Saturday Evenings: Stay In, Sit Up and Switch On

We recently had our kitchen done up. It was a freebie from our housing association which we just could turn down. Or as someone else might have put it, "an offer we couldn't refuse." The freebie, however, meant that I could not join my wife and daughter on our much-longed-for holiday in the Caribbean. My son and I stayed behind to ensure the work got done properly.

On the first evening, after the contractors had finished ripping out all the kitchen units and cupboards, taken out the floor and gone home for the day I stood in this temporarily-empty, dusty space. This is the same space in which I had stood and sat down for more than ten years with pots, pans, plates and cutlery around me. Yet, I suddenly felt swept away by the power of the echo of my voice bouncing off the kitchen walls. I also felt exposed. The bareness of our soon-to-be new kitchen had both an eerie and hypnotic effect on me. My voice sounded louder than usual and this made me self-conscious, a trait I am not aware of possessing in great doses.

I realised that this absence of furniture was more than the mere replacement of a set of units for another. To me this moment meant the instant realisation that to be human is also to hear your real voice bouncing off the walls and coming back to you. It is being you, the real you. The bare kitchen with its un-plastered walls, wires hanging out and bomb-hit look, made me think of how we “dress up” our voices as we grow up, sometimes inadvertently, hiding our real ones.

Not my kitchen, but it still feels eerie

There is nothing like a window with no blinds on (we asked the contractors to chuck them away as we were buying new ones) to make you confront the outside world. Especially when the new lamp is one of the brightest ones you have ever seen in your life and you can’t see out. You are being seen but cannot return the favour fully. All this made me think of the various layers we use to cover (disguise?) our voices, in the same way that we buy a kettle, a toaster, a smoothie-maker and a microwave to match the colour on the walls of our kitchens. I know my voice is the tool through which I let the outside world know the assumptions, the platitudes and misconceptions my brain churns out. I also know that that might not be the real me all of the time. Through the blinds-free window I was being exposed in a manner I had not considered before. Plus, I also felt as if I was not in control of this transaction: audience outside my house vs actor under bright, fluorescent lamp. It was the monologue I had never prepared for and which I had no intention of delivering.

For the duration of the work in the kitchen I avoided the room at night. Tough action to take as my CDs and other belongings were in our “office”. Still, I moved as much stuff from our office to my bedroom as I could. Nevertheless, there was still a strong attraction in me towards the kitchen in the same way that the main character of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart must have had towards the man he kills. I have never been convinced that Poe’s creation hated the old man completely. I always thought the short story was a metaphor for that which lives within us and yet we cannot name. Sometimes it takes an eye – and the imaginary threat it poses to us – to awaken our most primitive reactions, some others is the dismantling of a whole kitchen. You might see this whole scenario as nothing but flumadiddle but it did make sense to me then.

I was glad when the contractors began to furnish the room. The boiler came in first, then the electrics, then the floor, the cupboards, the surfaces and the sink. By the time my wife returned from Barbados, there was just the handyman to pop in and apply the final touches. The day the project manager and supervisor came to carry out the inspection, I was pleased to see that my voice had got back to the level it was before. A voice that was all “dressed up” and ready to go.



© 2015

Next Post: “Urban Diary””, to be published on Wednesday 23^rd September at 6pm (GMT)

Killer Opening Songs (Illusion by Gregory Porter)

Every now and then a singer comes along who, on first listen, knocks you off your feet. His voice sounds fresh and yet it also has a touch of the old classic about it, his compositions have a modern approach but with a strong nod to the past.

The artist Killer Opening Songs has in mind is LA-born, but currently Brooklyn-based, new jazz sensation Gregory Porter.

Porter’s blues-baritone voice has been ubiquitous in the last couple of years. Not just his voice, mind, but also his tremendous physical presence. A bear of a man, this gentle giant would have been a loss to the jazz world had a shoulder injury not put paid to his American football career. He had been offered a full scholarship to San Diego University based on his sporting prowess. This is one of those occasions when K.O.S. has to say to itself: “what if...?”

Luckily, there’s no “what if...?”. Porter’s debut album, Water, was released in 2010 and it immediately earned the newcomer a Grammy nomination. It is easy to imagine why. The Killer Opening Song, Illusion, slowly peels away the layers of Porter’s many talents from the outset. What renders the track poignant is the subject matter: heartbreak. Not just any heartbreak, this is heartbreak that burns inside, that leaves myriad unanswered questions behind: “I've been searching all the corners of my room/sweeping dust and memories beneath the carpet that we purchased/somewhere on some cool retreat, somewhere in Africa somewhere”

That is just the start of what can be considered already a soul classic. As autumn songs go, this K.O.S. works perfectly for this time of the year, Porter’s articulate lyrics against a background of fallen yellow, orange and auburn leaves. In fact the weather plays an important part in this Killer Opening Song, with the singer building up a beautiful and yet painful simile based on his emotional paralysis: I've been checking for the weather and the time/I'm like a bag above that's dropped and drifting in the wind/that blows from hurricanes that comes just after grey clouds fill my eyes.

Honeyed tones, however, is not the only distinctive feature of Water. This is a very well-balanced album moving from musical brawn (1960 What?) to the title track, an invitation to address life’s essential questions using one of nature’s essential elements. The record closes with one of the better covers K.O.S. has heard recently, an a capella version of Feeling Good, a composition made famous by the inimitable Nina Simone. Well, Gregory Porter’s take on it is just as good.

If you are looking for a satisfying, all-round jazz CD with a dash of blues and old soul thrown in for good measure, Water is the album. And it all starts with Illusion, a monster of a Killer Opening Song.

© 2013

Next Post: “Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music”, to be published on Sunday 24^th November at 10am (GMT)

Killer Opening Songs (Mississipi John Hurt)

OK, let the game start. Killer Opening Songs calls and you respond. You see? It's a simple game. He shouts out:

- Blues!

And you answer:

- Sonny Boy Williamson!

Right, that's not what our Regular Section of Introductory Songs with Homicidal Tendencies had in mind. Let's try again, shall we:

K.O.S.: Blues!
You: Buddy Guy! Important figure in the Chicago scene.
K.O.S.: (frowning) Blues!
You: Muddy Waters! 'Hoochie Coochie Man' and 'Got my Mojo Working'. Anything else?
K.O.S.: (getting more and more exasperated) Blues!
You: Robert Johnson! The blues Faust. Made a pact with the devil: 'I went to the crossroads, fell down on my knees/I went to the crossroads, fell down on my knees/I asked the Lord above, have mercy, save poor Bob if you please/Uumb, standing at the crossroads I tried to flag a ride/Standing at the crossroads I tried to flag a ride/Ain’t nobody seem to know me, everybody pass me by.'
K.O.S.: (almost screaming at the top of his lungs) Bluuuuuues!
You: (calm and composed): Howlin' 'six-foot-six almost three hundred pounds size seventeen shoes raging-chainsaw voice' Wolf, Elmore 'King of the Slide Guitar' James and John Lee 'I lent my "Boogie Chillun" to Led Zeppelin for their special BBC session "Whole Lotta Love" blues medley' Hooker.
K.O.S.: (Face red like a ripe tomato resembling one of Noel Coward's Englishmen) Right, you Mr/Miss/Mrs/Ms Wise, this is for you: Mississippi John Hurt.
You: What? Who? Where? When? Why?
K.O.S.: (smiling like a Cheshire cat) Yes, you heard me right. Mississippi John Hurt.
You: What the f...?
K.O.S.: Oi! Mind your language! No swearing on this blog, right? You don't know, do you? Sit down, dear and enjoy the ride.

In order to offer readers, fellow bloggers and followers a tasty three-course musical meal tonight Killer Opening Songs had to travel to the hill country town of Avalon, Mississippi. This, at the time K.O.S. visited it in the early 1920s, was a region without much importance beyond its own natural boundaries. The only note of interest was the railway going north towards Grenada. It was there that K.O.S. first came across Mississippi John Hurt's music, the artist featured tonight in our regular section. In a town whose inhabitants barely reached the hundred Hurt was the equivalent of a radio, or the as-yet-to-be-invented television.

There is a remarkable element in this musician's oeuvre. And it is the fact that he has always been classified as a folk singer. Now, there's nothing wrong with that label, as long as it is not detrimental and limiting to the artist, which, sadly, in John Hurt's case, is. This guitarist represented one of the rare examples of household music, that is, music performed by an amateur with no interest in financial gain. His art, as you will see from the clip shown below was non-conventional in that it employed no gimmicks and was not manipulative. John Hurt's music was as distant from self-pity or sexual innuendo as today most mainstream pop artists are from making good, challenging and meaningful music.

Although Mississippi worked the dance circuit, his music was not designed for public performance in the same way a Muddy Waters or Howlin' Wolf's song was. His was music to be listened to whilst chilling out and shooting the breeze, preferably whilst lying down on a hammock and downing a cold beer (you, not K.O.S., he is teetotal, so, maybe a cold lemonade would be better).

Mississippi John Hurt was born on 3rd July 1893. His dignity, humor, peculiar guitar style and tender, expressive voice made him the most popular artist of traditional country blues. Unfortunately he had to wait until the sixties to be 're-discovered'. Although John Hurt never pursued success he did land a recording session in New York in 1928 after an Okeh scout came to Avalon searching for new talents for Narmour and Smith. The depression in 1930s USA led to a reduction on the pressing of records and as a consequence Mississippi's promising start stalled. He went back to his farm where he lived quietly with his wife Jessie and their fourteen children. Then a few decades later the unexpected happened. Having heard and been impressed by 'Avalon, My Home Town', the folklorist Tom Hoskins decided to go and meet John Hurt in 1963. The result of that meeting was a revival of the forgotten musician's catalogue and public performances at the Newport Festival, college campuses and folk clubs in Washington D.C. followed.

Mississippi John Hurt died on 2nd November 1966, Grenada. He was probably one of the strongest and possibly the last link, in K.O.S.'s opinion, between the griot, the bard commonly found in West Africa and the nascent blues story-teller in the American South who had developed between the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the twentieth. His amateurish yet very skillful approach to guitar-playing, his lack of a signature song and his emphasis on the guitar as an accompanying instrument were all elements that contributed to Mississippi's rich and smooth music.

So, why is 'Spike Driver Blues' a Killer Opening Song? Because in the absence of a real album or actual discography K.O.S. gets to choose which melody would have made it to the top of the trackslist had John Hurt had the opportunity to put his compositions in a formal record. Although, saying that, when it came to choosing tonight's offering, this particular tune had fierce competition from "Stack O' Lee Blues"; that's another very good outing by this much underrated troubadour. In the meantime, though, sit back and enjoy this musical gem.

Next Post: 'Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music, Ad Infinitum' to be published on Thursday 11th June at 11:59pm (GMT)

Copyright 2009

Killer Opening Songs (Bob Brozman)

This week, Killer Opening Songs has gone bonkers. Yes, my lovely little puppies. K.O.S. has finally lost its marbles, gone loopy and bananas. The reason? Bob Brozman.

Last week K.O.S. went on a tour of the Deep South. It drove around the weather-beaten houses and on the dusty roads of Memphis, jumped on a boat down the Mississippi river and near the Dockery's plantation crossroad it ran into Robert Johnson's ghost.

At some point on its journey K.O.S. came across a railroad track stretching for miles on end, and whilst wearing its jeans, workman's boots, braces and check shirt, it had an idea that became an action before it had time to think of the consequences: to hop on a freight train that would take it anywhere up north. And would you believe it? As if on cue, a gigantic metallic beauty shuddered to life and started rolling down the track.

Wagon after wagon filed past in front of Killer Opening Songs' eyes, until a flat, steel platform beckoned Our Weekly Rendezvous to jump on board and who did it find there, sitting cross-legged on the middle of the floor? Why, Mr Bob Brozman himself, sporting a beatific wide smile and holding his eternal companion, a slide guitar.

It was rather a payback visit really as Brozman had already arrived chez Killer Opening Songs last summer just gone via a compilation of African Blues performers ('The Rough Guide to African Blues'). Amidst the outstanding collection of singers and musicians in the album, the American bluesman 's collaboration with the kora player Djeli Moussa Diawara made K.O.S. sit down and listen in awe. 'Maloyan Devil' became the hit of a summer that never was. The song was included in Bob and Djeli's 2000 album 'Ocean Blues' and as you can ascertain by clicking on this link, even on Amazon's market place (one of K.O.S.'s favourite haunts, by the way), the price remains quite high for this record. The song, however, had enough drive and energy to set K.O.S.'s pulse racing and that's why the men in white turned up one day unexpectedly at K.O.S.'s doorstep to ask certain questions about arms flapping aimlessly whilst walking on the pavement and dance steps à la Gene Kelly in 'Singin' in the Rain' performed on the road, thus, bringing the traffic to a halt every now and then.

Still recovering from this out-of-this-world experience, Killer Opening Songs has made a compilation of some of the most outrageous and mind-blowing clips of Bob Brozman for you my dear readers. What's the Killer Opening Song, then, I hear you ask K.O.S.? Like here and here, K.O.S. is breaking the rules, it is cheating again, but you know what? It doesn't care, this guy (although born in new York and not a hobo per se) is right there in the pantheon of the greats with Robert Johnson, Howling Wolf, Woody Guthrie, Jimmie Rodgers, Mississippi John Hurt and Boxcar Willie and fret not, my little puppies for these blues luminaries will have their special session here at Killer Opening Songs.

The first two clips are typical mouth-waterers. They last just over one minute each, but Bob's virtuosity is palpable. The third and fourth clips are main course and dessert rolled into one, especially the last one. I don't usually upload dodgy youtube videos filmed with a hand-held camera in a sweaty bar and with lots of people talking over the music. However, I felt compelled to put this one up on my blog this week because it is a beauty and no, there is no one talking while they are playing, and the quality is fairly decent. Bob is accompanied by Djeli Moussa Diawara on the kora and the Japanese Takashi Hirayasu playing the sanshin, a three-stringed banjo-like instrument.

I hope you enjoy this musical offer. Killer Opening Songs would like to join, too, but its movements are somewhat limited by the straitjacket.

Copyright 2008