During the late winter and early spring of 1998, I was an impressionable 20 year-old completely engulfed in drum ‘n’ bass and electronic music (ridiculously labeled “electronica,” though I don’t believe I’ve ever actually said that word out loud). I purchased Tortoise’s TNT (1998) on a whim, most likely because the local record store used to price new “indie” releases for less than ten bucks. Over the course of the following three months, TNT would entirely change the way I thought about, played, and listened to music. I was freakishly obsessed with this record; never before had I heard a band combine so many exotic styles of music (to my green ears at the time) to create such colorful and strikingly visual instrumental pieces. I promptly acquired Tortoise’s back catalog and have anticipated every new release since. It wasn’t until 2004’s It’s All Around You that the band stumbled a bit, but their first four records prior to that are essential.

For those whose Pretentious Arty Bullshit Detectors are particularly sensitive, Tortoise has been somewhat of a recurring annoyance over the past ten years or so. The reasons include, but are not limited to the following:

• Tortoise plays “instrumental music” and are difficult to categorize.
• They are/were adored by obnoxious hipsters, who call them “postmodern.”
• The members appear to be excessively humorless and self-important.
• The instrumentation includes vibraphones. And marimbas. Oh my God.
• Their live set has more or less been the same for the past eight years.
• At first listen, the music seems to consist solely on aimless noodling and flashy production tricks.

There is a grain of truth to most of the above, but really, what it comes down to is this: folks either like ‘em or not, and the band doesn’t seem to be losing any sleep over it. I’ve seen Tortoise live four times, and although the set list really hasn’t varied since that first show (which was a tad frustrating), they’ve always come across as laidback, easygoing, and approachable. Another common misconception about the group is that they’re a group of geeky white dudes who add pedestrian solos over geeky white grooves; on the contrary, their music is more about collective composition than a loose exchange of improvisational ideas. John McEntire’s Soma Studio has also been a crucial element in the writing process, and any given track will contain at least one clever production technique that benefits the song immensely. Yet one can still detect an organic warmth under the surface, a familiar human interaction beneath the glassy sheen of the vibes and the monstrously compressed drums. They’re not a jazz combo. They’re not “prog.” And they’re most certainly not a hip hop group. They’re just… Tortoise, and I’ve personalized them to the point where few things give me more pleasure than playing “Speakeasy” from Standards (2001) on that first warm day of spring.

Last week, Thrill Jockey released A Lazarus Taxon (2006), a four-disc collection of outtakes, rarities, B-sides, and remixes, one of the discs being a DVD of a few live performances and half a dozen videos. Other than exhibiting the surprisingly consistent and linear characteristic of the band’s discography, what’s most revealing about the set is the welcoming collaborative stance they have always possessed and the group’s willingness to let others restructure and modify their compositions: for example, glitched-out Warp mainstays Autechre contribute two remixes here, as does Nobukazu Takemura, while the band tries their hand at Yo La Tengo’s “Autumn Sweater.” Of course, it’s also a plus that the box collects plenty of rare 7” singles and fantastic Japanese-edition outtakes that have been incredibly tough to find since the group’s inception.

Tortoise solidified their lineup in 1997 with the addition of guitarist Jeff Parker, who has proven to be the band’s secret weapon over the years. His unique approach to the instrument is supplemented by a wondrous array of effects pedals, and his sound is instantly recognizable, which is about as high a compliment I can pay to any guitarist (or musician for that matter) in this day and age. “Wait” was one of Parker’s first contributions to the group and is culled from a Red Hot comp from 1996. Credited to the guitarist, it’s an early indication of the style he would bring to offshoots like Isotope 217 and Chicago Underground Quartet, a blend of lovely single-note lines and fluid-like runs with a decidedly Brazilian flavor.

“Wait” – Tortoise 4:27 (A Lazarus Taxon, Thrill Jockey 2006)

I’ve always enjoyed Takemura’s remix work more than his own releases, and his reworking of the title piece from TNT still remains my favorite Tortoise remix. The track begins with an addictive hip hop beat that mimics McEntire’s original drum pattern, and even toggles back to the band’s version for a bar or two to demonstrate the parallels between them. At around 5:11 the room is cleared for some Reich-like minimalism, complimented by harp arpeggios and Rob Mazurek’s signature cornet line. The hypnotic effect is suspended during the track’s slow exit as it descends into a deep cavern of darkness. This was originally a bonus track on the Japanese edition of TNT.

“TNT (Nobukazu Takemura Remix)” – Tortoise 10:03 (A Lazarus Taxon, Thrill Jockey 2006)

“Waihopai” was one-half of a Standards tour single quizzically titled Gently Cupping the Chin of the Ape (2001). McEntire has always had a flair for making the drum kit the most notable and interesting feature of the track, and “Waihopai” shows him completely unrestrained. Some shimmering NordLead patchwork introduces a thin 808 beat and a palm-muted lick from Parker, which becomes the palette for McEntire’s violent outbursts of percussion assaults.

“Waihopai” – Tortoise 4:13 (A Lazarus Taxon, Thrill Jockey 2006)

Normally, multi-disc box sets of this sort are geared toward longtime diehards and fanatical completists, but I have yet to see this package retail for more than twenty bucks, and with the expansive spectrum of terrific material here, it has my highest recommendation for anyone curious about why this band is so great.

“All for the Love of a Girl” – Acetone 3:04 (I Guess I Would, Vernon Yard 1994)

Following the fuzzed-out garage rock of their surprisingly great debut Cindy (1993), So-Cal trio Acetone took a detour into classic Country & Western for a lovely little EP of covers long before such a concept became fashionable. I must have been exposed to 50’s honky tonk crooner Johnny Horton (“When It’s Springtime in Alaska”) at some point in time during my childhood, because “All for the Love of a Girl” was strikingly familiar the first time I heard it. Acetone strip the original of its blustery orchestration, slow the tempo, and filter the song through a cloud of bong haze and the near-comatose buzz of a guitar. I’ve seen I Guess I Would (1994) in the used bins for a few bucks and it’s worth picking up, if only for their 11-minute psychedelic romp through Kris Kristofferson’s “Border Lord.”

“Losing My Religion” – Graveworm 4:24 (Engraved in Black, Nuclear Blast 2003)

I realize that anyone in their right mind will probably listen to this once, have a chuckle or two, and promptly forget about it minutes later. Which I’ll admit is my intention, I suppose. I don’t know anything about this band other than seeing their name scattered across Digital Metal on occasion. Oh no, I’ve said too much. Wraith-like vocal shrieks, hyper-picking duel guitars, an apocalyptic organ simmering underneath – at least Italy’s Graveworm knows a thing or two about black metal, and their deference to the original is sincere. I particularly enjoy how the drums double-time the second half of the chorus, along with the requisite lyric alteration to “I think I thought I saw you DIE.”

“Anticipation” – J Mascis 2:56 (Martin & Me, Reprise 1996)

I still remember that when I bought Martin & Me (1996) ten years ago, the clerk at the record store (a fellow Mascis devotee) just couldn’t get over the fact that J was wild enough to cover a 70’s relic that makes most rockers gag: “Dude, he covers ‘Anticipation!’ Carly Simon, bro!” Mascis may have been waist-deep in a drug binge at the time, but his solo interpretations of old Dinosaur Jr faves and intriguing cover choices made a fine record, at a time when he was arguably at the lowest rung on the popularity ladder. Here, his clunky guitar strumming and signature slacker drawl is quite charming; note his lazy enunciation of “wait” at 0:57 and 1:51.

“When the World Is Running Down” – ON 3:54 (Make Believe, self-released, 2003)

I used to love me some Ken Andrews. Failure was one of the most underrated bands of the 90’s, commanded by Andrews’ syrupy guitar crunch and creamy white vocals. He currently owns and operates a studio in Los Angeles where he slathers sickening gobs of compression over anyone who happens to book time, from Charlotte Martin to his own (now-defunct, disasterous) Year of the Rabbit. ON is his the moniker for his solo studio work, and this Police cover was likely constructed out of boredom. The original is absolutely untouchable, but I’m still on the fence about Andrews’ take; it’s either mildly entertaining in a streamlined, retro-futuristic sense, or it’s some tired, unnecessary Bladerunner-esque bullshit that’s achingly obvious from the entrance of those synth strings. Regardless, lay off the compression, dude. Seriously.

“Lyrics of Fury” – Tricky 3:20 (Pre-Millennium Tension, Island 1996)

Let me get the obvious out of the way: Martina is no Rakim. That’s not really the point here, however. Tricky’s humble cover of one of hip hop’s genuine classics is a pleasant diversion from his usual cocky swagger, and much like “Black Steel” from Maxinquaye (1995), is a reverent homage to his favorite era of popular music. Sonically, it’s certainly unique and quite impressive: Tricky laces the track with choking, backwards guitar samples while Martina stumbles her way through the lyrics, dodging the cluttered drums being hurled at her. I’ll bet that the first time Ra heard this, he leaned back, nodded his head, and simply uttered, “Cool.”

Like most folks, Sundays are my cleaning days, and today I’ve been organizing and sifting through the hundreds of mp3’s that have accumulated on my hard drive over the past few months. So much has already been said about the passing of J Dilla earlier this year that I have little desire to tread familiar ground, but I can’t stash away these three instrumentals to the vaults without a at least a cursory digression upon them.

When the highly anticipated Champion Sound dropped a few years ago, I was initially drunk with elation during the first week of listening, until it slowly dawned on me that lyrically, there wasn’t much to the record. Madlib’s bizarre, blunted ruminations atop Dilla’s beats were the better tracks; Dilla wasn’t exactly mad nice when it came time to rock a mic, despite some solid productions from Madlib. “The Red” was a standout, and my guess is that the lo-fi vocal sample was the genesis for the track, with some tasteful piano comping and Dilla’s signature fuzz bass supporting it. The tempo is so loose that it feels like it could drop out at a moment’s notice – then it does, starting at 2:44.

“The Red (Instrumental)” – Jaylib 2:58 (Champion Sound, Stones Throw 2003)

“Take Dem Clothes Off” was the B-side to the “Off Ya Chest” 12”, and featured duo Frank-N-Dank tenderly and sweetly provoking a young female to – no, it’s pretty raw, and the subject matter doesn’t stray far from the title. The beat is about as club-bangin’ as Dilla got, and eschews his usual mid-tempo mood pieces for chunky drums situated under oddly syncopated guitar plucks, with the occasional three-note pizzicato plinks and synthesizer accents.

“Take Dem Clothes Off (Instrumental)” – Jay Dee 3:30 (Off Ya Chest 12”, ABB 2002)

I saved the best for last, as the production on “Ma Dukes” is easily some of the finest of Dilla’s career. The chief reason why his work meant so much to me personally was the way Dilla emphasized mood, color, and texture over straight hooks; his best tracks are surreal and hazy, and contain enough nuances and subtleties that two or three listens isn’t sufficient enough to fully absorb them. “Ma Dukes” invokes wistful memories of those late-afternoon days when summer’s end is near, and with Dilla’s mother at his bedside at the time of his passing, is especially poignant. The original vocal version of this track a heartfelt tribute (no, really) from Frank-N-Dank to their old earths, with a guest spot by Tammy Lucas on the chorus; but to be honest, I’ve only listened to it once, simply because I don’t want anything distracting me from how utterly phenomenal the music is. That loping, plodding bass, the circular guitar, and the way those atmospheric pads drop in and out – it’s pure perfection.

“Ma Dukes (Instrumental)” – Frank-N-Dank 4:26 (48 Hours, self-released 2003)

For whatever reasons or circumstances beyond my knowledge, Masta Killa, the ninth member of the Wu-Tang Clan, got a bum deal. He was the last MC of the original Clan to release a solo record, over a decade after 36 Chambers, and with the release of his second solo LP last week, is just now beginning to get the recognition he deserves. Made in Brooklyn (2006) is a strong release that is better than anything the rest of the Wu has done in years, Fishscale excluded, of course (that Grandmasters record wasn’t bad, either). It’s also has some serious flaws, marred by weak productions and questionable asides into lame, cookie-cutter reggae and some dull R&B nonsense.

Masta Killa only contributed one verse to 36 Chambers, on “Da Mystery of Chessboxin’,” but it was one of the most memorable on the record (“Homicide’s illegal and death is the penalty”). The oft-repeated anecdote of him recording this verse while in prison made ample fodder in shaping the Wu’s legend, but is, in fact, untrue; Killah Priest was slated to appear on the track but fell asleep in the studio, only to awake as Masta Killa was finishing his incendiary verbal assault. For the next decade, an appearance by Masta Killa was often one of the highlights of a Wu record, his mysterious, laconic drawl complimenting the other MCs’ flows marvelously, whether it was Meth’s stoned humor, Rae’s grim street portraits, or GZA’s calculated ferocity. His subject matter is dense and tricky to decipher upon first listen, often a blend of chess metaphors, martial arts weaponry, and Kung Fu combat techniques. And the man loves his weed. He isn’t everyone’s taste, but I find him fascinating to listen to.

One can only fantasize about Masta Killa dropping his first solo record during RZA’s studio prime, say, back in ’95. Sadly, it wasn’t until two years ago when No Said Date (2004) was released, but it was heralded as a return to form for the Wu, and subsequently became the last album where all nine original Clansmen appeared (R.I.P. ODB). Made in Brooklyn is similar in that there are a host of producers (from Pete Rock to MF Doom), but unlike No Said Date, many of the beats here sound like studio leftovers. Lyrically, Masta Killa shines on each track, his weathered, seasoned voice gliding nimbly over the arrangements, and the guest spots from the Wu veterans are surprisingly strong. “Ringing Bells,” a fine Bronze Nazareth production released this past spring on Nature Sounds’ Natural Selection compilation, is a great example of Masta Killa’s poetic complexity and swift wordplay – and note the abrupt end to the first verse, one of his bizarre idiosyncrasies that I’ve never figured out.

“Ringing Bells” – Masta Killa 3:13 (Made in Brooklyn, Nature Sounds 2006)

One would think that the Wu and their orbiting group of affiliated producers would be tired of flipping Al Green samples at this point, but unfamiliar beatsmith Jig Sor manages to construct a sugary loop from “You Ought to Be with Me” without treading old ground for “Pass the Bone (Remix).” Masta Killa’s blunted delivery sounds improvised at times, almost as if he was freestying in the studio while occasionally glancing at his rhyme book.

“Pass the Bone (Remix)” – Masta Killa 4:04 (Made in Brooklyn, Nature Sounds 2006)

Made in Brooklyn doesn’t shy away from the Wu guest appearances, but the remaining Clan members hold it down with relaxed confidence. U-God has always been my least favorite MC of the collective, but his opening volley on “Iron God Chamber” is one of the best verses I’ve heard from him. RZA seems revitalized after a low-key past few years, and Meth actually sounds as if he hasn’t turned into a complete embarrassment for the small cadre of fans he has left. The beat from Whyz Ruger (?) is nothing to get excited about, but this is the stuff Wu devotees will relish, evidence that the almighty Clan hasn’t exhausted its last breath just yet.

“Iron God Chamber” – Masta Killa feat. U-God, RZA, & Method Man 3:50 (Made in Brooklyn, Nature Sounds 2006)

It’s almost challenging to wrap my head around the towering level of quality that has consistently characterized trumpeter Dave Douglas’ work. Whenever I’m in a record store I always check for cheap or discounted CD’s of his before I leave, because I’ve never been disappointed by a release with his name on it somewhere – and there are quite a few for an artist who has only been recording seriously for a little over a decade, a glaring indication of Douglas’ fierce work ethic. He first came to prominence as a member of John Zorn’s Masada quartet in the early 90’s, and has initiated or been involved in a wider spectrum of various groups and combos than any other modern jazz musician that comes to mind.

Many often compare Douglas’ tone to Lester Bowie and Miles Davis, but I hear flavors of Booker Little (he has recorded a tribute record to him) more than anyone else – and his technique is impeccable, delightfully engaging, and full of fascinating ideas. Douglas is also celebrated for his unique compositional methods that draw on everything from modern classical to Eastern European folk musics. And he can swing like hell to boot. His catalogue may seem intimidating for a newcomer, but as stated above, the man has yet to offer a sub-par release; really, one can choose a disc at random in full confidence. His warm remembrance of jazz pianist Mary Lou Williams on Soul on Soul (2000) is wonderful, there are some fiery Live-Evil exchanges on his Strange Liberation (2004) with Bill Frisell, and Mountain Passages (2005) has some incredible little pieces that sound like relics from an old 1950’s Italian black-and-white film score.

My favorite record of Douglas’ is the evocative and serene A Thousand Evenings (2000), performed with his group Charms of the Night Sky, a quartet consisting of Douglas, Guy Klucevsek on accordion, Mark Feldman on violin, and the always-reliable Greg Cohen on bass. The level of interaction between the musicians on these chamber pieces is breathtaking, from Feldman’s professional versatility to (most distinctively) Klucevsek’s textural accordion playing. The music contains various ingredients of Argentinean folk songs, klezmer, and modes from Eastern European gypsy music.

The title track opens the disc with a mournful soliloquy from Douglas, whose elegant solo at 3:02 is supported by the occasional thought from Feldman. Klucevsek provides some solid accompaniment to the unison trumpet and violin theme, a chilling, noir-ish sound combination. Feldman interjects some tasteful pizzicato at 6:03 for the coda, which concludes on a suspended chord from Klucevsek. A haunting, gorgeous way to begin a record.

“A Thousand Evenings” – Dave Douglas 6:48 (A Thousand Evenings, RCA 2000)

“The Little Boy with the Sad Eyes” is a jubilant Nat Adderley tune interpreted by the quartet, and is a refreshing inclusion on the album. Cohen holds everything down firmly (he is superbly placed in the mix) while Feldman incorporates some Persian flavor into his solo by way of some Southern fiddle-like lines.

“The Little Boy with the Sad Eyes” – Dave Douglas 7:10 (A Thousand Evenings, RCA 2000)

“On Our Way Home” is a fine example of Douglas’ compositional imagination, a brisk gypsy folk dance in 7/8 that features some of the best playing on the album. Klucevsek’s brief spotlight at 1:06 is a joy to behold, and Feldman’s histrionic solo reaches for the stratosphere. Douglas wails over a dissonant climax, which implodes back into a truncated version of the theme to conclude the piece.

“On Our Way Home” – Dave Douglas 4:06 (A Thousand Evenings, RCA 2000)