Tighten Ups” on Trojan (1974)

Sadly, I don’t have enough time today to sit down and formulate some proper paragraphs about these sweet and soulful reggae songs I recently uncovered on this excellent Tighten Ups collection. I didn’t have time all weekend, and I probably won’t have time for the rest of the week. I suppose that’s the point though. “Wouldn’t you like to live a year full of Sundays?… Only Sundays.” Naps, slow sunny strolls, plenty of time to read and write, to draw and paint, to make music…

Of all the funky cover versions and stanky skank rhythms on this compilation, somehow the King Sporty song, which reminded me immediately of “Put It On” by a young Bob Marley, hit home the hardest. Even without singing, Sporty’s straightforward philosophizing gripped the dreamer in me, helping me rise temporarily above the stained snowbanks and brick walls around me.

Amy Winehouse: Rehab and Back To Black and He Can Only Hold Her
Taken from the album Back To Black on Interscope (2006)

Broadcasting live from South Africa… Here’s lil’ something something:

Not long ago, soul music fans were hit with a bit of an identity crisis. The kind of dizzying blow that had us perpetually confused about what to buy at the record store. The prickly line of questioning, as we scanned the racks of mediocre R&B, basically ran like this: What to do with the stultified dream of Neo-soul? Who do we turn to with Lauren Hill in absentia? What happens now that D’Angelo’s gone?

Slowly, over time, an answer presented itself: go old school.

The last few years have seen a semi-triumphant re-emergence of throw-back soul. Newer artists, replete with analog mics and calculated band names, trying their hand at a vintage sound, (Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, Nicole Willis and The Soul Investigators); crate-digger favorites pulling collaborations with slick, beat-minded producers (Spanky Wilson linking up with Quantic); too-smooth studio sessions with the Greats (Al Green, Bettye Swann, Candi Staton) that couldn’t hold a candle to even the more modest work from their respective heydays.

Some, it seems, are trying too hard at an elusive sound. Some have lost their magic touch. Some never had it. Maybe the music doesn’t suit the vocals. The vocals don’t suit the lyrics. The lyrics themselves feel stale. Too hip-hop. Too clean. Too old. Too much effort.

Enter Amy Winehouse with her sophmore album, Back to Black.

That it took a twenty-four year old Jewish girl from north-London to finally make the record that satisfies the proclivity of the recently re-invigorated classic soul music buying public, shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. She’s certainly not the first to tread that road. Joss Stone had a certain appeal, albeit rather white-washed and somewhat lacking in originality. And Alice Russell, who never received a fraction of the praise or notoriety she deserved, did well to work her very contemporary version of classic R&B into a beat-ier, clubbier sound.

But what Winehouse has done is something quite different. She’s made a classically styled R&B record, with real production value, real lyrics, real soul, that doesn’t for a moment sound like something from grandpa’s stash. And even if she nods in all the right directions (there’s no question of the 60’s girl-group influence), the record, as a complete entity, is nothing if not unabashedly contemporary.

Huge props should go to the flawless joint production of Mark Ronson and Salaam Remi, who despite, or perhaps because of, their traditionally hip-hop leanings, have crafted ten songs worth of terse, crisp, pitch perfect orchestration. Just enough strings, without going sappy sweet. Biting horns at all the right intersections. And drums fat enough to move a dancefloor, but that never pander to a generation of beat-greedy rap fans.

Always front and center, though, is Amy Winehouse.

And finally that is what makes this album such a joy to listen to: that the record carries with it the significant artistic identity of the woman herself. For better or worse, Winehouse is a presence. Her young woman’s sexuality, attitude, recklessness, and vocabulary are all on display here. And she doesn’t shy away from much.

The album’s lead off track–carried by easily the catchiest hook I’ve heard in a long while–details Ms. Winehouse’s dogged refusal to undergo rehab for her well-documented alcohol addiction. Her bravado pulses. Similarly, on the cut, “You Know I’m No Good”, she explains, rather unapologetically, her infidilities to a scorned lover. “I told you I was I trouble/ You know I’m no good.” The facts of Amy Winehouse are just that: facts.

The British media has made no bones about exposing Winehouse’s problematic image. From causing public disturbances, to fistfights, to puking onstage, Winehouse may seem hellbent on that type of Billy Holiday-esque self-destruction that makes the admiring fan of her music cringe. But the admiring fan of her music is as likely to appreciate those qualities as despise them. Because Winehouse delivers with the kind of matter-of-factness, with the coarse naivete, with the touching sincerity of a real soul singer.

Amy Winehouse may just be the next in a legacy of R&B artists stretching as far back as the genre itself, to fashion a sound from the painfully palpable transgressions of her private life. But she’s delivered a lot of us who had begun to lose hope in the music, and for that we’re grateful.