Alcoholic Faith Mission - From Denmark, With Love

Only last Friday, I was introduced to a band which renewed my faith in music and the music business.  Alcoholic Faith Mission are from Denmark, a country you do not hear from all that much when it comes to the rock world.  When I headed up to Portland's Doug Fir Lounge to catch their live show, I really didn't know what to expect.  I had not conducted any searches, had not tracked down any of their music on the Net.  I went up blind, expecting something worth seeing (they came highly recommended by friend Cam Carpenter who had seen them the previous week in Toronto) but not expecting what I saw.  And heard.

First off, the venue was smaller than I'd imagined, ready to seat three to five hundred at best, shoulder to shoulder ("seat" is the wrong term, as the only seats lined the walls--- the floor was open and empty).  The stage was small but with enough room for six Danes and their surprisingly small amount of equipment.  The sound system adequate, but I had no idea how much so until I heard the music.  I could not imagine sound emanating from so small a stage being as large as it turned out to be.

I walked away from that show convinced that I had just seen one of the best shows I had ever seen.  The sound was excellent and huge and the music way beyond my expectations.  Alcoholic Faith Mission is one of only a few bands I have seen which was actually better live than they were on record and I say that knowing that had I heard the music first, I would say it anyway.  Their new album, Ask Me This, is terrific, but there was no way they could recreate in the studio the power and cohesion that they had that night.  It was wall-of-sound incredible in places, flowingly moving in others and flat out an experience I will never forget.  Rather than waste my time on words, I shall instead take you on a little Youtube journey through the music in which I have so much faith (and, yes, I am on a mission--- no, it does not include alcohol).  Keep an open mind and open ears and you will hear just a portion of what I recently heard--- a band on the way up and confident in its mission.  May you enjoy the journey (and may they gain fans, as they so much deserve).

What can I say?  The music says it all.  Yet another band added to my "must follow" list.  And the hit's just keep on comin'.

Thoughts On Tom House... Get Him While You Can.....

I sit here listening to Tom House's 'til you've seen mine and jesus doesn't live here anymore and my mind is racing and my heart pumping because I know House (his music) and I know Woody Guthrie and Jim Ringer and Ralph Stanley and a whole host of musicians who have and do play music in the styles of yesteryear and I'm wondering why it takes a movie like O Brother, Where Art Thou? to make us pay attention when it is right in front of us. And I'm wondering why all the respect for the blues and not so much for the mountain music (although recent years have been kind to the genre) which is also part of our musical heritage and in fact parallels the blues in so many ways. How can you separate the trials and tribulations from one section of the country from another, whether they be African-American or Backwoods, when both are so closely related in terms of poverty and social caste and isolation from what was once termed “mainstream” America? And I'm wondering why I have not seen this before. Perhaps I was trapped by the electric syndrome (for years, if it wasn't electric, to me it wasn't guitar) or perhaps I was so plugged into my white middle class upbringing that I saw everything through rose-colored glasses because I have to tell you, things could not have been much better for me in spite of the injustice and heartache which must have been there but I ignored. I am talking music here--- specifically music--- because I have always seemed to have seen the world from that perspective, but isn't it strange how my little world of music ran and runs parallel to the real world?

Is there a difference between the jazz and blues which emanated from The South and Chicago and the music which came from the mountains and the prairies? As I age, I hear it less and less and it makes me think that there is something wrong with a world which makes minor distinctions major and ignores that which is held in common. Ha! Listen to me. “Things”. If anyone said that to me about music, I would probably punch them in the nose. To me, music at its worst is a living organism. At its best, it is a miracle.

But back to House. While I'm not at a loss what to type into the computer to find information about him, I wonder why everything has to be so word-oriented. I mean, sure, I could type in “folk” or “mining songs” or “mountain music”, I suppose, though they probably wouldn't help much (although with the addition of his name, they might). Words are okay and in some instances show their worth, but wouldn't it be better if we could search by culture or a string of musical notes or even a feel? I hear so many things on the two albums I am limited to and they are limiting in themselves as well. Thirties and forties--- depression and war. The descent into panic for survival and the panic of war. The rise of the middle class and the rise from poor to middle. Barn dances and barnstorms. Moonshine and liquor and the descent into a hell of denial. The joy of being alive and the accompanying gloom.

Life. That's it. House writes and sings about life. That's what the old songs were mostly about, those that came from the roots. Life and death and everything in between. Or maybe living and dying because life is life and death is death and they are final by definition. Living goes on and dying goes on way too long, sometimes.

House serves up his songs on the two albums I am hearing in the cloak of backwoods and old-timey. He jumps forward and backwards in time like one of those cloggers I used to watch on TV broadcasts of The Grand Ole Opry, this time out of the backwoods of the thirties and the next time out of the fifties folk scene and the next almost current and embedded in the relatively new Americana culture. And occasionally, he breaks out and does something that doesn't fit anywhere, like Down In the Hole, a song ready-made for a string of bands like The New Pornographers or The Raconteurs to drag into their midst. Or maybe rockers like Ireland's Minnows or Riptide Movement or Canada's Redgy Blackout.  Surely, any one of those bands could make something quite impressive out of it.

Do you see what I'm saying? Of course, you don't. I am under a spell here and you're still thinking The Beatles. Or Woody Guthrie. Or Bob Dylan. See, this is what House does. He drags you out of yourself and forces you into another time (and, just maybe, another dimension). I mean, if you're yourself when you listen to Down In the Hole, you just flat out are not listening. And when he deedle-deedles and di-de-di's, he has a reason. I mean, House tells stories, even when the stories don't have a beginning or end.

Down In the Hole... You know what I hear? I hear Kaleidoscope (the American band from the sixties) doing Oh, Death. I hear a deeper-voiced Tim O'Brien reaching deep and singing about troubles and woes. I hear Cumberland River serving up deep-fried mountain music straight out of TV's Justified. I hear backwoods music with more than a touch of the blues. Or I hear it as a modern rock classic: a little acoustic plucking beneath short bursts of electric slide over a bedrock of bass and Hammond organ and beneath-the-beat drums. Any number of groups could do it and do it up right.

Of course, Tom House has already done it up right.

You know what I think is really cool about House? Most people who hear this would say he was born out-of-time, that his music is of a different era. House doesn't care. He is doing what he does and genre-be-damned, and therefore it is not out-of-time. It is perfectly in-time.

But why take my word for it? Here is a link to an old article written by none other than Greil Marcus with whom I only occasionally agree but with whom I agree on this. Take it away, Greil!

Oh, and if you want, you can listen to him here. I recommend that you do.

These Are Videos (and Music) You Don't Want To Miss.....

Man, I've been so busy trying to keep up, I got further behind.  Musicians are cranking out excellent stuff so fast that computers can't even keep up.  (Remember when we thought that would never happen?)  Well, I can't catch you up, but I can sure as hell give you a leg up on the good stuff.  And there's plenty, trust me!  So let's stop this palaver and get on with it, starting with.....

VINNIE ZUMMO/Ringo..... 

I know that few of you have heard of Vinnie, but what if I told you he was a former guitarist with the Joe Jackson Band, would that help?  What?  You don't know who Joe Jackson is?  What are you, twelve?  Anyway, Vinnie was knocking around on his own the whole time he played with Jackson and has put together some very adventurous albums (and songs).   Vinnie himself just turned me on to what I thought was a brand spankin' new video of a track titled Ringo, except it wasn't new at all.  It has been languishing on YouTube for three years!  Doesn't make a nevermind, though, because it is one killer track reminiscent of, say, that foursome from yesteryear?  Think white--- very white.  And set yourself.  Don't get confused.  Those guys all over the screen are, in fact, Vinnie, cloned especially for this tribute to... Ringo!

And we've only just begun!  Here's someone else you need to meet.....

FREEDOM HAWK!

You gotta love a band which slogan is "Rawk with the Hawk!" and I do.  They are hard rockin' Sons of Virginia and get my vote for one of the best hard rockin' bands out there.  Right up there with Era For a Moment.  A couple of years ago, they put together this video, a both dark and light look at night life and the dangers which lurk.  The first couple of times I saw it, it weirded me out a little.  It was the girl's eyes, I think.  They are so big and beautiful.  And.....  but I won't give it away.  You have to watch it to see what I mean.  Just know that whatever you think when the song starts, it all works out in the end.  Ladies and gentlemen, let's Rawk with the Hawk!

Shade/The Llynn and Jane Show.....

Shade is one of the best of the unknowns.  Jane Gowan a year or two ago headed to Toronto from Vancouver BC but kept the base of her band together--- herself and Tim Vesely, formerly with Rheostatics and a recent find of mine, The Violet Archers.  After completing their second album, One Last Show of Hearts, Gowan and Vesely put together this little masterpiece reminiscent of what Neil Young did on his first solo album.  A light instrumental which is better than it really should be.  I love these guys!

Terri Tarantula.....

I can't think of a bigger Walkabouts fan than Gary Heffern, so when he tuned me in to the new album, Travels in the Dustland, I listened.  I liked the band back in the old days, when they were trying like hell to separate themselves from the bottle-necked Seattle scene.  They are even better now.  More mature, more mystical...  just more.  Gary also plugged me in to Terri Tarantula, maybe better known as Terri Moeller, of whom I had no concept at the time.  Well, I do now.  Moeller is drummer with The Walkabouts, but she is all Tarantula on her own.  She released an album back in  2009 (self-titled) and is readying a new one as I type.  Here is a video I had to share with you because while I dig what The Walkabouts have done, I am really intrigued by the direction of the Tarantula.  In fact, if I was fifteen years younger and she was fifteen years older, I'd stalk her.  For the music, of course.....

Carrousel.....

Not to be confused with the (I assume) French band of the same name.   These guys are from Florida and the creation, basically, of one Joel Piedt, who assembled a very good lineup of musicians and singers to help him put together what they label "dream-pop/folk", which is a fancy way of saying spacey and melodic, I guess.  Well, they are Pop, that's for sure, and they have that spacey edge, but where they excel, at least on this track, is in the creation of a composition the center of which is... for lack of a better word...  a composition.  Piedt obviously has an aurision (the aural side of vision) and is intent on bringing it to life and does so very well here.  Here's the deal on the video. though.  The video is split-vision, one side run forward and the other run backward.  I haven't quite figured out what they're doing, but I am now obsessed with doing so.  If you find the magic combination, please let me know.  And check these guys out!   (Listen to more here)

Rheostatics.....

Remember a few videos ago where I pointed out Rheostatics and The Violet Archers?  Well, Tim Vesely was the core of those bands and here is one of many videos I have found of the best known one--- Rheostatics.  These guys were major label good and actually got their shot.  Was Claire a hit?  In Canada, I would assume, but I have no idea if they made any dents in the US.  They should have.  This is smooth Pop from a guy (and band) I am gaining more respect for every day.  From 1994, for Chrissakes.  Like I said, I'm getting further behind.....

Ticktockman.....

When I heard these guys, I was floored!  The seventies- and prog-leaning sound knocked me to the curb.  Very powerful band driven by a drummer possessed.  Whenever I hear bands like this, I immediately point to musicians, for they are the ones who appreciate musicianship.  These guys have it in spades.  Don't let what I've said stop you from hearing what I think is one of the best bands to come out of the Pac Northwest since The Sonics and The Wailers.

Kink Ador.....

When my buddy Joe Lee (NinenOut) told me I would like Kink Ador back in what seems like the Stone Age, I figured I would like them.  Joe has never really steered me wrong.  What I didn't know as how much I would like them.  Since the first blast of Animal hit my ears, I have been tethered to them practically umbilically.  While they have a new "three-sided single" ready for you to download for free!!! (and it's a good one), I keep going back to this song.  Perhaps it is the semi-Marvin Gaye intro or maybe it's the cool video, but I absolutely love this!  After watching this, you are probably going to want to download the free single.  I heartily recommend that you so--- before buying the first two albums, of course.....

Poor Young Things.....

It seems like most of what I listen to these days is Canadian, don't ask me why.  Maybe it's because they have a soul unlike others or maybe it's just because they're nice people--- or so the generalities demand (makes for some good comedy, eh?).   Well, Poor Young Things fill the bill nicely.  This straight ahead acoustic rocker comes from what I have labeled "The Stairwell Sessions".  I have a feeling they will be affording major studio time soon.

Hannah Miller.....

I know.  I've posted this before.  But you have to understand that I live in my own world and she is prominent in that world.  Is she in the real world?  I have no idea.  Reality sucks!  In my world, Hannah is a star, as this video attests.

Susan James.....

Man, I learned a lot watching this video---  that Cops and boy scouts need an upgrade on their uniforms, that cars could fly (hmmm, wonder why they can't now?),  that I need girls in miniskirts and minidresses dancing the frug to really make me happy, that that bus is one really cool looking mobile, that I need to go to California (even for just a bit and to see my friends, of course) and that Susan James is a sweetheart in spite of the many restraining orders she's had delivered to me.  It also makes me wonder what we're doing to this country.  That is some beautiful footage, especially at the end.  From Susan's fine, fine album, Highways, Ghosts, Hearts & Home.  Watch this, then buy it.

Dave Gleason & The Superlatives.....

I have no idea what connection Gleason has to the band, but he would appreciate that I gave them credit in the header because he's that kind of guy.  He supports as much as plays, is always ready to lend a hand and will pick a guitar at the drop of a hat.  Dave is a West Coast boy transplanted to Nashville, probably because he likes to eat, which both sucks and doesn't.  It sucks because the West Coast is denied Gleason's twang except through his recordings or the occasional visits he can afford.  It doesn't suck because Nashville has the resources for Gleason to do what he loves doing--- playing live.  He is one hell of a picker and writes excellent tunes (Blue Side of the World is only one from an album worth of solid tunes, that album being Turn and Fade, his latest).  This is only one side of Gleason, who can rock with the billy and out-twang many of the better-knowns Nashville (and other places) has to offer. 

Tom Mank & Sera Smolen.....

With help from friends Kathy Zeigler and Amy Merrill (Tom would never forgive me if I didn't give credit).  I could tell you about Tom Mank.  I could tell you a whole lot.  I could tell you that Mank will be better known after he is gone, though he certainly has no intentions of going anywhere anytime soon.  That is a sad statement to make because he is just now coming into his own as a musician and, as far as I can tell, most people are too busy to slow down and hear what he has to say and play.  As a songwriter, he is world-class, and I have to give part of that credit to wife and world-class cellist Sera Smolen who gives Mank enough room to create the stunning songs he does.  This video comes via The Netherlands, one of the few places which appreciates the music and the man.  From Mank & Smolen's last album (and it is a killer), Paper Kisses.  And, sure, this is live and not a full-blown Hollywood (or Bollywood) production, but I offer no apologies.  Mank can't afford something like that.  Chances are, when we meet, I will have to pay for the beer.  Won't bother me a bit.

Laurie Biagini.....

There are few musicians out there who work as hard as Laurie Biagini.  She is always writing, constantly networking and recording and everything else you should do to promote yourself.  It has gained her a fairly large following and deservedly so.  She writes and sings straight out of the sixties, wrapping her songs around beach blanket surf and Beach Boys with a side of Annette.  Her music is up and her attitude the same.  I suggest, in fact, that you turn this up.  Might want to sprinkle a little sand in the kitchen for a little dancing as well.  From her latest album, A Go-Go Girl In the Modern World.  It's groovy.

Gary Heffern.....

I'm ending this little piece with a video I didn't want to include among others because it is, frankly, one of immense depth.  I know Gary Heffern and I know what some songs take out of him and I don't think there has been a song which has taken as much.  It is both dark and light, past and present.  It is beautiful and yet stark in a why-is-this-enlightened-world-so-unforgiving kind of way.  I think this is probably the best thing Heffern has ever done and may be, after we all are dead and gone, what he will be remembered for.  Set yourself.  And watch and listen closely.  This is something else.

You know what sucks about posting these things?  I feel like I'm always leaving something or someone out.  It's like hanging up the phone only to remember something you should have said or remembering that concert you just couldn't miss the day after the show.  No matter, though.  I will find those videos and post them later.  I hope.  Until then, enjoy these.  And keep the faith.

GUILTY PLEASURES..... When your hard drive crashes

It had to happen.  For months I have been awaiting the inevitable crash of the old hard drive and kept telling myself to back the damn thing up, but do you think I could put one brain cell in front of another and then another and then another to accomplish said task?  Hell, no.  So I hit the bathroom on a gloomy afternoon and come back to a computer screen filled with error messages with lots of click/cancel icons and think, crap!  Oh, I had another computer in the wings.  It was the lost information I mourned.  Lots of mp3s--- demo tracks sent to me by hopeful musicians, interview transcripts, albums downloaded at the behest of PR people and managers, notes for possible future columns--- all gone.

The worst loss, of course, was my recording program.  I have (er, had) a program for recording over the phone which I used with regularity.  I recorded interviews with people I had somehow tracked down and talked into a short talk, some new and intriguing and some older and historically important--- to myself, at least.  I lost chats with Wayne Berry, Steve Young, Wayne Proctor (We The People), Paul Curreri, Devon Sproule and many more.  Thing is, I did have backup on many of those.  I had sent transcripts of interviews to most of them and the attachments were saved in my gmail account.

The music, though?  Pretty much gone.  Most I received through yousendit and the window of opportunity had long since expired.  Some I received directly from PR people or musicians and I suppose I could approach them again, but I won't.  Sigh.

Yep, I'm pretty much starting from scratch.  In a way, it is not a bad thing at all.  I had buried myself in work and probably needed a new start.  Every day I spent feeling guilty about the mountain of work I had to do and my inability to make a dent in it.  Music sat stagnant in my files because I had no time to get to it.  Reviews and articles started in a fit of energy lay untouched after hitting the brick wall.  It is nice to put much of that behind me.  It is like waking to a nice sunny day after a week long drunk.  Sober, at last.

That sobriety has led me on a circuitous path that I am now enjoying.  You see, much of that music was saved on my mp3 player, so I still have access.  Not to all, but to some.  That some I am now listening to and if I ever thought I had been writing out my ass, I should hear it.  I am happy to report that all I hear is the outstanding music I had written about in glowing terms---  buried, perhaps, and unknown.  But outstanding.

This is a discovery.  My discovery.  Not of the music I have found and loved, but the fact that it has stood a test of time--- not much time, but enough.  This is the story of my mp3 files--- music downloaded for review--- most of which I had already reviewed.  This is a look back to what music could be, if only we let it.

BRIGHT GIANT.....

I have probably written more about Bright Giant than any artist or band outside of Research Turtles and what the tracks on the old mp3 tell me is that that is warranted.  The entire new album (Kings & Queens of Air) is on the mp3, plus five rough tracks from those sessions, meaning basic tracks minus the final touches.  There is a rough, guttural sound to the band--- distorted guitars, snarky feedback, primal drums--- which I find gripping.  Des Moines.  Who knew?  The most intriguing factor in these recordings are the subtle differences between rough track and finished product.  Listening to You Saved Me before the vocal touches shows me how much a small change can make.  It's raw but good in its earlier form, but after the background vocals (which are very much in the background) it becomes downright magnificent. When band member Josh Davis sent me the rough tracks, explaining that they were unfinished, I asked him what more he could do.  Little did I know.  Kings & Queens of Air, by the way, is one of the best albums recorded this year--- if you like primitive and raw.  Worth it for the guitar and feedback alone.

JENNY GILLESPIE.....

Finding Jenny was a fluke.  I had stacks of scraps of paper on my desk, each scrap a note from the past, and was forced to clean the desktop one day.  I found a list of artist names on one and searched the web sites and there she was.  At the time I'd scratched her name on that paper, she had had a new album released, Kindred, and I had probably meant to send a request for a review copy.  Somehow it slipped through the cracks and I was forced to listen in hindsight, if you will--- to an album a year old or more.  With good music, I am always finding out, time is not of the essence and I slipped into the ooze of what others termed "shoegaze" and have since refused to leave the hot tub.  Her voice is floating and ethereal on most tracks, the music smooth and relaxing.  The Wurlitzer helps (for those who are unaware, the Wurlitzer piano is an instrument of incredible beauty when used properly) as does the production.  Gillespie stays just far enough from formula to make the album listen worthy and close enough to make you feel at home.  She recently went to New York to record a new album. I thought, anyway.  I see that she has a new EP, Belita, available through her Facebook page.  I have yet to hear it, but I will soon because, wonder of wonders, there is a link to a free download.  Damn, but life is good!  But wait!  Lest we forget, Kindred is still there for the taking.  Just sayin'.

THE DEMENTIANS.....

When I stumbled on to these guys, I found myself in uncharted waters, and yet they weren't.  For one thing, this is only one guy, David Jacques.  Suffering from the typical Canadian inferiority complex, I suppose, he decided to market himself as a full group, and it does sound like it.  He lives north of rap and south of pop, a strange combination that he sometimes makes not only palatable but engaging.  Imagine crunching guitar, intricate pounding rhythms and Beach Boys-smooth harmony vocals  with Gruppo Sportivo-quality lyrics (GS were the kings of lyrical content in the seventies).  Original and solid.  From silky pop (Dedicated To You) to crunching rock with touches of trip hop (Pistol Pete) to a combination of the two (Middle Class Revolution), this guy nails one after the other.  He even tosses in an updated version of Rock 'n Roll Hoochie Koo (and why not?  Everyone else is doing it).  Is this guy good?  All I know is that every time I hear him, I'm impressed as hell.  Check his music out on his Facebook Page.

MORRISON & WEST.....

For those who have been looking for that modern old-timey sound, Cahalen Morrison and Eli West have something quite excellent.  Think O Brother, Where Art Thou and you're getting close.  They combine Stanley Brothers, Louvin Brothers, Blue Sky Boys and the modern side of  Tim O'Brien and Chris Thile to make their own modern sounds from the past.  Not long ago, they released The Holy Coming of the Storm, a very impressive collection of what I assume are all original compositions.  The sound is sparse--- mostly acoustic guitar, mandolin and banjo--- but sparse is partially what the sound was always about--- a direct unamplified channel to the eardrum.  The vocals are spot on, the playing remarkable and the end result a coup, of sorts.  To hear it, you would think it really was the holy coming, storm or no.  A big, big thumbs up.

OLLABELLE.....

There aren't that many bands which I would drive miles for, but when Ollabelle  played the Alladin Theater in Portland, Oregon this past summer, I was there with bells on.  I had spent the previous couple of months diving into their new album Neon Bluebird as well as solo projects by band members Glenn Patscha (Songs From the Jefferson Highway) and Byron Isaacs (Disappearing Man).  The show was incredible (read my take here) and I walked away (well, I drove away, anyway) with a new respect for Ollabelle and their depth of talent.  While I am slowly backstepping through their catalogue, I return to Neon Bluebird again and again.  There is something about a band which can take traditional gospel, blues and even traditional pop music by a composer like Stephen Foster and make them all not only palatable but ear worthy.  Their originals?  Outstanding.

KEITH MORRIS & THE CROOKED NUMBERS.....

I'm glad I don't live in Charlottesville PA because I would go broke attending shows.  Pound for pound, that city has more quality musicians than anywhere outside of New Orleans and Texas.  Keith Morris is but one example, but an example of note.  He recently released a new album titled Love Wounds & Mars and dragged me back to the early seventies without dating himself (but like he always tells me, somebody has to).  He writes in a style which defies genre, which means that you pretty much have to label him rock if you want to get close.  He put together an outstanding band and they handle the songs with deft hand.  This is nothing like his first effort, Songs from Candyapolis, which has much more of a dramatic flair.  This is just straight on rock--- some harder, some softer--- which seeps into your skin after a number of listens.  Worth it for the background vocals on Bordertown alone. Right now, available from limited sources, but soon available worldwide.  Ask Keith.

ELEPHANTOM.....

I used to spend hours surfing through cdBaby in search of music, which is where I tracked these guys down.  They had an album available for free download (Swim Toward the Sun) and I bit.  There is so much potential in this band, I hardly know where to start.  Musician-wise they are solid, though they have a tendency to wander on Swim.  It is an adventurous and  worthy wander, though, and I have found myself sending emails occasionally to see what they have been up to.  The good news is that they are close to completing a new project.  If they continue in the direction set by Swim, it will be most welcome to my ears.  The music?  At times, it has a classical edge mixed with jazz and at others they dally around the stage (meaning theater-oriented tunes).  While they do not sound at all like Babe Ruth, their approach does remind me of that band on their second release, Amar Caballero, in that they are sometimes pushing envelopes to an extreme.  Stay tuned.  BTW, the link above is for their new website.  It looks like they need to tweak a few things, but it is still worth visiting.

PAUL CURRERI.....

While this is not about Curreri's new and excellent album, The Big Shitty, one of my top picks for this past year, it is about just how eclectic Curreri can be.  A little over a year ago, Paul sent me mp3s for a project he had been working on titled Greenhorns, V.1.  No notes, no nothing.  I listened and I enjoyed.  It was a strange mixture of jazz, new age and roots music  which I found intriguing but confusing.  Turns out that Greenhorns is a group put together by artists (musicians, painters, filmographers, photographers, etc) to support young farmers.  Maybe an attempt at taking the Green Movement up a notch?  I checked out their website and know as much now as I did before.  I don't have the time to delve into the real reasons behind the group, but the music I heard was evidently written for a film being produced by that group, more than likely to help support that group.  It bugs me that I don't have time to research it (I am really behind on my music projects), but it seems noteworthy.  I hope it is.  Paul put in some major time and effort producing the music. 

THE BIG MOTIF.....

I could have deleted The Big Motif from my mp3 player long ago, but I didn't.  I didn't because the two EPs they have released (The Daily Motion and Does It Weigh Heavy) are fantastic albums for what they do.  On the first, what they do is trip around bar music, giving their songs a heavy and jazzy edge not unlike that of Moby Grape about the time of Live Grape.  By the time they handed us Does It Weigh Heavy, they had morphed into a heavier three man band, guitar upfront with pounding rhythm section.  Not as heavy as Hendrix but as heavy as, say Bugs Henderson during his days with The Bugs Henderson Group.  It is an onslaught without the massacre.  I listen to these guys because I love the raw feel of the bars and of the better three man bands.  I listen to these guys because they are good.  From Colorado.  Must be the thin air.

The hardest part of being a writer and writing about something you really love is that you are allowed revisitations only occasionally.  In a way, the computer crashing set me back but in others, it allowed me to enjoy music I listen to all too occasionally.  These are but a few.  May the gods keep your computer safe and running, but may you have the experience I have just enjoyed.

You've Come a Long Way, Baby--- Women in Music

That's right, sports fans, it's once again time for my cyclical "Music You're Missing" rant and you know how much fun we have with that.  Let's see, awhile ago we had our dog-themed videos (mainly to offset the incredibly huge number of cat videos--- sorry, folks, but they will always be nothing but dog food on the hoof as far as I'm concerned) and before that, videos with a bacterial flair.  The high school reunion one was fun (when you look in the mirror every day, you really don't know how much you're changing, do you?) and how can we forget the Tribute to War post proving that war, too, can be fun.  This time around, we give the nod to Women in Music, which would be Women in Rock, but what the hell is that anymore?  The genres have been gut shot and the music all over the walls and who better to prove it than the artists we'll look at here.  See, I'm old enough to remember when women were a minor segment of the music biz (now, don't go getting your knickers in a knot--- I'm trying to make a point here), a very small percentage of the gate, to use the biz's own terminology.  Thank the gods that those days are gone.  Today, I cannot even imagine a world in which artists of any gender, shape, size, color, nationality, smell, or mental persuasion are not given their just due.  The question is, how much are they due?  Here's your chance to find out.  Here are ten over-the-top exceptional female artists who are struggling somewhat to be heard.  You tell me what you think they're worth.  I think they're priceless.

HANNAH MILLER--- O Black River

Hannah Miller is new to me.  I have no idea why.  This is her fifth release and she obviously has fans somewhere, but I had somehow missed her completely until I stumbled across her sampler on Noise Trade.  Every time I come across a musician this talented with a lengthy musical past, I wonder how I missed them and what more I could be doing to spread the word.  I should not be finding Miller on the fifth try.  I should have found her at the beginning.  Regardless, she has a new mini-LP (six tracks) from which the song in this video was taken and what can I say?  It's a monster.  We should be hearing plenty more from her.

SYDNEY WAYSER--- Wolf Eyes

Ah, Sydney.  The girl with the unique voice and the ability to write to it.  I don't believe I've heard an album more creative than her last, The Colorful.  She pulled out all the stops, utilizing toys and work tools and God knows what else to put together an album which after hundreds of listens still amazes me.  I have been awaiting her new album for what seems like years and it is finally just around the corner (hopefully, a winter release).  Titled Bell Choir Coast, it may not be the hurricane of creativity that was The Colorful, but if this song is any indication, it won't have to be.  Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Sydney Wayser.....

STAR ANNA--- Alone In This Together

Star Anna hails from Ellensburg, Washington, former home of The Screaming Trees and King Krab and now home to The Putters and The 667s.  Her voice is a rubber band slightly stretched, her songs a potpourri of the personal.  Alone In This Together is both title of this song and her new album, released by the prestigious Local 638 record label.  The song is a look inward.  The album is a step forward.  We'll be hearing much more from her, I am sure.

SKYE PAIGE--- Paint the Town Red

I have this friend who lives in Charleston, South Carolina and he's always digging up local and regional music treasures for me to hear.    Through him, I have been turned on to the likes of Th' Legendary Shack Shakers and Southern Culture On the Skids and The Shaniqua Brown--- all excellent, all hot, all on the edge.  Well, he's done it again.  You may not have to have a sense of humor to enjoy Skye Paige, but it sure helps.  I've seen the live videos and all it does is make me want to see her live, period.  She's a trip.  But you be the judge.

SARAH WHITE--- I. L. Y.

I have been following Sarah White for a number of years now and have yet to be disappointed.  She began her musical life solo and with bands, put together Sarah White and the Pearls, went solo again and has just recently reformed the Pearls.  She is a Charlottesville staple for a reason.  Here is the latest video.  Watch and learn.

DEVON SPROULE--- Warning Bell Cycle

Don't ask me what this video is.  I asked Devon once and she started to explain, but she is a busy, busy person and has more important things to do than answer my inane questions.  Like make music.  You know how people sank their money into AT&T and General Electric and IBM and made a fortune?  I'm putting mine on Devon Sproule.  You can ignore her all you want right now, but in ten or twenty years you will be able to deny her no longer.  She is a musical force all her own.  If you don't think so, listen to Don't Hurry For Heaven or, better yet, her latest, I Love You, Go Easy.  Here is a semi-preview of the new album.  This was evidently meant to be part one of four.  I have no idea where the other three are, but we can hope.  Here is Part One of "The Warning Bell Cycle".  Enjoy.

I know that this is not a Devon Sproule video but I have to show you what a great person is Devon.  While on a long flight, she pulled out her laptop and put together this video of a song by Shaun Cromwell on whose album she sang but whom she had never met.  It is a great song, a great duet.  It is a tribute that Devon did it.  You should watch it.

SIMONE STEVENS--- Let Me In

I found Simone Stevens via Fiery Blue's Paul Marsteller.  Marsteller was just beginning to work with Stevens and Gabe Rhodes on what would be Fiery Blue's first album.  He contacted me, asking if I would give the tracks a listen and critique them, as it were.  No critique necessary.  I immediately got the pop sensitivity of the songs, the behind-the-genre feel.  More than that, I got an introduction to Stevens who, it turns out, has a musical life all her own.  This, from her Right On Time album, should be explanatuon enough.

ZOE MUTH & THE LOST HIGH ROLLERS--- Before the Night Is Gone


I am not a huge fan of country music though I don't mind a pick and a grin now and then.  It has to be clean, fresh and exciting to get my attention.  Sometimes, fun will do.  More than anything, it has to be good and the formula pap Nashville is cranking out these days just isn't.  Not to me.  I will say this again just as I have a million times--- a trenchcoat and a naugahyde cowboy hat do not good country music make.  Zoe Muth, my fine feathered friends, wears neither a trenchcoat nor a naugahyde anything, but she and her cohorts The Lost High Rollers play as clean and refreshing a country as I've heard since the fifties and sixties.  I love this girl's voice and the way she writes and presents her songs.  Nothing fancy here, just honest, great (yes, I said great!) music.  Those who have seen this video before are excused until the next video, though I have no idea why they would want to be.  This is as good as country music gets.

GILEAH TAYLOR---  The Light Princess

Gileah Taylor and I have been musical acquaintances for years.   She is one of a number of Contemporary Christian artists (erm, religious rockers, for those who don't understand the term) who pretty much live in their own little world but for the few who have broken into the secular, such as The Newsboys and Switchfoot.  I have friends who wouldn't listen to religious rock on a bet.  Without even betting, they lose.  Some of the best rock I've heard over the years has come from the religious side and Gileah plays some of the best of that.  I tried to find a video of a song from her latest release, a double EP titled A Crooked Line/What Kind of Fool, which I believe are available individually.  It's a  killer.  I have settled for a song from her previous album, one she did with The Ghost Train.  But there is no drop in quality, trust me.  Gileah delivers the goods here, just as she always has.

LAURIE BIAGINI---  Head In the Sand

I won't say I saved the best for last but I do know that I saved the fun for last.  Laurie Biagini, hailing from Vancouver B.C., proves that you don't need 1960 and a stretch of California beach to make good music.  A handful of years ago, she was a ninety pound weakling getting sand kicked in her face by supermodels in bikinis.  Today, she eats sand for breakfast.  Here's a little surf-oriented rock  from her impending A Go-Go Girl In a Modern World album.  Cue Frankie and Annette.

Truth be told, I could pluck gems like this from the Net all week long and not even scratch the surface.  Today is a far cry from the days of The Singing Nun and Dorothy Collins (you know--- The Hit Parade?  God, I must be older than I thought).  Women are taking their rightful place on the stage, some of them kicking guys' asses all over it, in fact.  They have come into their own, if there is a their there.  No if's when it comes to the music, though.  They have, indeed, come a long way.  A long, long, long way.

DAVID BROMBERG, OLLABELLE Rock the Aladdin

Ollabelle: L-R  Isaacs, Patscha, McBain, Helm and Leone

Dateline: September 17, 2011.  Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. America and all the ships at sea.  Up-and-comers Ollabelle road the coattails of guitar impresario David Bromberg into Portland, Oregon's Aladdin Theater last night and turned the town on its ear.  Rather than give the Bromberg constituents one and then the other, the two forces threw together a hurricane of musical force, close to three hours worth.  Like they would say in Variety, "Boffo!"  Or something to that effect.

So Walter Winchell might have announced the September 16th show at the Aladdin the next morning in his syndicated column, were he still with us.  It was "boffo".  It was even better than that.  It was a party.

But first, allow me to set the scene.  The Aladdin sits a door off of the busy traffic conduit of Powell Boulevard in Southeast Portland on SE Milwaukie, a two-lane trip into a mixture of past and present, the neighborhood a potpourri of hippie and blue collar with mere hints of money here and there.  At one time, Milwaukie was a somewhat main thoroughfare, a connection between Portland and the Gladstone/Oregon City area, but is now a small paved road connecting small communities, rural in the midst of city.  The Aladdin sits on the very edge of city as is evidenced by the volume of traffic on Powell, but all one must do is close the ears and face away from Powell to feel the pull of the past.

The theater readerboard lists David Bromberg because he is, indeed, the main draw, but Ollabelle follows.  A walk towards the ticket window presents multiple posters advertising musical acts, all upcoming--- Pat Metheny, UFO, Montrose, Basia.  The doors to the theater are plastered with Bromberg posters with one solitary and small Ollabelle poster to the right.  Washed in blue, they stand in a pose, very natural but very focused.  In another hour or so, I would see them strike similar poses--- sans Amy Helm who had other important duties to perform as wife and mother--- only with instruments in hand. 

The box office was doing brisk business handling ticket sales to Bromberg as well as future shows and taking care of will-call and the guest list.  The line was already long, curving from the window all the way past Classic Pianos, the store next door, housing a number of just that--- classic pianos.  A quick glance told me that the audience's mean age was probably fifty or so, hair colors mostly gray, men sporting long ponytails if not balding.  My people, I suppose, for my hair grayed long ago, and more social and gregarious  than myself, though not more anxious than I to see and hear the band and the music.

When they opened the doors, it was a rush to get in, which told me that either most had to use the facilities or it was open seating.  Turns out it was the latter, though I wondered because as I entered, there was already a lo-o-ong line at the counter where they were serving up Lagunitas and Mirror Pond ales along with a wide variety of wines, all by the glass--- erm, plastic cup.  Before long, the crowd, which had grown tremendously, was abuzz with activity.  Looking around, I saw that these were, indeed, mostly my people, ancient by today's standards, home-fed on vinyl but willing to switch formats at will.  Androids and iPhones lit up the theater, people checking messages or sending them, as attached to their lifelines as any fourteen year old kid.  The ones who eschewed the electronic attachment reverted to their old ways, talking loudly so as to be heard above the growing noise.  As anxious as most were for the party to begin, they had wine and ale and Bromberg in common and attached themselves each other.  I sat in the upper right corner of the theater, watching, knowing I had lost most of my social skills and hoping I would never have a need to use them again.

On the inside, the Aladdin is an old theater as much given to vaudeville as well as movies.  The deep stage would have been suitable for dancers and jugglers and any of the acts of that period and the wings were the wings of Hollywood through which actors would enter and exit, stage left, as it were.  The purple backdrop, lit sparsely, was a perfect backing for the equipment strewn in front--- Byron Isaacs' bass setup to the right (my right, their left) and just to the right of Tony Leone's drum set.  An amp to the left of the drums sat alone and then there was the keyboard setup of Glenn Patscha on the far left--- keyboards stacked and plugged into an amp, a guitar on a stand to Glenn's right (actually, his left).  That lone amp next to the drums I was to discover belonged to Fiona McBain, as did the microphone and stand placed directly in front.  There was a cozy feel and music made its way through the PA system, just loud enough to occasionally interfere with the gravelly beehive of noise in the crowd. 

When the lights went down, the sweaters and coats and flannel shirts (this is Portland, after all) took to their seats and the theater went totally black, the only lights courtesy of the exit signs and the Androids still percolating news from the outside world.  To its credit, the crowd hushed quickly and waited patiently.  A few moments later, a flashlight appeared and guided the bad members to their posts.  A few plunks and thuds later, it was "Ladies and Gentlemen, Ollabelle..." and the lights went up with the first notes of Chris Whitley's Dirt Floor, a combination of rock, country and gospel and a song from their new album, Neon Blue Bird.  The sharp, loud and muddy sound quickly gave way to balance as the vocals and instruments plowed their way through the mixing board on their way to the PA Speakers, Voice of the Theater-type boxes stacked high on both sides of the stage.  By the end of the second song, Byron Isaacs' Brotherly Love, the sound was down and the band was cooking with gas.

Brian Cullman, who has in the past worked with the band collectively and individually, had warned me.  These guys are really, really good, he had said, but live they are even better.  I needed no convincing.  As they worked their way through their all too short set list, I heard songs, original and otherwise, which almost defied genre (which many musicians and writers use as a holding cell for the term "Americana").  There are underlying patterns, of course, like folk and gospel and blues, but Ollabelle twisted them into configurations all their own.  Even Taj Mahal's Lovin' In My Baby's Eyes, arranged very similar to Taj's version, stood out.  The band worked their way through the set carefully, giving the audience time to adjust between songs.  Not all the songs were original, the aforementioned Mahal song an example, but even the least original, the traditional Down By the Riverside, came out clean and fresh.  You have to have something to pull off a song like that (unless you are backed by full gospel choir), and they have it.  They have a full range of voices (even without the superb voice of Amy Helm--- I can only imagine what it would have sounded like with her there) and an ability to arrange songs to sound new while retaining their structures.  And they can play!  Man, can they play!  Patscha is a monster on the keyboards and can play a mean guitar as well, drummer Tony Leone is  rhythm perfect on the drums and might probably be a bit more out front with his guitar if he wasn't surrounded by the talent within the band (he can sing, too).  Byron Isaacs makes me appreciate bass players even more than I have in the past, his playing seemingly effortless, though anyone who plays know that it is not.  And Fiona McBain?  Please forgive my dinosaur ways, but when I was growing up in music, women did not play the way they do today.  They strummed and, even then, mostly on acoustic guitars.  Well, McBain turned the acoustic into a musical instrument and when she plugged in the electric, my heart soared.  Not since seeing Devon Sproule work her magic on guitar on the handful of live videos I have seen via YouTube have I heard the crisp, emotion-laden riffs Boyd laid down behind the music.  She was high-heeled refreshment, and I was not the only one who thought so.  Us dinosaurs evidently think alike.

The audience gave Ollabelle a decent round of applause at the end of their set, probably lessened by the number of people needing to relieve themselves of or get even more drinks.  I laid back and accepted the respectful handclaps.  These were, after all, David Bromberg's people and he was who most were there to see, though one could hear from the crowd that Ollabelle had made some inroads.

When Bromberg finally made his appearance, much of the crowd was surprised to see Ollabelle there as well.  Bromberg had made his way onto the stage during that opening set, I have been remiss of saying, adding an extremely tasteful electric lead and bonus rhythm guitar to many of the band's songs.  This time, though, he was there for himself.

What can I say about my first time seeing Bromberg except that he is Attitude on the Hoof.  He grabbed the mic and took over and the crowd loved it, as did Ollabelle.  He blasted his way through songs from his new album as well as a handful of his old standards and was having a ball.  He was self-deprecatingly funny in a laugh out loud way and you could almost see him making his way on the standup comedy circuit, still with guitar in hand.  And he obviously loved playing.  He loved playing with Ollabelle, making the comment as the band left the stage in the middle of the set, making way for his acoustic songs--- "Great fucking band, huh?"  The crowd agreed.

Bromberg's set totaled almost two hours, most with band, and by the time the concert ended, the musicians and crowd were a bit worn.  They still wanted, and got, an encore, but Bromberg is no spring chicken (nor am I) and the theater pulled the plug.  The party was over and, unlike in the days of my youth, I was going home, eardrums intact.  No ringing, no throbbing head, just memories of a great night of music.

I waited around because I had promised to say hello to Patscha and Isaacs, for whose solo albums I had written reviews.  I chatted with Glenn for a bit before the phone rang and it was Isaacs, trying to find me.  We headed next door to The Lamp for a quick drink and chat, Leone and McBain making their way there a bit later.  They were both fried, having had little rest over the past thirty-two hours or so.  Obstacles had been strewn in their path as they made their way from East Coast to West--- dropping a child off at Grandma's, going to the wrong airport, missing their flight when they finally arrived at the correct one, etc.  They looked exhausted and I wondered how they could have made it through close to three hours of musical intensity without collapsing, but they did.

When their equipment had been loaded into the truck, we said our goodbyes.  I had a two hour drive myself and was feeling a bit jetlagged.  As I drove away, Dirt Floor was going through my head and it repeated itself until I found my way to the freeway, before which time I had pulled off the road and plugged my mp3 player into the car's sound system.  It was Neon Blue Bird, Patscha's Songs From the Jefferson Highway and Isaacs' Disappearing Man all the way home.  I made a mental note to pick up a Fiona McBain album.  And the rest of Ollabelle's albums.  I might end up homeless, but I will damn well have the best record collection of any homeless guy out there.  And, yes, I called them records.  They will always be that to me, regardless of format.

NOTARY SOJAC (erm, WEEDEN)... The Lost Chapter

Before I get to the meat of this post, let me say one thing:  Notary Sojac was one of the best bands to ever grace the Pacific Northwest.  Ever.  There were others, of course, but none related to their followers as much, none took the music more seriously nor did any lay down as solid a footprint.  Their history is one of idealism and music taken to an extreme with few regrets, if any, for the mistakes made and the goals unmet.  It is a story you have to hear to understand and one day, if I can ever get my shit together, I will write it.  I have the notes and I have the music.  All I need is 401 gallons of coffee and the time to weave the pieces together.

For now, I will talk about them as if they were mere footnotes (they were not) because many of you don't know Notary Sojac and the magic which surrounded them.  Most of you never experienced the pleasure of sitting around Skinners Butte Park on a hot weekend afternoon, watching and listening to NS and Portland cohorts Sand give you a high no joint could match.  Most of you missed it.  It was a supernova which lasted only a few years but was so intense that it created a legend of its own.  No album (though one was recorded), no Hall of Fame (though many of the musicians around Portland and Eugene at that time would gladly vote for their inclusion), no money.  They were communal, loose and, more than that, all about the music.

They didn't just happen, though.  The various members played in their own towns and within their own circles until the stars aligned.  Steve Koski, in fact, spent a few years honing chops until he was ready.  He moved to L.A. for a short time in 1968 to replace The Weeds' guitar player, who had been hospitalized.  By that time, the band had turned into The Lollipop Shoppe and had released an album on UNI Records.  Steve stayed with the band, recorded a few songs with them and when they returned to Portland, they morphed into Weeden.  I mention this because Koski recently ran across some Weeden tapes, buried amongst memorabilia of the Sojac years (Younger brother David had them.  Wottaguy!) and cleaned them up as best he could.  They are rough and recorded during rehearsals, probably with a single mike hanging from the ceiling.  The sound is muddy and the music cuts out here and there and the mix is nonexistent.  And they're some of the best damn tapes I've ever heard from that period.

The first nine tracks reek of the psychedelic folk scene of the time, just singer Fred Cole, singer/guitarist Ron Buzzell and Koski, who also sings and plays guitar.  The songs vary from schizophrenic to folk pop and beyond and could have been background music in any of the underground stoner movies of the day, at times bordering on the folk side of Love and at others the rock side of Barry McGuire.  Cut to shot of beautiful lithe long-haired blond girl wearing flowing and flowery dress riding bicycle down a side street in San Francisco, long-haired dudes turning heads to watch as she passes, sun shining, life good.  You know.  The American version of Georgy Girl the hippie version of Midnight Cowboy--- salt lightly with folk/psych and simmer.  As rough as these recordings are, as hard as Cole struggles to hit certain high notes, I find these songs intriguing at the very least.  In fact, the more I listen the more I'm intrigued. 

None other than Jack Meussdorfer (Sand) broached the subject of Weeden during a conversation a few years ago.  You ever see them?  No.  You missed something.  They were the band we all looked toward.  They were way out in front.

In front, indeed.  A cursory listen to the next eight tracks confirms it.  This is the electric side of Weeden, straightforward and in your face.  Fred Cole gets a chance to turn loose (he was a bit reluctant to let go on the acoustic tracks, possibly due to the way they were recorded) and the band?  Jesus!  This is schizophrenia in a whole other way.  Amps cranked, band wound tight, they give you what for, psychedelic style (which today would probably fall within the 'jam' category).  What Are You Gonna Do? has a touch of later Notary Sojac mixed with early Santana, maybe.  Tim's Song is, indeed, Tim's song, a nine-plus minute jam which gives drummer Tim Rockson room to solo (seems like everyone was doing it back then) and Shoutin' At You is pure Pac Northwest garage.  Crazy Now is a Koski original which he would drag out on occasion in later years, first with Notary Sojac and later, Sojac.  Gettin' a Piece starts out normal enough before turning freak-out.

Then there is Carolina.  Carolina was the song which impressed me most that afternoon at Skinners Butte Park.  It had something that few other songs I had ever heard had---  a free-flowing jam-based feel that I couldn't even begin to describe.  A rolling bass, riffing and solid drums, fantastic organ and three guitars ripped me a new one and I was sold.  Well, folks, this is where it came from and how cool is it that I can hear it pre-Notary Sojac and in its "original casing".  Undoubtedly, when NS got hold of it, they started putting their individual stamp on it, but it's the same song with somewhat the same feel.  NS, during the years they were together, motored through a number of originals and covers, tossing some to the curb and adding others to keep the sound and feel fresh.  I thank the gods that they kept Carolina.  Every single time I saw them, I waited for it and was thrilled by it.  It's not like I could go home and put it on the turntable.  No album, remember?

Koski does something very interesting to cap the Weeden collection off--- he MIDI-izes the first two tracks on the CD.  Burgess Home and Burgess Blend are arrangements taken from the old Burgess Home Weeden track and recorded in 2010.  Koski always was adventurous as hell when it came to music and I get it (and I dig it).  Add a redone 2010 version of Weeden's Without You and there you have it.  A look back from the heart and soul of Steve Koski.  He was not all there was to Weeden, but he is the one who is keeping it alive.

An aside:  When researching and gathering notes for this little dip into the underground,  Koski contacted me with this little bit of trivia.  While he was in L.A. with the Lollipops, he co-wrote two songs with Fred Cole.  He explains it this way:   "Two songs from the movie, Angels From Hell, which I co-composed and performed on, were released on a soundtrack LP in 1968 or 1969. (No longer available, I'm sure....very obscure.) We played at a "love-in" type of rock festival in the film, but only a few seconds of the group are on screen).  They are also on the compilation CD, The Weeds, aka The Lollipop Shoppe. Curiously, I am not listed or mentioned in the CD liner notes nor as co-writer on the two songs (Who's It Gonna Be? and Mr. Madison Avenue)."

I have no idea if anyone out there remembers Weeden.  Until I heard this CD, I had only heard about them.  This is real roots music--- the roots of The Warloks and Notary Sojac.  And I am now wondering if anyone has some old Warloks tapes sitting around.  I can only hope.

If you do remember Weeden, I would happily forward any requests you might have to Koski.  If you are as intrigued by the old music, raw and alive, you might be able to talk him into marketing it in an "as seen on TV" kind of way.  Maybe.  What the hell, eh?  Worth a shot.

And that statement about no albums?  It is basically true.  Notary Sojac released no album during their short existence.  They did, however record one.  There are plans to release it when the funds become available.  In the meantime, you can purchase a double-CD package of rough tracks recorded live during the '72-'73 period.  Cheap, too.  Sample the tracks first.  Like Weeden, they were not recorded for release, but it sure makes me happy that they released them.  Here is the link.