Cosmic bingo
October 10, 2003 | 12:00am
And now for something completely different…
Life is more or less a freakygame show. We file languidly into a brightly lit stage and try our luck at the karmic wheel, never at all knowing what’s in store for us. We watch the mouse run, roll the dice, do stupid tricks, pick the right door/box/key/letter, answer idiotic questions, and either hit the jackpot or rock bottom. It all depends on that bitch called Fortuna. At the end of it all we receive lovely parting gifts: a fancy title, a biography, a paragraph or two in an obituary, a car, a house, a microwave oven, a swanky mausoleum as expensive as a low-cost housing project, a street named after us (this applies to tongressmen and senadogs only), a 15-second cameo on newsflashes with hyperactive anchormen, a woman/man we could spend forever with until cancer cells start mushrooming (making us realize that forever is a damn lie), an ashes-to-ashes speech from a preacher, an album, a book, a memorial statue to get pissed on by drunkards, a memorial park for hookers and muggers, a dose of chemical healing, a dose of lethal injection, a dose of sexually-transmitted disease, an epiphany or two. Sometimes, the epiphany is, life is a freaky game show. And most of the time we leave the planet empty-handed, having won zilch. Better luck next lifetime.
Thank God, the devil, or the blue machine that runs men’s fate for music, movies, gigs, books and everything that makes our limited run, our short appearance on this game-show planet worthwhile.
The best thing about watching David Benoit’s concert recently was Benoit and the rest of his quartet doing a solo on their respective instruments with everything improvised and off-the-cuff just like a smokin’ straightahead jazz band. Yes, people came to watch "Take A Look Inside… David Benoit live in Manila" at the CCP Main Theater to see and hear David Benoit perform precisely that mushy pop song Take A Look Inside My Heart. Which he did, together with the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra (which Benoit called "the only orchestra that gets funky") under the baton of Ruggero Barbieri, and with Luke Mejares (whose name Benoit murdered as "Luke Mijores") as guest vocalist. So, it was not at all surprising that lovey-dovey couples made up majority of the audience. The romance was so rife, so thick you could almost slice it. It was like Valentine’s in September. (As for me, I got stood up by a guy named Manny, and eventually attended the concert with a guy named Elmer – that was my dharma in the game show called life. So much for this pathetic Juliet, er, Romeo.)
The smooth jazz pianist also played the hits The Key To You (originally recorded with David Pack), the lilting Kei’s Song (from "Freedom at Midnight"), Linus and Lucy (from that popular Charlie Brown tribute), Moment at Hyde Park, Stages, and other pop jazz staples. He also premiered his sprawling classical piece titled The Centaur and the Sphinx, which evoked dancing ostriches and hippopotamuses in tutus. It was that frolicsome. Very Fantasia. So very Disney.
I started to really dig the concert when Benoit and company played something that was not in the program: Herbie Hancock’s funky Watermelon Man, one of the signature songs of the former Miles Davis pianist, a track which Hancock rehashed with his jazz funk outfit the Headhunters. That particular number was really interesting. First, the drummer did a solo. Typical. But still jaw-dropping. Next came saxophonist Andy Suzuki, who blew lightning runs via his soprano sax. Then came bassist Dean Taba who conjured evil, funky, low-end alchemy from his instrument. I was sitting in front of an old lady (obviously someone who came solely for Take A Look Inside My Heart) who gaped in awe as Taba did pull-offs, hammer-ons, double-stops, slaps, pops, harmonics, tapping, arpeggios, everything imaginable with the bass guitar except hit his face with it a la Chris Novoselic. Bemused by the surreality of it all, the old woman must have mumbled to herself, "What the f*ck is going on?"
Afterwards, Benoit sent the guys home by doing a really brisk solo that led to the main riff or theme (the "head," it is called in jazz parlance). It was an entertaining performance – something that would give the middle finger to the despisers of jazz, something that was worth the torture of listening to Take A Look Inside My Heart.
Anyway, the fiery improvisation on Watermelon Man was something alien to the safe, staid and predictable world of pop jazz, which David Benoit inhabits (along with Kenny G, Russ Freeman, Spyro Gyra, George Benson and Diana Krall, among others.). And it was fortunate that I got the chance to watch Benoit’s umpteenth concert in our shores and see him get down, get funky and take the music past the confines, the borders of antiseptic jazz.
At the press conference a couple of days before the gig, I got Benoit to sign my "Heavier Than Yesterday" album, which I snagged from my brother’s record collection. (My brother arranged his vinyl in the order of purchase, so I was really intrigued that he bought a David Benoit album on the heels of a Deep Purple platter. I wonder what the hell happened in between.)
The pianist was amused at how young he looked on the cover of his 1977 debut album under AVI. He was known as "Dave Benoit" then. "Hey, you still have this album. Look at my bell bottoms, and that hair!" he enthused.
Benoit shared how he started by playing bars, weddings and Bar Mitzvahs, and how his career began in the Philippines. "I had two albums out. I was still a sideman in the States, but I was already a bit of a star here. The Filipino people took my music more seriously than I did. That encouraged me to pursue my musical career back home," he said.
When asked what his source of inspiration is, Benoit quoted Cole Porter: "The best source of inspiration is a call from a producer. (Composers) don’t look at the sunset or watch a tree to be able to write a song about it. We have a deadline (laughs)."
Benoit also talked about his love of the music of pianist Bill Evans. (YS readers intrigued with jazz should check out Evans’ impressionistic keyboard work in albums like "Sunday at the Village Vanguard," "Waltz for Debby," "Portrait in Jazz," as well as Miles Davis’ "Kind of Blue.")
"I love Bill Evan’s incredible harmonic structure," said Benoit. "There are many pianists who have very sophisticated harmonies, but can’t reach anybody. (Evans) could reach people. Like Dave Gruisin who writes gorgeous melodies."
The reporters who attended were mostly fans – hardcore ones at that – and those who weren’t obviously prepared for the interview. Except for one dude, wearing the music writer’s uniform (denim jacket, shades, boots, a devil-may-care-attitude, etc.), who confessed that his favorite Benoit performance is on the "Crossover Collection." He asked Benoit, "When you compose music, do you think of the Philippines?"
It was like the jackpot question of a game show in the Twilight Zone. The organizers ought to give David Benoit a home entertainment showcase for answering that.
I had a phone interview withMaksim Mrvica, Croatian pianist who came out with a techno-meets-Tchaikovsky opus titled "The Piano Player." I told Maksim that it is quite unusual to see a guy who resembles a grungier Richard Ashcroft of the Verve, wearing a rockstar’s attire (tight leather pants, sleeveless black top, a thousand rings, etc.) performing pieces by Rachmaninov, Handel, Chopin and other classical masters. In an impenetrable accent, Maksim answered, "This is how I normally dress. I don’t like suits. I fell in love with the instrument when I was 6 or 7. It was a tough time to organize concerts during the war, getting sponsors and everything, but I was determined (to play)."
That’s why Maksim could relate with the Roman Polanski movie The Pianist since he lived the part. Here was a person who found himself in an era of chaos, cacophony and wartime atrocities, and yet managed to conjure the most delicate melodies, the most poignant harmonies from the piano. Imagine the soft strains of a Chopin piece being played in a basement somewhere in Croatia accompanied by gunfire and the evil blasts of grenade. Maksim had to play the best music in the worst of times.
"I was inspired by artists such as Vladimir Horowitz, Prokofiev, and Chopin. I play classical music with a different approach. I have a laser show, a video wall, dry ice… Young people, who make up 70 percent of the audience, don’t normally like this type of music."
Maksim said that "The Piano Player" is his first crossover project. Here, Maksim does a blistering version of The Flight of the Bumble-Bee. It was the first single and it is scorching. How those fingers fly. I couldn’t help think of shredders like Steve Vai and Joe Satriani. Maksim confessed that in his version of the Rimsky/Korsakov composition, he had to slow down the tempo a little. (That tune leaves skid marks on one’s ears and the Croatian still thought it was a bit slow.)
The pianist also does excellent renditions of Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude in C minor and Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, as well as new compositions by Tonci Huljic. Those who feel a little intimidated by classical music (people who equate the genre with their sternest piano teachers crossbred with Attila the Hun) can start appreciating the dynamics, the passion, grace and fire of the classics by starting with crossover artists like Maksim and such.
There is a caveat, though. I don’t like how the artist is being packaged. In the CD sleeve, you’ll find phrases like "From music awards to fashion awards" and "the moods of Mozart, the magnificence of melody," complete with pictures of Maksim in pensive supermodel poses.
Why not just harp on the fact that this guy could play, and that he can be an excellent introduction to classical music because of his pop appeal? Let the music do the talking, since in this case the music speaks volumes.
Of course, in a world where image is everything and marketing is king, I sound like an anachronistic fart waiting for the cosmic game-show host to tell me, "Your time is up."
Years ago, I announced to friends that Rage Against the Machine was the last angry band I could get heavily into. When I heard At The Drive-In, I muttered that I have the case of the foot-in-mouth disease, again.
How can one not dig ATD-I’s pissed-as-hell "Relationship of Command," released three years ago? Especially for someone who has to wade through all that shit of being a working-class Filipino trying to eke out a living as a writer: meeting evil taxi drivers; riding malfunctioning light railway transit coaches; watching politicians turn our country into something far worse than hell; watching; watching politicians get richer, and the rest of us more despondent; watching politicians, period; interviewing idiotic actresses with fake, plastic boobs; hearing some poor person get mugged, raped or swindled; getting hassled by policemen with impossible potbellies; wearing "bulalo-bone pants in a dog-eat-dog society," and experiencing other crap.
One spin of At The Drive-In CDs ("Relationship," "Acrobatic Tenement," most especially) and we could easily relate to the band’s anger without a name. At The Drive-In was political without being propagandist, cryptic without being crappy. ATD-I had an agenda, but listeners have a pretty vague idea what it really was since the stream-of-consciousness lyrics, the metaphors were mystifying. But we could all relate to the "non-zero possibility" of being "a one-armed scissor" in a "mannequin republic." ATD-I’s bottled up dissatisfaction and disaffection mirror our own as the band rails against "hypodermic people poking fun at the living" (Pattern Against User), "the guillotine laughs again, dancing on the corpses’ ashes" (Invalid Litter Dept.), and "the night that lit up scarecrow plots" (Rolodex Propaganda).
Artists wanting to light up the ass of a cruel, capitalist world need not be as terse as Marx and Engels.
I am not sure what the deal with this El Paso band, whether it has really split up (shitty groups like Limp Bizkit pull through, while charismatic ones like the New Radicals self-destruct) or is only on extended hiatus (think Guns N’ Roses not having the decency to announce to the world that they’ve gone kaput!). All I know is the non-Afros (guitarist Jim Ward, bassist Paul Hinojos and drummer Tony Hajjar) have formed Sparta while the Afros (vocalist Cedric Bixler and guitarist Omar Rodriguez) have formed the Mars Volta.
The Mars Volta released "De-Loused in the Comatorium," which we can conveniently categorize as a meshing of punk and prog rock. Of course, that doesn’t begin to describe the fiery depths, the aural fury of this annihilative album. It is bombastic. It is self-indulgent. It is disjointed. It is a kick to the ass of corporate rock n’ roll exemplified by Linkin Bizkit, etc.
The album starts off with science fiction guitars and then morphs into hardcore ranting, as Cedric Bixler screams, "Now I’m lost!" Yes, he is singing our song.
There is so much happening in the span of two tracks (Son Et Lumiere and Inertiatic ESP). There are chord changes, tempo lurches, melodic mutations, leaps in genre, etc. The Mars Volta purveys more ideas in a single track than what other bands offer in their entire careers.
Roulette Dares (The Haunt Of) is more in the vein of classic At The Drive-In, albeit more eerie and more melodic. It bludgeons listeners with fire, brimstone and apocalyptic textures and then lulls them with a revolving humming. The same with the other tracks which boast reverberating guitars, bongos and phased synthesizers.
My favorite track is Cicatriz ESP, which recalls Led Zeppelin’s Achilles’ Last Stand. It is Mars Volta’s not-so deliberate attempt to sound like a synthesis of Led Zep, Rush, Fugazi and a soapbox preacher on acid. (The Red Hot Chili Peppers guitarist John Frusciante cameos on this one, with Flea purveying dub bass.) Another standout cut, Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt has a solo that is reminiscent of Jimmy Page’s hallucinogenic guitar musings in "The Song Remains The Same." Now, this is one of the very few times that a hardcore act acknowledges how hip Led Zeppelin and progressive rock bands really are.
Now, this album is supposed to be concept platter about the band’s painter-friend Julio Venegas who is a "seer of visions." But instead of rewriting Pink Floyd’s "Wish You Were Here," the Mars Volta do something truly surprising: Make an album that is big, brainy and beautiful – but with a different beauty, mind you. Much like King Crimson’s "Starless and Bible Black." Or Miles Davis’ "Dark Magus." It is not an accessible beauty, which will turn off a lot of listeners. The Mars Volta, instead of offering another indie/emo/garage rock album, does a "Kid A" on us – create music that is uncommon and uncompromising. It takes more than just casual listening. You won’t get "De-loused in the Comatorium" if you play it while watching lousy showbiz personalities (who should be put in a comatorium) slag each other live via satellite, like a tabloid telenovela for a nation of zombies.
Since listeners are as lazy as game-show contestants (who prefer hitting the big time instead of slaving away in a dead-end job), and "Deloused" demands more from each of us than an open ear canal, we all know that the simplistically stupid Good Charlottes and SUM 41s of this world will sell more records than the brilliant Mars Volta.
Tough luck. But that’s just how the existential dice roll.
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