Dom Um Romao : Lamento Negro
taken from the album “Spirit Of The Times” on Muse (1975)

Osvaldinho Da Cuica E Grupo Vai-Vai : Vendaval
taken from the album “Vamos Sambar” on Discos Marcus Perreira (1974)
note: the song title on the actual record label reads: “A Beleza E Voce Menina”, not sure which is the correct title.

Novos Baianos : Preta Pretinha
taken from the album “Acabou Chorare” on Som Livre (1972)

Swing is one of those things that’s quite difficult to put your finger on. It’s a bounce and a lag time. It’s the enemy of all things quantized. It’s far enough off beat to describe a whole lifestyle- that of the graceful yet wildly playful swinger. And swing also seems to be entirely at home in Brazil, where it evolved into a completely different genus than that somewhat tamer version which can be found here on records with Blue Note labels or the Creed Taylor stamp of approval. Not that American jazz is anything to goff at, ’nuff swing from Blakey and Roach, but Brazilian music seems unable to escape from swing’s grip. I’m not an expert in the area, like my man Gregzinho, but I feel like batucada, samba and bossa managed to thoroughly saturate the country’s musical output- at least enough to instill some of that swaggering swing as an ever-present Brazilian phenomenon. I’m giving you a funk-fusion track, a somewhat more straightforward samba joint, and a folk-rock hippie jump off here- all from 70’s Brazil, featuring some serious swing in effect. Maybe it’s just that shaker that I keep hearing?

Partly in the mood since lil’ brody proposed the highly tempting idea of trekking down south in the direction Rio, Sao Paulo, and Bahia during the rapidly approaching winter break. Trying to figure out right now if I can gather the necessary funds in time to make it happen. We’ll see…

Lucky for you, the Dom Um Romao album has been re-issued. Cop it here for a nice price. The Osvaldinho album is probably not so easy to find, but if you dig the soulful singing (loving that falsetto) from Papete, then you should look out for this album. The Novos Baianos album (really a beautiful collection) has also been re-issued, you can find it here.

Also, a Crate reader hipped me to this site where you can find TONS of ill Brazilian music (even some of the HIP HOP has swing!).

Gregory Isaacs: Slave Master
Taken from the soundtrack album Rockers on Island (1978)

Gregory Isaacs: Night Nurse
Taken from the 7″ Night Nurse on Island (1985)

Gregory Isaacs: Rock On
Taken from the album Rock On on X-Bam Records (197?)

Arzu: Amor
Taken from the 12″ Amor on VP (199?)

I never professed to be a cool kid. I don’t wear tight jeans; I can’t tell the difference between Air Force One’s and Air Force Two’s; perhaps most dazzlingly pathetic, I had never, until two nights ago, seen the movie Rockers. I’m a hack, I know. (To my credit, I know the soundtrack by heart.)

For anyone unfamiliar with the seminal roots-reggae film (all three of you), the only essential knowledge I can impart to you is that you must see it. It’s a virtual who’s who of late seventies rootical superstars: Robbie Shakespeare, Dillinger, Jacob Miller, Burning Spear, all essentially playing their colorful, stoned selves against the gritty backdrop of the smooth 70’s J.A. Oh, and of course, Gregory Isaacs.

I would give you more history on Gregory, but I’m cuddling right now, and don’t really have time for you jerks. Find out about Mr. Isaacs elsewhere. If his safe-cracking skills from the film don’t get you riled up, then surely his music will.

I’ve included in the post his epic performance from the soundtrack of Rockers, “Slave Driver”, as well as his coup de resistance, the ubiquitous, “Night Nurse”. For your listening pleasure, I’ve gone a step further to give you “Rock On”, one of the more heartbreakingly beautiful tracks from his vast catalogue that I recently discovered on a new compilation.

Lastly–and I can’t tell you what a stride in my generosity this is– I am putting up a track that I had avariciously vowed never to post on the grounds that it is simply too dope. ARZU!!!!!!!! Info on this cat is scarce at best. I believe he is either Peruvian or Venezuelan. The track pretty much speaks for itself: burning hot Spanish cover of Isaac’s Nurse. What more do you people want from me?!?!?

P.S. If anyone can fill in some of the blanks on Arzu, let me know. ‘Twould be much appreciated.

Tito Puente : Fancy Feet
taken from the album “On The Bridge” on TICO (1969)

Larry Harlow : Freak Off
taken from the album “El Exigente” on Fania (1967)

Roberto Roena Y Su Apollo Sound : Shades Of Time
taken from the album “2” on Fania (1970)

Joe Bataan : Make Me Smile
taken from the album “Mr. New York And The East Side Kids” on Fania (1967)

Low ceilings. Little light. Sweltering heat. Lack of oxygen. Dust. Mold. Sweat.

And VINYL. Thousands upon thousands of old dirty records. Covered in the funk of ages. I had never seen so many records in such a small, tightly enclosed area- with such a minimum of consumer traffic! At the end of an enlightening and resuscitating Caribbean excursion, I found my place of yogic peace in amongst these alleys of long forgotten Latin hits, and misses. Surrounded by the countless products of creative individuals experimenting in their respective primes, I found myself reverently calm and silent. Here were the highest hopes and reveletory dreams of multiple generations of artists, mass produced masterpieces shelved and left for dead. Sadly, I walked into this digger’s heaven only three hours before my plane was scheduled to leave from San Juan back to NYC. But it’s almost better that I didn’t end up staying in that place any longer. I’m still sneezing up black boogers, and it’s been a full week now.

Finally, the last of my plastic picks has been windexed clean and all of the covers have been scrubbed and scraped of mold. A smell lingers, but I’m pretty used to the fine scent of a nicely aged attic mold at this point. The French appreciate their cheese don’t they?

So here is a small portion of my latest dig. Some crackles and pops to be sure, but the louder you play the music, the less this interferance is noticeable. I’m in an old-school upbeat soulful mood, thus the boogaloo and shingaling over the salsa and ballads today. But there’s plenty more where these tracks came from.

Curious to find out more? Tito, Larry, Roberto, and Joe were all (and everyone but Tito remain) highly prolific and groundbreaking Latin artists… well, Larry is Jewish, but still. I actually got to see Roberto play live down in Puerto Rico and I met him afterwards. I gave him a copy of my E.P. and challenged him to find the place where I sampled him. Real mellow guy.

The Impressions: I’m So Proud
Taken from the album The Never Ending Impressions on Paramount (1964)

Curtis Mayfield: Underground
Taken from the album Roots on Curtom (1971)

Curtis Mayfield: Billy Jack
Taken from the album There’re No Place Like America Today on Curtom (1975)

Forget Nas. N-A-S are the letters that spell Curtis… well, they don’t really, but–shit. That doesn’t make sense. Dammit. Umm…

Way before the QB, the C.M. was dropping street science as the every day agenda. Over the signature seventies wah and hand drum grooves, and punctuated often by dulcet string arrangements, Curtis Mayfield’s inimitable falsetto was the unrelenting, insistent voice of Black-Power-Era urban America. The voice of the Impressions. The sound of Superfly. The bespectacled archangel of the ghetto. Mayfield impressed his music and his message as deeply as any soul artist I can think of. Marvin and Stevie included.

The thing is, aside from Superfly, most folks haven’t heard his best stuff. With a career that spanned more than twenty years, and well over a dozen albums to his name, his most provocative and evocative work has largely remained undiscovered. Curtis. Roots. There’s No Place Like America Today. Back to the World. From his earliest work with the Impressions through–dare I say–his last recordings in the Eighties, the man went head-to-head with The Man, politicians, the dire situations in the streets, while somehow maintaining the aura of neither of a rouble-rouser nor a cynic, but the sage uncle. A friend. A lover (listening to a few of his ballads could make Machiavelli’s heart flutter). An infinitely wise man, never pedantic, always reassuring that better things were to come. He struck the perfect balance of conscience, moralist, reporter and optimist.

O-Dub over at Soul-Sides threw up a very worthy post a few weeks back. And I’m sure other Curtis blogs have made their way around. Truth is, the Mayfield catalogue is so rich, it deserves full exploration, from beginning to end. These tracks are the just something to get your mouth watering. If you have the time and a few extra bucks to drop, the feast is yet to come. You won’t be disappointed.

A quick look at the tracks: “I’m So Proud” is a good example of Mayfield’s (and Jerry Butler’s) strong balladeering skills from his time with the Impressions. The Never Ending Impressions is a fantastic album that scores up there with People Get Ready as one of my early favorites.

“Underground” is taken from what is perhaps Curtis’ best album (excluding Superfly?). As a whole, it’s funk/soul whirlwind that jumps all over place with its content, rhythmic complexities and overall urgency. From the stomper “Get Down” to the melancholic “Now She’s Gone”, Roots is a masterpiece for real.

There’s No Place Like America Today is one of those albums that seemingly comes out of nowhere and goes so deep you can’t shake it. It helps too, that I discovered this album after I had erroneously concluded that I had heard all of C.M.’s great work. “Blue Monday People” is on here as well in addition to some suprisingly moving Jesus songs. But “Billy Jack”…. just, Billy Jack. While it bears similarities, I prefer this track to a song like “Freddie’s Dead”, though it is certainly more simple compositionally and lyrically. Perhaps because of that, it knocked my socks off when I first heard it. And when those horns drop a little ways in–just look out. WARNING: IF YOU ARE MAKING OUT WITH A GIRL WHEN THIS SONG IS PLAYING, DIRTY THINGS MAY HAPPEN. BEWARE THE HORNS.

Check it out, the everbusy Future Boogie crew from Bristol have put up a new mix that I made for them and have kindly included a little feature interview on the true nature of “Gumbo Funk”. Thanks for the shine guys!

Some tunes you’ll hear on the mix: Last Poets, Ralfi Pagan, Patchworks, Gilberto Gil, Gaspar Lawal.

There’s about three hundred pounds worth of other good music on the site, including multiple mixes from Gypsy Bogdan (of Turntablelab) who I’ll be spinning with this Thursday – DEEP CRATES!

I’ll put up some of the fruits of my Puerto Rico digging session this weekend, stay tuned…

Willie Bobo: Spanish Grease
Taken from the album Spanish Grease on Verve (1965)

Willie Bobo: Broasted or Fried
Taken from the album Do What You Want To Do… on Sussex (197?)

Willie Bobo: How Can I Say Goodbye?
Taken from the album Do What You Want To Do… on Sussex (197?)

There are moments when we can transcend all the infractions perpetrated against us by our neighbors. When, maybe for a week or a day or an hour, we can forget the Sunday morning ranchera hoe-downs, the persistent, cackling drunken laughter at 4 am, the occasional menacing glare. All it takes is that one connection that had hitherto gone unrealized. Yesterday, I found that link in Willie Bobo.

The neighbors in question are a tremendously unruly bunch (5, 6, 7 of them? Who knows?). All men, Mexican and few centro-Americanos. They work as mechanics at the quick lube joint around the corner and are all equally fanatical for a good Norteno ballad. (Read Tuba, Accordian, Crooner, Weird Laughter, Et Al). It strikes me that they must be nearly deaf (or if not, soon to be) for the decible level at which they listen to their tunes must register near the roar of a departing rocket ship. They usually start drinking around eight thirty on Sunday morning; the musica begins promptly at eight.

Ranchera is just one of those things that, try as I might, I absolutely CANNOT condone. I want to be able to appreciate it. But I just can’t. And I had all but given up hope. The weekly party became known between my roommate and me as The Sunday Morning Skull-Fuck. But last Sunday, something changed. I heard a distinctly conga-tinged rhythm. The playful horns. Then, at long last, “Guajira…” I could have cried for joy.

I could do eight posts on Willie Bobo–and maybe I will; DON’T TEST ME SUCKAS!–but I’ve limited this particular update to the track that my neighbors blessed me with the other day, as well as a pair of very different, VERY funky Bobo joints off an early Seventies album recorded on Bill Withers Sussex label. The Bo-Gents record is apparently a bit of a rarity, but if you ever see it around, don’t blink, buy it. It’s the closest thing to a straight funk album that I’ve ever heard from the prolific conga-player.

The vocal track, “How Can I say Goodbye”, may take a minute to grow on you. But have faith, it will. The voice, which will perhaps initially strike you as borderline loungey, drips and oozes it saccharine sweetness all over the beat, until the whole mess becomes like a savory tub of sugar-free pudding. You know you’re not supposed to like it, but you do.

As for “Spanish Grease”, it’s classic. Richard Dorfmeister threw down a naughty little latin-house version on a past volume of Verve Remixed. Definitely worth a look.

I should bake my neighbors a cake.