When the Gravediggaz dropped their second album in the fall of 1997, many were surprised – and incredibly disappointed – to find that the cartoonish violence and gruesome horror stories of the debut were replaced by sobering discourses on metaphysics and social ills. When placed alongside 6 Feet Deep (1994), The Pick, the Sickle, and the Shovel (1997) could hardly be more dissimilar. For one, mastermind and producer Prince Paul had all but vacated the premises, replaced by a handful of Wu satellite producers and the remaining members. The RZA appeared on less than half of the album’s selections, leaving the bulk of the writing to Poetic and Frukwan (or the Grym Reaper and Gatekeeper, respectively). Most significantly, the lyrical content had discovered new ground in Five Percenter teachings and grim ruminations on the apocalypse, a far cry from the psychotic tales of drinking blood and chewing one’s arm off. In other words, nearly everyone who loved the debut hated it with a staunch vehemence.

I’ve always been a vigorous defender of the record, and despite its lack of momentum toward the tail end, feel that it’s aged a tad better than 6 Feet Deep. Really, how much longer could the group keep up the whole “horrorcore” schtick without public embarrassment and subsequent career invalidation? It was time to move on past the novelty of gross-out humor and Halloween teenage antics, and regardless of the level of participation or involvement by certain members, the group elevated its maturity here with class and confidence. I remember being especially impressed by Poetic’s verses in particular, his previously choppy delivery honed into a sort of scholarly cadence, ignoring the bar lines and crafting complex rhyme schemes that revealed themselves dozens of listens later. One can only speculate on his degree of awareness regarding the colon cancer that would sadly take his life four years later, but his words seem to take on an extra weight of ominousness that is often given in hindsight to those whose time on this planet was diminished.

After a brief intro to the record, the soft, funereal guitar loop of “Dangerous Mindz” begins its slow repetition, and an anxious Poetic enters at 0:15 with the following verse:

Yo, I got stress on my brain that causes chest pains inside the best frames.
Ghetto blood clots is scored by slug shots and drug spots.
Well, if you’re too poor to move out or get a new house,
It’s like living in a war walking through shootouts.

Poetic begins his monologue in a state of trauma, describing a mental affliction that affects him physically despite his stamina, or “best frames.” His crumbling urban environment mirrors the condition of his body: gunshot wounds, various scars and scabs, and track marks from years of drug addiction. Phonetically, he foregoes alliteration and chooses instead to adhere to a pattern of a triple rhyme scheme for each of the three lines; the effect is undeniably immediate and attention-grabbing.

And you doubt God exists,
When hard fists be pounding on your head like jackhammers?
You’re trapped in the black drama, you hear the laughter.
Seconds after that you fade out, you’re played out,
You’re laid out, your heart nearly gave out.
You’re lucky that you made out with just a few scars when the beating ends.

Our narrator shifts his focus from himself to the audience, reprimanding the nonbelievers when the obvious signs of a higher power are everywhere. He terms this state of existence as the “black drama,” then describes a near-death experience where the victim barely makes it out without physical reminders. At this point, it’s uncertain whether Poetic is speaking from the perspective of a divine seer or raving lunatic, but his tone of urgency is sincere.

The streets let ya breathe again,
But evil men will soon be on the receiving end of Universal Law.
I’m calling on the meek and the poor,
To fight back and never forfeit the day you have to go to war,
With forces that are armed upon the seven continental borders.
A mental fortress is essentials to absorb this.
My sword hits the human orb until it orbits.
In the art of war, kids, see Grym Reap be morbid.

Poetic continues his oration on preparing for the arrival of “evil men,” and designates himself as the enforcer of Universal Law in the abscence of justice. He incites “the meek and the poor” to retaliate, but is cautious to warn that one must have a strong mental disposition in order to grasp his teachings. Here, Poetic has advanced to a quadruple rhyme scheme (from “beating ends” to “receiving end”), and in an impressive display of assonance, exhausts the uses of the “or” sound; I count twelve in the last six lines.

Seen pieces of the lost civilization in the past,
Had my photographs etched inside of pyramids.
To laugh at this revelation without 365 days of concentration,
And 24-hour meditation, would be foolishly pagan.
I’m ancient as Amen, see I stay Grym.
Throwing foes in in a pit full of pit bulls to be shaken.
Or strapped to the crossroads of Hell and inner sin,
Which trap the sinners in a cell such as Sing-Sing.

Getting more cryptic with each successive line, Poetic draws a connection between himself and Egyptian civilization, even implying godliness by labeling doubters as pagans. More alliteration abounds here, notably the consonant “s” sound in the last line and in perhaps the pinnacle (technically speaking) of the verse, “Throwing foes in a pit full of pit bulls to be shaken,” which utilizes a combination of assonance and alliteration for a threatening declaration that’s a challenge to repeat five times fast.

I bring Grym tidings, tidaled your wave, all not exciting,
Stop riding the dick, start writing your own shit.
‘Cause I stick figures that think they fat and can’t rap, wind blast,
I make ‘em Slim Fast, looking like stick figures.
I’m all that, I bag chips at concerts and shows,
Get more panties than hoes that boost Victoria’s Secret clothes.

Suddenly, mid-verse, Poetic abandons the apocalyptic philosophizing for a sharp left turn into street braggadocio, calling out biters and displaying the notches on his belt (in an admittedly clever simile, no less). He also begins a series of clever puns here: the “tidings” and fabricated “tidaled” combination; a delightful use of the phrase “stick figures,” first as a verb then as a plural noun; and more inventive paronomasia in phrases like “Slim Fast” and “bag chips.”

Foes is tagged like ex-foes’ toes at the coroner’s.
Kids with cold feet rise and fall like the barometer.
Grym will mentally chop your career, see shit is locked down here,
Like penitentiary blocks in tears.
Escape out of your ducts, every time you hear my name you’d better duck fate,
Or catch a fucking face full of duct tape.
You get smacked like a trick that sniffed off her money,
Then smoked like Rzarector with the blunts dipped in honey.

To conclude his verse Poetic begins cramming similes into his lines, with three subsequent ones in four bars, each refreshingly unique. He also constructs a complex double internal rhyme, juxtaposing “escape/fate/face/tape” with “ducts/duck/fucking/duct” with masterly ease. He continues in the vein of classic shit-talking, ending with two similes and building tension with his voice as he cunningly passes the mic to RZA while simultaneously comparing his victims to a blunt.

“Dangerous Mindz” – Gravediggaz 4:54 (The Pick, the Sickle, and the Shovel, Gee Street 1997)

Sweetback “Chord” Sweetback Epic 1996

As much as I adore Sade – and feel no guilt in admitting it – what initially attracted me to her music those many years ago was her backing band. In some circles, that statement is akin to the stuffy read-Playboy-for-the-articles party line, but it’s the honest truth. Their sound was irresistible: Stuart Matthewman’s ingeniously simple guitar work and arching sax lines, keyboardist Andrew Hale’s subtle and rich chord voicings, and the incomparable Paul Denman, whose basslines were often the most memorable element of the song. (It also didn’t hurt that they hired some of the sickest session drummers and percussionists in the UK for their records.) These three gentlemen had a remarkably intuitive, telepathic communication with each other on stage and in the studio, and most impressively, were always in complete deference to the singer; there isn’t a trace of showboating, limelight-stealing, or flat-out excess on any of their albums. Following the worldwide Love Deluxe (1992) tour, as Sade eased into a spell of unofficial retirement, the musicians decided to form a collaborative side project to stay active and titled it Sweetback.

Sweetback (1996), their debut, was a bit of a hit-or-miss affair, but is nonetheless not without its moments. Matthewman had been working on Maxwell’s Urban Hang Suite (1996) at the time and wanted to incorporate the urban neo-Soul sound into Sweetback’s style; coincidentally, the young singer is featured on one of the cuts here, “Softly Softly.” (Other guests included Bahamadia, Leroy Osbourne, and Groove Theory’s Amel Larrieux, who lent her talents to the single “You Will Rise.”) In addition, there is plenty of ambient dub, some healthy dashes of trip-hop and R&B, and the occasional misguided foray into lite yuppie jazz. It’s doubtful that the members were trying to spearhead an entirely new Soul movement with the record, so its success is achieved on its own terms; as late-night chillout albums go, one could certainly do worse. Many listeners will approach “Chord” as either nauseatingly corny or pleasantly seductive, and I tend to fall into the latter camp. Sure, the glistening Rhodes, “Smooth Operator” sax, and pulsing bassline are tailor-made for a softcore Skinemax flick, but it’s done incredibly well here, making it a key addition to that “sexxx mix” you know you’ve been planning for quite some time now.

“Chord” – Sweetback 3:30 (Sweetback, Epic 1996)

By most measures, four years is a long time to wait between albums, but when the band is The Sea and Cake, it can occasionally border on unbearable. Fortunately, true to the spirit of the actively intertwined Chicago post-rock scene, most of the members in the group tide fans over with solo ventures and side projects in the interim: the past few years have seen vocalist Sam Prekop’s lovely sophomore solo record Who’s Your New Professor (2005), a new release and box set from John McEntire’s Tortoise collective, and guitarist Archer Prewitt’s magnificent and sorely overlooked Wilderness (2005). This May will mark the release of their seventh full length titled Everybody (2007), and if the two tracks on their Thrill Jockey mini-site are any indication, the record will be well worth the wait. In an unexpected twist, the band chose Brian Paulson (Slint, Beck, Wilco) to man the boards instead of McEntire, who has always shared double duties as drummer and producer on their albums. The warm, bubbly synthesizers and triggered drum samples that have steadily crept into The Sea and Cake’s sound (beginning with 1997’s The Fawn) are noticeably absent on Everybody, which sees a return to the natural, initmate group interplay displayed on earlier records like Nassau (1995) and The Biz (1995).

To say that I’m excited for this album would be a gross understatement – I am wont to precede the band name with the phrase “my beloved” in my write-ups – so to stoke my anticipation, I asked bassist Eric Claridge a few questions about the upcoming release.

FWM: What are some of your thoughts or reactions to the new album?

EC: I think it’s some of the best work we’ve done, partly because of the experiences we’ve had independently of each other since the last album, and the fact that we really missed playing together. It was also a lot of fun recording in Michigan, getting out of Chicago, and having nothing else to do but the record.

FWM: The two tracks I’ve heard on the Thrill Jockey site sound more stripped-down and organic, very similar to the band’s earlier records. Was there a conscious decision to make more of a “rock” record, as opposed to the increasingly prominent electronic touches on Oui (2000) and One Bedroom (2003)?

EC: Yes. We limited the overdubs to emphasize the interplay between the instruments. We wanted the record to sound like four people just playing in a room.

FWM: John has worn the producer’s gloves for over ten years now, since the first record. What was the reason behind the decision to work with an outside producer for the first time in the band’s career?

EC: I don’t know, to try something different. It worked out well; Brian (Paulson) was a
great fit.

FWM: What was it like working with him at Key Club Studios?

EC: It was a great experience. Brian worked really hard for us, and the sounds he got
out of The Key Club were excellent. I really enjoyed living in the studio for the time we were there. There’s something very pleasant about rolling out of bed, drinking a cup of coffee, and tracking before you’re fully conscious.

FWM: What’s the songwriting process like in the group? Does one person usually bring in an outline of a song, or are they the results of improvising together?

EC: Sam brings in the kernel of the song, some guitar parts and some changes. Then we work as a three piece until the songs get hammered out to a certain point. Then John comes in and the songs get pulled in a new direction with the driving force of the drums. Finally, we get down to the final arrangements, tempos, etc.

FWM: Shifting into music-geek mode, I’ll reiterate what I’ve said before on the site: your bass playing is absolutely sublime. The lines are intelligently crafted, your tone is heavenly, and you never overplay. Who are some of your influences?

EC: I wouldn’t say I have any direct influences; I like Mingus and James Jamerson, but my playing is mostly inspired by the people I play with.

FWM: As an aside, what are your favorite/least favorite songs to play from the band’s catalogue?

EC: My favorite songs to play are “Parasol,” “Bird and Flag,” and “The Colony Room”; probably my least favorite is “Midtown,” for no particular reason.

FWM: The press release for Everybody mentions something about an upcoming solo
release from you. Can you give more information on that? Who will be playing on it?

EC: It’s been evolving for a few years. In between The Sea and Cake commitments and art shows it’s been somewhat off and on, but I hope to finish this fall. Some great people have played on it so far, including John, Archer, Mikael Jorgensen, John Herdon, Jeff Parker and Noel Kupersmith.

FWM: Any time frame for when it will be released?

EC: I’d like to get it out in ‘08.

FWM: How did you get into painting and illustrating? Do you have any upcoming exhibitions?

EC: I’ve been painting for almost fifteen years. Sam got me interested – we were sharing a space and he would paint while we were hanging out. One day, for no particular reason, I thought I’d give it a try and he lent me some watercolors and paper and I started painting. My next show is in September.

FWM: What are some bands or records you’ve been into lately?

EC: I’ve been painting a lot lately so I just put the iPod on shuffle and listen to everything I’ve got. It’s a pretty wide range of music, though I can’t say I’m really paying attention, since I’m focused on the painting.

“An Echo In” – The Sea and Cake 4:30 (Glass EP, Thrill Jockey 2003)

“Window Lights” – The Sea and Cake 3:39 (Reach the Rock Soundtrack, Hefty 1998)

Thrill Jockey will release Everybody on May 8th on CD and vinyl.

My house is on fire.

I am standing outside, in the middle of the street, in a state of catatonic disbelief as I watch the tufts of thick black smoke exhaling out of the windows, white flames lashing at the sides. Utterly helpless, I struggle to comprehend the grave reality of the situation. Yet an undeniable urge begins to swell inside me, a false sense of indestructability, and I suddenly sprint inside. Immediately, I start coughing uncontrollably, gasping for air. The heat is unbearable, and my eyes well up, reducing my visibility to a mere few feet. I manage to make it to my record collection, but the blazing atmosphere is so intense, the air so chokingly claustrophobic, that I only have enough time to grab one album. Chances are I’m cradling Loftus (1998) tightly against my chest as I stumble wildly out of the burning house.

Califone’s Tim Rutili is one of those can-do-no-wrong musicians in my book; every project he has a hand in always bears his stamp of wanton experimentation and stunning musicality. Loftus is unquestionably my favorite of his various involvements, and its story is an interesting one. Over a decade ago, Rutili was traveling with his pre-Califone collective Red Red Meat on their Bunny Gets Paid (1995) tour. The bill was shared by Chicago slow-core practitioners Rex, and as the tour progressed, members of each group would sit in on each others’ sets and a healthy musical rapport developed between the two bands. A representative from A&M records had been actively following the tour, and, impressed by the performances, offered to record these group improvisations for a subsidiary label called Treat and Release.

Consequently, during the late summer of ‘96, the members of Rex (Doug Scharin, Curtis Harvey, Phil Spirito) and Califone (Rutili, Ben Massarella, Tim Hurley) gathered in a South Side studio with Bundy K. Brown and Brian Deck manning the boards and participating in the sessions. They temporarily titled the project Loftus (after thier close friend Tim Loftus) and the name stuck. The musicians wrote ten songs over ten days (plus three brief interludes); each track was recorded and mixed over the course of one day. To determine which players would contribute to each song, everyone’s names were put into a hat and four were chosen for that day’s lineup. Unsurprisingly, the finished album gathered dust in A&M’s vaults for two years while the label figured out a way to market it. Fortunately, the tapes were released back to the bands and Perishable Records (run by Rutili and Massarella) issued it in ‘98.

Somehow, each facet of this record has managed over the years to resonate with a sweet, enamored intimacy within me, from the pacing and sequencing of songs, the variety of the music within, right down to the starkly beautiful handmade packaging. There are noisy tape-loop experiments (”King Carp in a Dan Ryan Ditch”), lo-fi Stones-inspired rave-ups (”Stolen from a Rifle Clean Brothel”), gorgeous folk instrumentals (”Theme from Loftus Nine”), and aptly-titled, suspense-building film cues (”Nervous”). “Bell and Hammer,” positioned in the center of the record, is a back-porch meditation based around a seven-note motif from the banjo. Harvey mumbles a smattering of stream-of-consciousness lyrics during the verses before settling on the mantra “high-fives all around” as a makeshift chorus and refrain. With only a washboard and shaker as the percussion, the other instruments advance hesitatingly toward each successive bar, creating (perhaps unintentionally) a living, breathing presence of tension-and-release in the song. It’s simplicity is breathtaking.

“Bell and Hammer” – Loftus 5:02 (Loftus, Perishable 1998)

The gentle and mysterious “When the Electricty Goes Out in the Submarine” is one of the most achingly beautiful pieces of music I’ve ever heard. The track moves along at the pace of an abandoned ship floating silently atop a glassy moonlit sea, the weary voices of Rutili and company sounding like ghosts in the fog. Faint traces of instruments can be detected in the nebulous mix: the chalky plinks of a piano, distant junkyard percussion, the dark sonorities of a cello. If the last moments of my life were spent listening to this song, I can state with assurance that I would slip away peacefully without the slightest trace of discontent.

“When the Electricity Goes Out in the Submarine” – Loftus 3:07 (Loftus, Perishable 1998)

“Cake” falls toward the end of the record, a lovely and serene instrumental that conjures wide, expansive skies hovering over the plains. As the hushed guitars intertwine around each other, the bass slowly meanders from note to note while the drums seem to be in no hurry to go anywhere. There is an autumnal, almost funereal tranquility found here that separates it from the other tracks, yet it still firmly establishes that rural, back-porch-at-sunset mood so unique to the record.

“Cake” – Loftus 4:01 (Loftus, Perishable 1998)

Loftus is one of those albums that I’d like to selfishly keep to myself, away from dissenting ears and confined to my stereo on quiet evenings, where I can close my eyes and hear every nuance in its sound. Sadly, this record has become incredibly difficult to obtain; it’s been out-of-stock for a few years now at the Perishable webstore, and searches at Amazon and eBay turn up fruitless. While I debate the logistics of starting a vehement campaign to convince Rutili to return it to print, if anyone is interested in a copy in the meantime, please contact me.

The Speaking Canaries “Menopause Diaries” Get Out Alive: The Last Type Story Scat 2003

One of my favorite stories about drum virtuoso and notoriously reputed douchebag Damon “The Octopus” Che took place years ago when Don Caballero was headlining a set at Cambridge’s Middle East Upstairs club. According to the source, a local Boston band specializing in the same brand of cerebral instrumental rock (regretfully, their name is lost on me) opened for the group, and their drummer unwisely decided to taunt and mock Che during their set, going so far as “challenging” him to some sort of masturbatory drummer duel and continually indulging in ridiculous flights of solo prowess. Just before Don Caballero plugged in, a lone Che strolled out onto the stage accompanied by a bottle of cheap beer, and sat down on his throne. For the next twenty minutes he assaulted his kit with the ravaging, thunderous fury of a hyperactive Neil Peart on crystal meth, but all with one hand – the other was nonchalantly raised toward the audience with an extended middle finger the entire time. Even the veteran sound guy had never witnessed anything like it, and everyone left the venue speechless.

I’ve always held a certain fascination with Che, and not solely because I find his drum work consistently mind-blowing each time I hear those classic Don Cab records (the lineup Che currently records and tours with is Don Caballero in name only). Few are aware that he also leads the casually irregular side-project The Speaking Canaries, a solo venture where he plays most of the instruments himself. What’s most revealing about the band’s two records (particularly 2003’s Get Out Alive: The Last Type Story) is how remarkably proficient Che is on guitar, and amusingly, how much he idolizes Eddie Van Halen. Everything – from the fretwork pyrotechnics right down that signature reverbed tone – is mirrored after the legendary guitar god, but what’s so hilarious is how earnestly sincere Che is in his reverence. “Menopause Diaries” begins innocently enough with some textbook indie rock guitar strumming, but when the distortion kicks in at 0:25, one almost expects David Lee Roth to leap out of the speakers as Che hammily scrapes his pick down the neck. While the track appears to be a love song of sorts, it’s anyone’s guess when Che begins shouting, “just plant your eyelashes on my face”; in fact, his vocals almost sound like they were tracked while he was shit-faced drunk. It would be difficult to imagine even the most diehard Don Cab fan not mystified by most of the music on the record. I can only recommend it half-heartedly, if only because I’m still not sure what to make of it, but it’s certainly worth a listen.

“Menopause Diaries” – The Speaking Canaries 4:47 (Get Out Alive: The Last Type Story, Scat 2003)