“Can’t Help Falling in Love” – Howe Gelb 2:58 (Confluence, Thrill Jockey 2001)

The intimacy of Howe Gelb’s interpretation of Elvis’ classic ballad is the most immediate sentiment conveyed here, probably recorded to an old tape deck in his living room (one can hear the natural analog compression). After Gelb concludes the song on a lounge-y Ebmaj7 chord, he brings the band in for a drunken instrumental reprise at 2:13. Gelb somehow seems to bring out the song’s inherent French origins in his translation, channeling less of Elvis’ blue-eyed Southern balladry and placing more emphasis on the centuries-old folk melody. Which is infinitesimally better than UB40’s nightmarish version from ’93 that we’re all trying to forget.

“So Into You” – Shudder to Think 3:43 (Pony Express Record, Epic 1994)

The insipidly-named Atlanta Rhythm Section, sort-of a poor man’s Steely Dan, never made much of an impact over the course of their career during the 70’s; their most notable achievements are performing for Jimmy Carter at the White House and “So Into You,” the group’s biggest hit. Shudder to Think proves why they were one of the most brilliantly clever and underrated bands of the last decade, turning this trashy, Pabst-soaked jukebox clunker upside-down with singer Craig Wedren’s hyper-effeminate crooning over dense walls of droning feedback and Nathan Larson’s stadium-sized guitars. Nearly all of the original’s harmonic content is either subverted into Shudder’s warped musical renderings or discarded altogether. This was hilariously shocking when it was originally released, and has lost little of its bite.

“I Want to Be Your Dog” – Swans 3:35 (Children of God/World of Skin, Atavistic 1997)

Only Michael Gira could transform Iggy Pop into a morbid, candlelit meditation on mortality, first stripping the original’s full-on psychedelic noise down to a lonely acoustic guitar and organ. Then Gira intones “Now I’m ready to close my eyes,” altering the meaning of Pop’s acid-fueled visions from burning ecstasy to a sobering, final acceptance of death. His seems to savor the sound of his mantra-like baritone echoing in your chest, and the taunting “come on”s at the end are just plain creepy.

“Mr. Grieves” – TV on the Radio 4:11 (Young Liars, Touch & Go 2003)

This cover drove me crazy when I first heard it – I could not, for the life of me, identify its original source, which is part of the reason why it’s so brilliant. How TV on the Radio thought of taking an energetic Pixies album filler and morphing it into a mournful slice of doo-wop is beyond me, but it’s absolutely marvelous. Vocalist Tunde Adebimpe’s multi-tracked crooning is rich and soothing, naked in its vulnerability, but supported by finger snaps and an upright bass. This is ideally what a cover should be: a respectful yet radical interpretation that preserves the essence and intentions of the original, but is a refreshing moment of familiarity.

“Be Thankful for What You’ve Got” – Yo La Tengo 4:58 (Little Honda, Matador 1998)

I laughed out loud the first time I heard this, not at Yo La Tengo’s choice of cover material (God knows they’ve been more audacious), but their courage in selecting a tune that so glaringly reveals their whiteness, which is part of its charm. There is an undeniable, innate comfort in hearing Ira and Georgia harmonizing the line “Diggin’ the scene with the gangster lean” without the slightest trace of irony. The warm, late-afternoon vibe and pace of William DeVaughn’s original is preserved, but in a low-key guitar/bass/drums simplicity, which the band skillfully makes the most of.

My friend David and I have been creating music for about seven years now, although in the past few years our opportunities to write have been roughly biannual occasions, what with him repping DC and me in Boston. I don’t think we ever solidified a moniker for our work, but I believe the name Great Barrington was tossed around in the past and is probably what we’ll answer to. Our music involves a lot of chance experimentation with whatever instruments happen to be lying around; usually, we’ll set up a MIDI chain of as many drum machines, samplers, and sequencers as possible, hit “start,” and attempt to harness as much sound as four hands will allow. I have dozens of minidiscs that contain everything from serene, ambient piano pieces to wild, noisy drum machine romps. Few musicians are lucky enough to find their exact musical counterpart, the Gil Evans to their Miles Davis, if you will, and David has always been the yin to my yang, completing my creative thoughts and complimenting my musical input with crystalline insight. Oftentimes the connection has been downright scary.

A few months ago I journeyed down to DC for a weekend of noisemaking, and was somewhat curious and apprehensive when David told me that he asked his friend Mat to join us. In the past, adding a third party had occasionally produced uninspiring results, but our session with Mat proved to be remarkably fruitful, resulting in some of our best work. Mat has recorded under several guises: his experimental solo work under Mons, the ambient spaced-out bliss of Betatron, and his found sound/field recordings collaboration with David called Silence Is So Accurate. He is also one of the most down-to-earth, genuinely nicest individuals I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and playing music with, and his wife Emily, whom I only met briefly, is a sweetheart.

The recording setup in Mat’s small living room was a logistical challenge for the three of us, but there is something inherently rewarding about being surrounded by a mess of patch cables, mic cords, and an overabundance of electronics. For “Mercury: Freedom 7,” David and I both operated keys and drum machines while Mat played to a click on a two-piece kit he had set up and mic’ed. David wrenched some glitched-out squeals from his ER-1, and I was impressed by the accuracy of Mat’s time (any drummer will tell you that playing to a click is incredibly tough). If I remember correctly, this was the first piece we created, and our level of interaction was extraordinary. Mat took the unenviable task of piecing our session together into tracks, resulting in over two hours of music, and dubbed the project Great Barringtron.

“Mercury: Freedom 7” – Great Barringtron 8:21 (Mercury – Gemini – Apollo, self-released 2006)

It had been weeks since I had listened to those sessions until the other day, when, during my morning ritual, I happened to select a disc at random to play as I was getting ready: the “Freek Funk” CD single from Luke Slater, which I still have no recollection of acquiring. Slater has been a part of the U.K. electronic music scene for almost two decades now, releasing a slew of 12”s, remixes, and full-lengths on various dance labels. “Freek Funk” is the title track to his 1997 release on Novamute, and is a hypnotic mélange of choppy breakbeats and atmospheric choir keys. I was immediately struck by its similarity to our “Mercury: Freedom 7,” though I highly doubt any of us had the slightest inclination to remake Slater’s track; it certainly wasn’t on my mind during the recording. Both have comparable tempos, drum patterns, rhythmic feels, and the lack of any immediate melodic content to grasp onto. Perhaps it’s not to an uncanny degree, but I found the relationships of both tracks interesting and rather unusual.

“Freek Funk” – Luke Slater 5:52 (Freek Funk, Novamute 1997)

This past Saturday afternoon, over the course of a beer or four at local neighborhood bar/venue Great Scott, Duff and I had the pleasure of engaging in a three-hour conversation with guitarist George Wilson of Dirty of Purpose, who happened to be headlining that night. Naturally, being the music geeks we are, our discussions on the neo-shoegaze scene and the underrated-ness of Mudhoney were peppered with thoughts on guitar gear. George currently lives in a loft in Williamsburg, Brookyln with a few of his companions in Dirty on Purpose, along with one Oliver Ackermann, previous guitarist/vocalist for defunct space-rock outfit Skywave and creator of Death by Audio effects pedals.

After Skywave split in ‘04, Ackermann formed A Place to Bury Strangers with Tim Gregorio on bass and vocals and Jay Space on drums. Their sound is one of the most unique that I’ve heard in quite some time, a jagged hybrid of the fuzz of Jesus and Mary Chain, the piercing noise of Medicine, and the psychedelic elation of Spacemen 3. Perhaps what distinguishes APTBS the most are the roaring shards of noise that Ackermann peels from his guitar, undoubtedly with assistance from his custom-built guitar pedals.

“I’ve Lived My Life” is a dark, nightmarish slab of post-punk with Ackermann’s multi-tracked, apocalyptic vocals heralding the end of the world. At 2:25 the band rockets into the far reaches of the galaxy, powered by a fury of punishing guitars and Jay Space’s overdriven drums.

“I’ve Lived My Life to Stand in the Shadow of Your Heart” – A Place to Bury Strangers 4:24 (http://aptbs.com, self-released 2005)

“To Fix the Gash in Your Head” substitutes live drums with the robotic pulse of a drum machine, which provides a foundation for Ackermann’s layers of scorching guitar noise. This track could confirm reports that the band’s live shows are some of the loudest in the city.

“To Fix the Gash in Your Head” – A Place to Bury Strangers 3:48 (http://aptbs.com, self-released 2005)

I couldn’t care less about the rising Williamsburg “scene” where the haircuts are often more expensive than the equipment, but seeing as APTBS has vehemently bashed the shallow, rampant hipsterism of their hometown in interviews, that makes them okay in my book. Most definitely a band to watch for.

Acclaimed director Godfrey Reggio is perhaps best known for his trilogy of thought-provoking films on the systematic destruction of the environment: Koyaanisqatsi (1983), Powaqqatsi (1988), and Naqoyqatsi (2002). For those unfamiliar with the films, each uses visual techniques like time-lapsed landscapes, intense montages, and striking, intimate footage to present a unique perspective on the impact man has had on nature. There are no characters, dialogue, or linear storytelling devices; each is a powerful and effective coexistence of images and music. Koyaanisqatsi is absolutely essential, Powaqqatsi is flawed but captivating nonetheless, and Naqoyqatsi is a scatterbrained and confused mess that doesn’t hold a candle to the previous two.

Reggio employed postmodernist composer Philip Glass to score Koyaanisqatsi, and the collaboration proved fruitful enough for the two to creatively unite for the remaining films of the trilogy. Glass’ score for Koyaanisqatsi, often heralded as the finest of the three, has been relentlessly ridiculed and parodied almost to the point of rendering the music irrelevant, no doubt because of the maddening repetition of certain sequences and his overuse of the irritating arpeggiator-on-crack technique. (Glass’ main weakness was that he could never seem to harness the repetition and apply it effectively without bludgeoning the listener over the head with it, unlike the subtle shifts in tonal color and texture utilized by contemporaries Steve Reich and Terry Riley.) For my money, Powaqqatsi is the most rewarding score of the trilogy, a mesmerizing display of colliding polyrhythms, non-Western modal scales, exotic instrumentation, and the mind-numbing cycles of 16th notes are curbed a bit.

I’ll admit that “Anthem – Part 1” is a little corny and somewhat dated, but it’s remarkably effective as the soundtrack to the opening images of the film. There is a towering majesty here that’s hard to deny, and the pulses of octaves in 10/8 that lurk underneath are hypnotically serene. My friend Mat has commented on what he calls “airplane music,” which I interpret to be the idea of sound as movement and as modern technological travel. About four years ago, as I was taking off from John Wayne Airport in Orange County, CA, “Anthem – Part 1” was in my headphones, perfectly complimenting my ascension from the choking, surreal haze of the midday heat and continuous streams of Los Angeles traffic.

“Anthem – Part 1” – Philip Glass 6:23 (Powaqqatsi, Nonesuch 1988)

“Mosque and Temple” takes a cue from Persian modes and scales with a snaky ascending line for unison strings that crests a mountain of drones and exclamations from the trumpets and horns. The signature is an odd 16/4 that is divided into three bars of 3, followed by a bar of 4 then a final bar of 3 before returning to the beginning. It’s a fine example of Glass’ incorporation of various Third World musics into the score.

“Mosque and Temple” – Philip Glass 4:42 (Powaqqatsi, Nonesuch 1988)

The highlight of the disc is undoubtedly the “New Cities in Ancient Lands” suite, positioned as the centerpiece of the score and presented here as one long track (preceded by “Video Dream”). The movement shows Glass in a rare lyrical mood, making clever use of chromatics in a descending/ascending sequence through a tricky chord progression (Cmin to F#maj) at the opening. At 2:23 (“China”) he expands the progression (Cmin – Bmaj – Emaj7 – Bb7), as well as the flute and harp melody line as the violins begin sweeping across the landscape. The effect is hauntingly beautiful. At 5:02 (“Africa”) a kalimba and balafon enter and joyously dance around the two-note bass hits and percussive metallic scrapes. “India” begins at 7:58 as colorful synthesizers assist the orchestra and African percussion to coalesce into a swirling, bubbling ocean of sound, finally collapsing into a cavern of reverb at the finale. This is the best thing Glass ever wrote, which proved to be massively influential on 90’s techno and dance music; Orbital spent half of their career constructing music like this atop 4/4 kicks and hi-hats.

“Video Dream / New Cities in Ancient Lands: China, Africa, India” – Philip Glass 12:41 (Powaqqatsi, Nonesuch 1988)

Although it’s been out for over a year now, lately I’ve been hooked on the Perceptionists’ Black Dialogue (2005), which, along with Mr. Lif’s Mo Mega (2006), presents a strong case for the much-anticipated second coming of the Def Jux label. Consisting of Lif, Akrobatik, and DJ Fakts One, Black Dialogue is a solid debut that features some excellent back-and-forth verbiage between the two MC’s over dense, innovative productions. Much has been made of the duo’s anti-Bush outbursts (which should hardly register as a surprise, given Lif’s political rhetoric on past records), but the politics aren’t ham-fisted or oppressive and are handled in small doses. It’s certainly worth picking up (or downloading at eMusic).

Last weekend at Bull Moose Records in Portland, Maine, Heather found a 12” of arguably the best track on the record, the old-school meets industrial warfare meltdown of “Blo.” I’ve always been on the fence in regards to El-P’s production technique; I loved most of the frosty cyber-funk on Cannibal Ox’s The Cold Vein (2001) a few years back, but his own Fantastic Damage (2002) did nothing for me. “Blo” has him returning to what he does best: discarding the tired Bomb Squad re-treads and constructing a futuristic collage of squelchy synth gurgles and apocalyptic ambience. Lif and Akrobatik devour the beat with relish and Fakts One masterfully minces up a standard “go!” sample. There’s no melodic hook to be found, or even a snare hit for that matter, but the minimal atmosphere works wonderfully.

“Blo” – The Perceptionists 3:22 (Black Dialogue, Def Jux 2005)

Naturally, the KRS-One “blow!” sample had me reaching for the original source, “The Blueprint,” from BDP’s classic Ghetto Music: The Blueprint of Hip Hop (1989). This record was one of my first exposures to hip hop back when it was released (I remember checking out an LP copy from my local library and recording it onto a 90-minute Maxell), and it’s a must-have.

“The Blueprint” – Boogie Down Productions 2:56 (Ghetto Music: The Blueprint of Hip Hop, Jive 1989)

In other news, the hip hop mainstream has claimed yet another victim. As one of the members of long-defunct Uniondale, NY crew Leaders of the New School, Busta Rhymes has been one of the most original (if occasionally grating) personalities of the past 15 years. His solo albums were spotty, but each contained a few worthwhile singles strong enough to keep them afloat. He might hold the record for most guest spots on a rap record ever; it seemed like he was providing the hook on at least one track from virtually everyone about five years ago. His videos were joyously manic, colorful and frequently hilarious. What happened?

Perhaps it was because he shaved his trademarked dreads, or the result of a panicking mid-life crisis. Maybe it was the switch to Dr. Dre’s Aftermath label (my likeliest vote). Whatever the cause, Busta’s transformation from likeable streetwise jester to thugged-out mafia don is embarrassing and pathetic. His latest release, The Big Bang (2006) (titled appropriately, as it’s the sound of a train wreck) has been on the receiving end of a critical ass-whooping from every reputable music publication nationwide. Image alteration aside, what could the world possibly want with another stale, misogynistic, washed-out gangsta, particularly one in a rough tumble on the downslope of his career anyway? I won’t even get into the simplistic, asinine drudgery of “Touch It (Remix),” but has anyone heard the vomit-inducing garbage of new single “I Love My Bitch”? For those who haven’t had the privilege, here’s the chorus:

I love my bitch (I love you, nigga)
I love my bitch (I love you, nigga)
I love my bitch (I love you, nigga)
I love my bitch (I love you, nigga)

Repeated ad nauseum, and with a cameo by the hip hop headmaster of Satan’s minions himself, Mr. will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas. My brain is struggling to remember the last time an artist fell off this hard. Q-Tip? Nas? Mobb Deep? Mere footstools compared to Busta’s high-rise plunge. As a tribute to his former self I offer a slice of hip hop nostalgia, from the days when the man’s presence was welcome, his energy was sure to ignite the sleepiest track, and his verses overflowed with charisma and originality.

“Sobb Story” – Leaders of the New School 4:30 (A Future Without a Past, Elektra 1991)

“My name is Sharina,” my name is Busta
“My name is Tonya,” my name is Busta
“My name is Diana,” my name is Busta
And what do you take me for, the little local pushover?

Rest in peace, Busta. We’ll miss you.