Blog on the Tracks
The Myele Manzanza story
The opening track of the upcoming solo album by Myele Manzanza is called Drum Intro. It features an open solo with recorded phone messages from neighbours complaining about the hours of noise they've endured from a young Myele practising. It's funny, it grooves, it's very possibly revenge but it also works as a clever way of showing how far Myele has come - in a relatively short time. Well that was my thought anyway; the idea that history is conveyed in that one short
piece, in an innovative way, appealed to me.
As soon as I heard that track, and replayed it before moving through the rest of the album, I was sure I wanted to speak to Manzanza; I wanted to get his story. He's been involved with a lot of music, a lot of really great music. There have been some huge triumphs. His is a story of following dreams, of dedication, of working hard - discovering new ideas and being open to new forms of expression. But it's also the story of a guy bashing at the drums, possibly annoying a few neighbours along the way.
Myele Manzanza was born to music, born into music. His father is Sam Manzanza, a musical life-force, a Congolese musician who has kept African music alive in New Zealand since arriving here in the 1980s. Sam's influence on Myele was huge. He had his son joining him on stage; he taught him percussion, traditional rhythms, passed on the musical genealogy. Myele said he really noticed the importance of his African roots when he came to study music, noticing "music has African roots, so much of the music you dance to, the concept of groove, of music your body moves to - it is an African idea". He compares this to the advantage of studying Latin, understanding the root of words before going on to other languages.
But Myele didn't sit down behind a drum-kit until he was 14, not quite a late-bloomer, but far from an overly eager drum-prodigy. He had his hand in, percussively speaking. But the kit was the start of his true musical exploration. He made up for any lost time, practising, studying, applying an open-minded approach to the concepts of rhythm, drawing on the inherent, elaborating by taking his cues from some fine musical masters.
Manzanza is known to many for his work with Electric Wire Hustle. His debut solo album, ONE, will be released next week. It seamlessly traverses jazz, hip-hop, R'n'B, electronica, broken-beat soul and several world musics. It feels like a lifetime of work - and even though its creator is just 23, there is a lifetime of experience already behind this album.
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Your headlines for my deadlines
Some of you read this blog because it's always negative. Some of you choose to not read this blog because it's always negative - but then somehow end up posting comments pointing that out. Some of you have told me that you enjoy the interviews I post from time to time. I'm often told that you want to know about new bands only, new albums, new artists.
And then I post about a new artist, band or album and nobody comments. That's fine. I assume some of you at least are still reading.
This is my blog so I get to pick what I write about. And though some of you may dispute this and from a narrow sample decide that I don't cater for you or your tastes, much as I make this - often - about my opinion (and then of course ask for yours; only to so often be told that what I've said is just your opinion man! without the person offering theirs) I do try to cover a range of material.
I once posted an interview with Rokia Traore after being told I don't cover enough world music. It received one comment. I've written about most genres, covered new and old, live and recorded, Kiwi and international. There have been opinion pieces (duh! It's a blog!) and interviews, gig and album reviews. I've let my guard down and told you plenty about myself - too much for many of you but I can't apologise for that. It's my blog. I can't know all of your tastes all of the time. If you don't like the blog you don't have to read it. Or you can tell me you didn't like it - as some of you do.
But, I thought of a way we could have a go at addressing anything that has not been mentioned, blogged about, discussed.
Madonna at her best and worst
Madonna performed the half-time show at the Super Bowl. This is a big-deal gig - you play for free but you have an audience of over 100 million, so you pick up plenty of back-end through iTunes, record sales, promotion for upcoming gigs, merchandise and exposure. Certainly exposure was the case in 2004 when Janet Jackson's wardrobe "malfunctioned" or however that setup was euphemistically explained away. Since then the Super Bowl has had Prince, The Rolling Stones, The Two (aka what's left of The Who), Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, Bruce Springsteen & The E-Street Band, Sir Paul McCartney and, erm, The Black Eyed Peas - so pretty big names whichever way you look at it.
Madonna has been added to that list. She was nervous beforehand. She took the time to finally say something about Lady Gaga (she called Gaga's new video "reductive" and promptly told the questioning interviewer to "look it up" when asked if that was a good thing or not). Perfect timing from Madonna. Speak up about your replacement in time to pimp your own Super Bowl appearance. You'd have to argue, in that sense, she's still got it.
There seem to be two schools of thought about Madonna 2012. The first camp believes she should have given up in either 2000, 1998, 1992, 1989 or 1986 - depending of course on whether you stuck it out for Music, Ray of Light, Erotica, Like a Prayer, or figured the cracks (in her voice, rather than the Plaster of Paris that has re-cemented her face) were showing by the time of True Blue.
The second camp believes that she's doing remarkably well to be a pop star at the age of 45 or 50 or 53.
Pop is a young person's game - and that is why it is always evolving, fads and trends come and go and we should remember that The Rolling Stones were pop stars and haven't been in a long time and only Mick Jagger occasionally suffers delusions of grandeur/grand-parentage (Super Heavy).
A week in the life of a music reviewer
Many of you (well, two people at least - and that's plural) have asked me to take you through a day in the life of a music reviewer. In a way I think I do that by offering a blog-post each day. That's what I'm thinking for the day, reacting to - it might even include what I've been listening to lately. I also update The Vinyl Countdown every day - a retrospective blog. The goal there is to review my record collection more so than the actual albums - I revisit the vinyl I've been collecting for years and share memories. The record might trigger a story from the past as was the case with this Elvis Presley LP (to offer one example).
But I'll do my best to run you through a week - this week. The truth is it's not very exciting. For a start I do not work fulltime as a music reviewer. I write this blog and do my reviewing outside and away from a "real job". There is no typical week in the life of a music reviewer but I guess this week's been busy, particularly since the year is just starting, music-wise: gigs are happening, albums are being released by the labels. Let's have a look inside my mind...
Monday: I had finished reading Nile Rodgers' autobiography - so that was Monday's Blog On The Tracks post. Also, my review of the Dresden Dolls gig was in that morning's Dominion Post newspaper. The gig was on Saturday night. I wrote the review on Sunday morning. After work I checked out a bunch of new albums that had arrived. Most of them were, in one way or another, really good/interesting.
Jono McCleery's album, There Is was a treat. I also really enjoyed Richmond Fontaine's latest, The High Country - it's basically a musical novel, a narrative concept album. I'm a big fan of the band and I look forward to a few more spins of this latest album. I've loved all three of Willy Vlautin's actual novels and he's a great songwriter. There was also the new one from The Phenomenal Handclap Band, an improvement on their previous one. An album that will get at least one more whirl. And Luke Vibert has released a new/old album under his Plug moniker, Back On Time. Vibert's a clever dude and this one gets a tick. I listened to these albums while writing Tuesday's blog and working on a book I'm writing. I probably haven't told you all about that. Don't worry (or: worry) I will.
Tuesday: I was on childcare duties for the day - which (of course) was wonderful. I also got to squeeze in the DVD of Bruce Springsteen playing Darkness On The Edge Of Town live from this amazing box-set. I was, apparently, very unkind to Bruce last week when I posted about his new single and the upcoming album. It has sent me back to the Springsteen material that I do really like. There is plenty. It was nice to be reminded I guess. I'm not sure Oscar quite gets the appeal of Bruce yet but he's only 12 weeks old so there's no rush. I think he likes the Putumayo Kids Present: New Orleans Playground album. And if he doesn't then I do. It will be one of the more tolerable albums in our early shared music-listening experience.
The spine-tingling sound of Jono McCleery
Here's something I've just heard and I really like. It won me over instantly. That doesn't happen all that often these days. The album is called There Is. The artist is Jono McCleery.
In 2008 he self-released Darkest Light. Last year he created There Is. The album comes to us from the Ninja Tune label.
I was struck instantly by the voice - time spent listening to John Martyn and Nina Simone, something deeper than just the surface-level Jeff Buckley appreciation. And his cover of Black's Wonderful Life (compare/contrast here with the original) is superb.
The tune Tomorrow definitely takes on a John Martyn feel with a long introduction setting up a mood before McCleery sings. Imagine a newly restitched version of Martyn's One World with glimpses of glitch-hop and traces of electronica. Strings and tinkling pianos in support of the hushed finger-picking.
You might hear Nick Drake one minute, Bill Withers the next, but McCleery has his own sound within all these obvious influences.
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