Bowie at the Beeb; Some Stuff to Check Out on www.kpunk.com; The Go-Betweens; Dig That New York Free Jazz

Fans should know better than to buy two-CD sets like Bowie at the Beeb. But part of being a fan, especially of an icon like Bowie, means being on an eternal archeological dig for that one lost jewel on a dust-covered tape sitting in some forgotten record studio closet. If there's a period for such a find in Bowie's work, this collection would be it, as it covers sessions he did for the BBC for 1968-'72, four years that took him from bumbling hippie pop crooner to the biggest glitter rock star.

It would be nice to say I feel cheated after repeated listenings, but buying this set is my own damn fault and none of Bowie's or Virgin's. It is what it is, which means inferior versions of both classic and forgotten material from the Bowie canon. Strangely, though, the consistently worst aspect is Bowie's vocals, which sound surprisingly flat and muted for being recorded at the BBC, as opposed to some cavernous arena. I'm glad there are versions of underrated songs from his first album like "Memory of a Free Festival" and "Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud." Even on that album's centerpiece, "Cygnet Committee" (which contains such hippie howlers as "The silent guns of love will blast the sky"), the slow build and powerful production Tony Visconti gave to the album version sounds lackluster in the BBC studios. The strangest fact of this group of songs is that the late Mick Ronson is playing lead guitar on them, but clearly not contributing on the creative level he would be.

If Bowie at the Beeb can be credited for anything other than a relatively inoffensive fan-fleecing, it's that it presents a compact document of Bowie learning to be a rock star. The first disc has hints of what will come in the melodies and Bowie's grandiose lyrics and vocals, but with the second track on disc two, "Eight Line Poem," Mick Ronson can be heard making a hard, beautiful sound that would lead to Bowie's breakthrough. If anything, this disc can be heard as a loving eulogy to rock's greatest sideman, who made all the difference between Bowie being a critically respected cult artist (Hunky Dory) and a superstar (The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars). Hearing raw versions of songs like "Five Years" and "Moonage Daydream" helps cut through the Bowie mythology to point out just how exciting and original these songs must have sounded in 1972, even outside the context of Bowie's stage show.

But anyone looking for transcendence is in the wrong place, and fully acknowledging the pimply faced 13-year-old I became when I saw this CD on a store shelf, I doubt anyone will be buying Bowie at the Beeb for this reason. It says as much about Bowie as his fans that nigh on 30 years after he recorded this material, there are still people who will gladly pay to hear it. As for the bonus disc of Bowie doing a set at the BBC on June 27, 2000, I got three words: Sha Na Na.

William S. Repsher

Come Party With Me 2000 Gene Defcon (K) It Was Hot, We Stayed in the Water The Microphones (K) The Castle Wolf Colonel (K) Here's what I know about Gene Defcon. He's amazingly prolific. This album boasts 47 sharp, witty vignettes?and he's already had a couple of hourlong CDs released in his hometown of Austin. He's fun?a sizable proportion of the songs here ("Have a Good Time," "Digital Dude") allow his fellow Olympia bands like Bratmobile, the Bangs and the Frumpies to indulge their not-so-secret 60s girl group fantasies. He knows who he is ("The Return of Gene," "Do the Gene"). He's mean yet surprisingly sensitive ("I'm In Love with Another, Baby"). He doesn't mind going lo-fi ("The Skins and Punks"). He writes all his own material, and favors trebly new wave, trebly garage and trebly disco as his musical genres. Check out his website at www.geocities.com/genedefcon.

Here's what I know about the Microphones. Phil Elvrum's loose collective of dub experimentalists, hushed acoustic guitarists and psychedelic minimalists are the finest band currently recording for K. I don't say this lightly. There's such grace, poignancy and gentle passion within his nylon-stringed guitars and analog eight-track recordings: I'd like to draw a parallel now between Phil's climactic opening song "The Pull" and Mercury Rev's last album, if I may. Thank you, I appreciate it. Could I now throw in a couple of names to contrast and compare the next two tracks?the organic, hypnotic "Sand" (an Eric's Trip cover) and "The Glow"?please? I'm talking Marine Girls, Dub Narcotic (Calvin is a contributor here) and Neutral Milk Hotel. Thank you very much. Could I now use somewhat of a literary cliche to describe the effect the epic "Karl Blau" has on me? Yes, we're talking The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Sorry.

Look. I love Flaming Lips, Herman Dune and all that. Honest. It's just that right now the Microphones make me like the most special person in the world.

Here's what I know about Wolf Colonel. They're from Portland. This is a recommendation in itself, believe me. I personally wouldn't mind sharing a town with Quasi. Song number three from their debut album Vikings of Mint reminds me of someone all forlorn and worrisome from the early 90s?Guided by Voices, say. That's sweet. That means Wolf Colonel clearly possess a purity and innocent love for pop music few other bands can touch. Mostly, they mix the plangent harmonies of 1966 Beatles with a certain K resonance and punk brevity. Do I make them sound worth hearing? Good, so I should. If you want, you can check this fragile, human group out at www.kpunk.com, along with the other bands here.

Everett True

Deals, Ideas and Ideals Rashied Ali-Peter Kowald-Assif Tsahar (Hopscotch) Continuing in the fine tradition of independently released New York free jazz is this relatively new imprint, Hopscotch, run out of a shoebox in Brooklyn, much like its spiritual as well as demographic neighbor, Aum Fidelity. This trio record, which is apparently only the sixth release on the label, is stirring testament to their apparent mission, which is to continue to delve into the free-jazz frontier first explored by the original masters?Coltrane, Cecil Taylor, Ornette Coleman, Sun Ra, Eric Dolphy, et al. Now, drummer Rashied Ali is no stranger to the actual impetus of the New Thing, having boarded Coltrane's spaceship in 1967, when he helped the Master create perhaps the all-time free-flying duo classic, Interstellar Space. A few years later, he did a similar act of pure musical devastation with Frank Lowe (in many ways, along with David S. Ware, Coltrane's true heir apparent. What? You thought James Carter?). In the last few years, as a member of Prima Materia, he's continued to stretch, flex, pummel and probe the surface of the free-jazz continuum with intense conviction. Ali has emerged as some sort of mentor/figurehead to a whole new generation of jazz musicians, and this record is the living proof of the kind of "workshop" he constantly upholds.

Speaking of which, this kid I know who goes to Berklee School of Music, but doesn't dig it too much, told me he recently saw Ali in Boston and walked away unimpressed, particularly with the young sax player whom Ali had dragged along for that outing. Considering the sax-playing of Assif Tsahar on this record, it seems doubtful that he was the sax player in question?his playing here is excellent throughout. A good example is "The Rap," which begins the album with a kind of "Chasin' the Trane" tempo and features Tsahar running down a plethora of wild but still tuneful Coltranean whoops and swoops as Ali and bassist Peter Kowald rock steady underneath. Speaking of Kowald, it should be noted that he likes to do a lot of arco (read: bowed) stuff on his ax, as in "Isotopes," where his bass alternately sounds like a violin and a skill saw. In "Deals, Ideas and Ideals," he does a lengthy excursion that's mesmerizing in its successful redefinition of the instrument's sound by simplistic means (i.e., no special effects).

"Freedom Train" has Ali reclaiming his Interstellar Space roots as his hands roam his drum kit with passionate abandon and Tsahar once again solos as if receiving the blessing of the Great God Coltrane Himself. In "Hereafter," Tsahar, for a brief moment, evokes Roscoe Mitchell's "Chant" in a series of circular patterns. That gives way to more rocking bass rumble by Kowald.

"Currents" is a Sam Rivers/Art Ensemble-style swirl-around with a lot of muted half notes, random bash 'n' crash from Ali and still more full-throated vocalizing from the instrument of Tsahar. This trio is so damn tight on this song and others that it's no mere piece of fiction to brand them one of the best combos working today?the equal to any of the Aum Fidelity crowd. There are moments in this song that are just overwhelming in their frenetic meter, but it's not just wasted notes, it's intense and believable. It's fully listenable as a musical experience as opposed to some kinda academic exercise that, I dunno about you, but to me, all those Ken Vandermark albums and performances have the air of. This trio is a natural product of some basic harmony that exists among these three men.

But there are moments of disharmony as well, such as "Walking Shadows," the grand finale, which has enough ghostly moaning and groaning to do ESP-Disk proud. This is vintage Coltrane Om and it shows once again that these guys are not just studious practitioners of some sacred art, but jokers like the rest of us. All and all, the best trio record since Odean Pope's Ebioto last year.

Joe S. Harrington

Out Through the N Door Broun Fellinis (Brounsoun) It can be hard to combine the intelligence and self-expression of jazz with the repetition of funk. The dreaded "jam band," for example, usually mistakes intelligence for complications and ends up with an occasional riff hemmed in by a whole lot of wanking. Then there's an artist like Herbie Hancock, whose decade-long experiment with fusion gave us "Ready or Not," a tasty slice of...disco. Good disco. No real jazz element to it. "Chameleon" is another story?15 delightful minutes representing the Grand Unified Field Theory of jazz and funk?but what else has there been to equal it?

The Broun Fellinis are, in fact, a jam band. They play music that is freely improvised and obviously influenced by many of the jazz greats?Coltrane, Mingus, Ornette all come to mind?yet remains funky and beat oriented. The Bay Area-based trio has been refining its sound?and its hermetic, Afrocentric philosophy?for something like seven years now. Sure, they sport handles like Black Edgar Khenyatta or The Redeemer, but the music is what matters and it doesn't disappoint.

Out Through the N Door was originally released in a very limited way, and has now been picked up and rereleased by Weed Records of (where else) Berkeley. There is an abstruse quality to Black Edgar (real name David Boyce)'s tenor lines. A quality much like the long, fertile, splintered chains of association that overtake you when you're high. On the other hand, a quality much like the solos of modal period Coltrane. So a good quality, one that's held in check by Kevin Carnes' deft way with the sticks, brushes and mallets. The album's first track, "IFA," is a swirling mass of sound within which you roam, using the beats to orient yourself. In "Kemetik Science" Black Edgar's sax is multitracked with itself, to great effect, then gives way to insistently funky rhythms.

Some tracks, like "On the Way Home" or "Rahel," are more lyrical and melodic than propulsive. That's where the sheer range of sounds the Fellinis make on their instruments, from gentle bleats to ominous rumbles to bright, shining, upper-register notes, really becomes evident. It's also where you appreciate the recording and mixing talent that went into this live, "in the moment" studio recording. Kirk Peterson's bass techniques deserve special mention?he plays free like Scott La Faro or Charlie Haden, yet somehow holds it all together with the subtle nuances of his tone and attack.

Even the couple of spoken-word tracks included here aren't too terrible; Black Edgar has a frantic, jittery vocal delivery that contrasts both with the centered authority of his sax playing and the usual stentorian delivery adopted by "conscious" rap poets. He's like Bobby Seale by way of John Leguizamo. The Broun Fellinis' philosophy is of the sort that led folks in the 70s to give their kids names like Omega or Parvati, but, hey, those names are kind of pretty?like the album. In fact, maybe it's the prettiness, the unadulterated reveling in sound, that makes the band come on so hard, verbally speaking. For all their earnestness, both lyrical (namechecking famous African-Americans until you want to choke them?why not say something about what Bayard Rustin did instead of just giving him a shout out?) and musical, the Broun Fellinis do have a sense of humor about themselves and their militant shtick. Remember, their mascot is a big, mean-looking cartoon rhino.

Eva Neuberg

The Friends of Rachel Worth The Go-Betweens (Jetset) Less is more. It wasn't just the plain, caring romanticism of Brisbane's Go-Betweens that first attracted us to the unassuming Australian trio during the 80s. It wasn't just the fact that within simple, poignant songs like "Man O' Sand to Girl O' Sea" and "Streets of Your Town" we could hear traces of every last rainstorm, every beach paradise, every betrayed romance that informed singers Robert Forster and Grant McLennan's life. It wasn't just the harmonies, the way they would stand onstage so determined and awkward. It wasn't just the smart lyrics, the direct but beguiling way the pair had around a metaphor?or was it a simile??or even the way their music comforted while gently challenging the norm, like the books of Brautigan, LP Hartley and Truman Capote. It wasn't even that their albums?all the way up to 1988's string-saturated 16 Lovers Lane?all possessed subtle, deprecating insights into human relationships and suburban nostalgia.

McLennan and Forster always understood that you should never swamp beauty in neon and with layers of production. If beauty is there, it's there. Less is more. Why add 30 harmonies when one, incredibly understated, brief flurry will do as well?

This is a great album. This is strange for a few reasons. One: The Go-Betweens split around 10 years back. Reunions so rarely work on anything but the most basic level?nostalgia and greed?it's all the more incredible when something like The Friends of Rachel Worth results. Then again, the pair have always sounded prematurely aged, like a fine vintage wine that doesn't need storage. All their songs echo and linger with the resonance of experience: age merely increases that pull. Forster's two finest songs here are directly autobiographical?the carefully painted portrait "German Farmhouse" and spooky "He Lives My Life." McLennan's finest moment is the pivotal "Magic in Here," where he echoes the line we'd all been thinking about the Go-Betweens ever since we heard the pair were playing together again: "Why change a thing when there's magic/Magic in here?"

Two: it was recorded in Portland. Look, punk rock and everything is fine, but the choice of Sleater-Kinney and Quasi as backup musicians for the Go-Betweens poetry seemed a strange one at first. But no. It gives Corin and Carrie from Sleater-Kinney a chance to indulge their 60s pop fantasies on the occasional backing harmony?and Quasi/S-K drummer Janet Weiss is absolutely superb as a replacement for long-time drummer Lindy Morrison. (Morrison left rather acrimoniously, and has prevented the reunion from happening before now.) Also, Sam Coombes must be one of the country's most underrated pop geniuses. All understand not to intrude.

Three: both Forster and McLennan attempted solo careers, but neither managed to recapture the magic they had together as a duo. The songs here have as much laconic fire and observational magic as they ever did. It's hard to know who to compare tracks like the upbeat, mischievous "Surfing Magazines" and Patti Smith tribute "When She Sang About Angels" to. In the 80s, one presumes that the Go-Betweens must have had precursors and influences (groups always do). Now they merely?and wonderfully?sound like the Go-Betweens. In particular, it recalls the stripped-back plaintive second album from the original Go-Betweens, Before Hollywood. This album makes me happy.

Everett True