The Garbage Man and the Ambulance

So anyone that visits Chevron Says knows that I’m double dipping on this review, but c’mon, it’s summer. I’m sure you understand. Plus, the album is way cool, so read about it again here!

-L

I never expected to become a fan of the ukulele.

My only encounter with one involved Stargirl, the eccentric highschooler from the Jerry Spinelli book, who would bring her ukulele to school and sing and play “Happy Birthday” to the other kids during lunch.

So when Jake Shimabukuro’s live album showed up in the mail, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

But clearly I’ve been missing out. Shimabukuro made a name for himself long before this album, with well-known Hawaiian groups Pure Heart and Colon. He’s been the musical guest for Carson Daly and Conan O’Brien (more than once). And this live album now marks the seventh addition to an impressive list of solo releases.

These aren’t the kind of songs you can recognize right off the bat (with the exception of his “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” and tragically timely “Thriller” covers, both of which are amazingly well-performed), but Shimabukuro makes each song amiable and catchy with his masterful flare.

This album is difficult to describe. The ukulele has a lighter, tinnier sound than a guitar. It resonates like a steel dream, but Shimabukuro keeps his songs from becoming generic island jams.  And you would never guess that a ukulele has a more limited range (with four strings instead of six) from the way he plays it.

A listener’s interest will be piqued before opener “Trapped” comes to a close. Shuimabukuro’s skill is evident within the first minute – this man is something special.

“Piano-Forte” immediately offers a different sound from the ukulele. This number is a slower, light jam that throws a sound quality that is just, well, prettier than any instrumental guitar number I’ve ever heard. Though “Back Two-Part Invention No. 4 in D Minor” keeps this similar, lighter sound, it’s a completely different style of song with a series of racing riffs.

Which is indicative of this whole album. Shimabukuro brings a versatility with his songs that is amazing not only on his instrument, but for a performer in general.  The sound and pace of his songs are never replicated within his set.

“Here’s one about being a kid and drinking one too many Shirley Temples” laughs Shimabukuro as he kicks off “Me & Shirley T.” This track has a youthful swagger all its own. The chords have a John Mayer, Eric Hutchinsonesque kind of quality, but Shimabukuro takes the genre and makes it his.

“Five dollars Unleaded” is a slower, softer number, but that underlying buoyancy of the instrument is never lost.  Even when the second half of the song takes a somber turn, the sound still resonates in a in a way that a guitar just can’t. What Shimabukuro can do with a ukulele is astounding.

“Wes on Four” has Shimabukuro’s fingers flailing as he sails up and down the neck of the ukulele. If you close your eyes you can see the frenzy of his hands.

“Sakura Sakura” kicks up the Asian feel of his sound with slow, lilting riffs. “Dragon” keeps the smoother feel with sporadic, intricate runs,  which followed by the racing, melodic “Yeah.”

Shimabukuro pulls out all the stops on “3rd Stream.” Just when you think the songs couldn’t get any faster, this track kicks up the fevered pitch to an entirely new level.  I’ve never been able to handle this kind of racing music without feeling frantic, but Shimabukuro has his instrument totally under control. Riffs that have the potential to be nail-biting become wildly enjoyable.

Encore “Blue Roses Falling (Hanahou)” takes the ukulele back to the light, touching sound of “Piano-Forte.” A strong contrast to the closer, but no less appreciated. No matter how that ukulele sounds, Shimabukuro makes it work.

Like I said, this is a difficult album to describe, and an even more difficult to do justice. It’s the kind of album that works in car, during a Saturday morning cleaning frenzy or for some napping tunes.

If you have any interest in instrumental albums or are just looking for some summer jams, try out Jake Shimabukuro. You won’t be disappointed.

-Liz

Today was the real start of my summer. In the morning I stopped by the grocery store to pick up a copy of The Inquirer. I cleaned, I cooked, I gardened. And this evening I snagged the first CD off my stack of promos from the school paper, settled down with a bubble bath and a book that you will be reading about in a few days, and checked out Jenny Gillespie’s Light Year.

I don’t usually have much time for these piano-driven folk girls that have the emotional boys and girls swaying quietly as they gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes over some books in the library. Gag.

Gillespie has got the chops, though – she’s got the crooning voice of the American Sofia Talvik and the intricately blended harmonies of Enya’s early stylings. Her album touts her music as the in the vein of Feist, Regina Spektor and Martha Wainwright.

Which makes you wonder how she stands out.

I’ll admit, when I first spun this a few months ago, I thought that same thing. But after checking it out with a clear head, I’m finding that the nuance in the tracks sets her apart.

Her songs are simplistic and clear, with poetic lamentations and memories of loves past and the movement of life. Opener “Vanishing Point” and “Nightmares & Appointments” are pretty, with prominent piano and light drums to fill out the sounds under her vocals, but nothing too extraordinary.

But then “Hydra” hits the three-minute mark, and Gillespie’s up-tempo piano takes hold and carries the number in a strong contrast to the first half of the track.

It’s the little moments like these that make Light Year stronger than a listener might originally think. Random flickers of violin, accordion, trumpet and bells add a flavor that’s subtle enough to go directly unnoticed, but important enough that the song would be flat without.

Her words aren’t earth-shattering, but they’re strung together nicely. “This is not the right house / It looks too small / And the trees are all cut down” she chants on “Slow Clouds Break.” Everyone has had that moment of returning to somewhere that now seems unfamiliar, and she snags the image and pins it down perfectly, followed by the patter of cymbal taps that touch Gillespie’s flare for varying shades of sound within the same song.

Jenny Gillespie is night music, meant for a night drive through the woods or for lying in bed with a book. She’s got a delicate style that does well for date music or a quiet moment alone. Her voice is gorgeous as all get-out, and her instrumentation is solid. So grab that folksy girl at the coffee shop you’ve been trying to talk to and buy her a copy of Light Year today.

-Liz Wagner

Boo. I’m back.

-Liz

Forget what you know about Adrian Brody as a pianist or King Kong chaser. Mos Def? Man, nobody watched Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (well, excpet me – R.I.P. Douglas Adams). Also, Beyonce is way better at singing the blues than she is at whining about not having a ring. Jeffrey Wright may find himself some staple scripts in a flurry of James Bond flicks, but it must get boring after awhile.

I’m pretty skeptical about movies seemingly thrown together with stellar casts. Cadillac Records is a movie with the best of the best that knocks most in this recent surge of musician movies out of the water. Why? Because, for the majority of the movie, it’s about the music.

Narrated by Cedric the Entertainer as Willie Dixon, Cadillac Records is the story of Leonard Chess and the blues and rock ‘n roll dynamo created through Chess Records. The movie opens with Chess as a junk man and his first musician, Muddy Waters, as a sharecropper dreaming big dreams. When they meet up in Chicago at Chess’ night club sparks fly (quite literally, you’ll see), and these two are off and rolling with harmonica god Little Walter (Colombus Short) in tow.

These men ran with a sound and a style that’s never been seen before. They rolled in Cadillacs and wheel and deal in the most raw, unabashadlyexciting music to be found. While Waters and Walters tear up radios across the country (man, the harmonica playing in the first hour kept my knees perpetually weak), Chess digs in and reels in the heavy hitters of the age.  Howlin’ Wolf (Eamonn Walker), Chuck Berry (Mos Def), Dixon, and later, Emma James (Beyonce) a all unite under the Chess Records studio roof.

And for awhile, things are good. The musicians are getting air time – and rich. Record sales are up. People from every demographic across the nation are jumping at the chance to hear this new, wild sound.

And, as is the case with these musician movies, it all falls apart. Chuck Berry’s indignation shines through as he flips on his car radio one day to hear the Beach Boys lifting one of his songs note for note. But poor Berry’s rage has to take a hiatus as he’s courted off to jail on account of his one vice: young white girls. The forefathers watch as a new wave of young musicians burst onto the scene – and jack their sound. James is blowing off radio shows to do smack in her soon to be repossessed house while Chess falls for her, hard. And Little Walter dies in Water’s foyer. 

Then, the biggest blow of all: Elvis Presley. Presley’s allure (and skin color) pull the rug out from under the stars in South Chicago.

With tensions on the rise, Chess tries to get out – and has a heart attack within feet of his building.

Like I said, the movies strength comes from its focus on the music. As much as I love Almost Famous, this film is mostly a timeline of the music, not as much the drama everyone gets caught up in. I’ll admit, some of these monumental figures of the blues age had names I’ve never heard before, and it’s great to know this movie is providing other uneducated miscreants like myself to discover some of the greatest guitar players and singers who ever lived.

And these actors aren’t playing off their fame. They put a genuine interest into their roles, and you can see them becoming Muddy Waters and Chuck Berry with a surprising level of sincerity. And, well, Brody is pretty to look at.

Like music? Like movies? Go rent Cadillac Records today.

So for the past two years I have spent my spring break in Kentucky building houses for low-income families. It’s a spectacular experience, and one that has been very profound and grounding for me. I spend a week living for 43 other people in one giant room with two bathrooms, no Internet and barely any cell phone service.

During my week cut off from the world, I had a lot of time to think about what’s important for me. And though I’m still not entirely sure if journalism is my number one life choice, writing on this has been very carthatic for me after a week of exhausting news stories, and I could feel myself getting stressed out when I started to let the poor Garbage Man rust in the Internet world.

So I’m back, and though this post is more about me and less about tunes, I think it’s for the best. I think this may become a good mix of both in the next few months, and I am very okay with that.

Tomorrow will be a musical update, but in the meantime, here are some pictures!

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–Liz

At the urging of a friend and the part of my brain that doesn’t feel finished with a book or a CD once I’ve set it down, The Garbage Man and the Ambulance will soon become a place of insight (or, well, at least my sight) for some currentish entertainment. First up is Nick Hornby’s A Long Way Down. Get excited. I know I am.

–Liz