Blackalicious “Shallow Days” Nia Quannum 2000

When was the last time you listened to Oakland duo Blackalicious? I rarely see them mentioned ’round these internets, and for me, it’s admittedly been quite a while since I’ve even given them thought. Gift of Gab is one of those MCs, like Black Thought from The Roots, whose delivery, cadence, and articulation are nothing shy of amazing, but sixteen bars later I’m struggling to stay awake. After probably dozens of listens to their debut full-length Nia (2000), I’m still hard-pressed to come up with one memorable line from the dude; fortunately, Chief Xcel’s colorful production on the record still manages to engage me. I gave Blazing Arrow (2002) a few spins when it was released then promptly forgot about it, and didn’t even bother with The Craft (2005), but Nia isn’t a bad record, despite its near-agonizing length and stale ‘conscious rap’ ethos.

“Shallow Days” remains my favorite cut on the album, as Gab takes a break from hyperactive lyrical dexterity and dissecting the first seven letters of the alphabet to ruminate on the state of hip hop, its influence on today’s youth, and the struggles of the young Black man in the ghetto. Nothing new, of course, although the way Gab narrates a conversation with a “misled” brother during the first and second verses is impressive, and in the third he discusses the state of hip hop in the wake of Afrocentricity and gangsta rap’s effect on children, who are “seeing more drama than war veterans.” Xcel repeats a two-bar loop of phased guitar and congas underneath a somewhat forceful drum pattern, which he then supplements with some psychedelic sound effects and a breezy trumpet during the chorus. Like much of Nia, this sounds fantastic on a stifling hot summer afternoon, as reality is distorted under a blanket of humidity.

“Shallow Days” – Blackalicious 4:20 (Nia, Quannum 2000)

Apologies, dear reader, for the lack of posts recently; my best excuse is the usual work overload and weekend wedding in Ohio that tend to interrupt my already-irregular posting schedule here. Recently I’ve experienced a spike in emails regarding my means of uploading audio and mixes to the site, likely the result of posting a picture of my “media sanctuary” a few weeks ago. I thought I’d forgo the usual song autopsy or artist feature and take a moment to explain the various technical means which assist my anal-retentive micromanaging of the site. A bit of a drag, yes, but a necessary one, and I have to acknowledge the demographic of tech-geeks that visit on occasion somehow. This one’s for you, fellas.

Early last year I splurged on two new turntables and a mixer all at once, and since I had a limited budget, I decided to invest most of the money on a quality mixer and spend the remainder on average turntables. I haven’t regretted it since. My setup consists of two Numark TT-200 direct drive turntables and a Numark 5000FX five-channel mixer. The turntables are decent and fairly priced, my chief complaints being the sensitivity of the pitch faders and the occasional skipping. I’ve heard that the motor begins to wear after a few hours of scratching, but since I really only use mine for mixing, it’s never been a problem. The 5000FX, however, is the jewel of my setup; I can’t imagine ever having to ‘upgrade’ to a better mixer as long as it’s still functioning. Five channels, two of which I never use (better to have them just in case), a digital bpm counter that is remarkably precise, an effects processor, and a 30-second loop sampler are just a few of its features that I’ve managed to figure out. What really impressed me, actually, was the addition of a 1/8″ headphone out to supplement the regular 1/4″ out – a subtle touch of logic that sold me instantly. I don’t want to sound too much like a rabid product endorsement, but if you’re looking for the mixer to trump all other mixers, it has my highest recommendation.

The Numark turntables and mixer are then routed to yet another mixer, a Behringer Eurorack UB802 eight-channel mixer that does only one thing: take the left and right channels from the Numark mixer and run them in stereo to my speakers and PowerBook. This thing is proof positive that, in some cases, you really don’t need to spend a small fortune for high-quality gear; I couldn’t have dropped more than $60 on it. The preamps are powerful as hell, there is absolutely no noise at all whatsoever (absolutely crucial), and it fits snugly on my bottom shelf. I completely take it for granted, but hell, if it broke, I’d just buy another one without thought. For playback, I have a pair of KRK V4 powered professional studio monitors that I’ve owned for years now. In a word: amazing, although I wouldn’t expect someone to fork over $500 at the drop of a hat for a pair of these. I will say this, though: it is absolutely unacceptable to listen to music from those tinny laptop speakers. Head over to Radio Shack, buy a few cables, and hook something up through your stereo, or invest in a nice pair of headphones, something.

When it comes to digital recording and wave editing, everyone has their own preference, but I’ve been using Peak for years and see no need to change. With Peak I can do virtually anything to an audio file, but for purposes here, I really only use it to adjust the volume of a track, maybe add a fade out, sparkle it up with a trace of EQ’ing, and that’s about it. My version of Peak (v4.01) has the random bug or two, but I’ve learned to predict them somewhat, and its positives far outweigh the negatives. If you’re looking for something cheaper, I’ve heard good things about freeware like Audacity, but I have little experience with it and am a bit wary about free software on principle. If I need to work with more than one stereo track or want to crossfade selections, I again turn to another one of Bias’ products, Deck, which is still in its formative stages as far as I’m concerned. In this case, you get what you pay for, and while it’s certainly no ProTools or Logic, it’s acceptable in doing what I need it to do.

Once I have a cleaned-up audio file from a vinyl source, I then import it into iTunes to convert it to an .mp3 for uploading. I encode all tracks at 112 kbps, which I feel is enough fidelity to sample and enjoy, yet isn’t crystalline enough to have the RIAA pounding down my front door. Plenty of heads claim that they can’t tell a difference between 112 and 192 kbps, but to me they’re like night and day, and my ears are shot from years of playing and listening to music. My FTP client is unimaginatively called Transmit, and I actually purchased it for $30 after making the most out of repeated time-limited trial versions. Nothing too exciting there.

For the music notation examples, I reluctantly use Finale; I believe mine is the 2004 version. I have a sort of love/hate relationship with it, constantly cursing its backward procedures while secretly understanding its logic. It’s probably the only software I’ve owned for five years that still has me reaching for the tutorials manual every other minute. Once I’ve typed in the notation, I usually take a screen snapshot, open it with Photoshop, and modify it to incorporate it as an image on the site. It would probably be easier to save the notation file as a .pdf, but Finale is a pain in the ass like that.

Finally, this site is ‘powered’ by WordPress, which I should probably advertise on here somewhere, but never seem to get around to it. Again, no problems at all whatsoever, although I’ve never upgraded for fear of a total site meltdown – if it ain’t broke, right?

If anyone has any recommendations or alternatives to the above, I’d love to hear about them. Regular entries will resume very soon, promise.

By the mid-’70s, vibraphonist and bandleader Roy Ayers had effectively ostracized himself from the jazz community, his remaining support diminished entirely by his move from fusion-inflected funk to disco. While 1976 saw his biggest hit to date, the timeless “Everybody Loves the Sunshine,” Ayers knew that he needed a quick follow-up to sustain his momentum. He set his sights squarely on the disco crowd and hit his mark with “Running Away,” a massive club hit that proved to be one of the most popular singles of his career. Unfortunately, the full-length that accompanied its release, the mostly forgettable Lifeline (1977), didn’t wade in the same pool of ingenuity as its lead single, and Ayers quickly moved on to prepare his next dancefloor smash, 1978’s “Sweet Tears.” Those familiar with the truncated edition of “Running Away” included on Lifeline only got half of the story, as the extended 12″ version is quite simply one of the most incredible pieces of music ever recorded.

The track opens with a one-bar fill from drummer John Mosley before diving right into the groove that will provide the foundation for every additional element of the arrangement; indeed, it does not change for the entire seven-minute duration of the song. Immediately, one is confronted with one of the most infectiously funky basslines ever committed to tape, a flighty two-bar exposition by bassist William Allen that is much more difficult to execute cleanly than it sounds:

Allen thumps out the root note of Eb on the downbeat before jumping up a flatted tenth to begin his nimble descent to Ab in the subsequent bar. He performs a quick octave leap for decoration, anticipates the Bb just shy of the third beat, then teases with the root just before the pattern repeats itself. With all of the activity and syncopation, it’s almost difficult to believe that Allen is merely elaborating on a simple I - IV - V progression. His bass tone is as critical as his line, a monitory growl that’s just slightly dry, but not quite trebly enough to fuzz up the lower frequencies during the second bar. This pattern is repeated, without any fills or variation whatsoever, for the entirety of the track. I’ve heard scores of phenomenal basslines in my day, but this has to be one of the top five in my book. It’s utterly, unbelievably brilliant.

With all of the busyness in the bass, the other members of the rhythm section are freed up to support its dominance. The drum pattern is a basic disco beat with minor variations on the snare and hi-hat, while the guitar is content to rapidly strum out a series of thin chords, its tone supplemented by a wah-wah pedal. A conga pattern can also be detected in the right channel, a sprightly Latin flavor that benefits the track immensely.

After four bars of establishing the groove, the first of many vocal chants enters with the song’s mantra: “Do-be-doo, run run run.” Hand claps on the second and fourth beats also make an appearance, adding an almost surprising buoyancy to the rhythm. The first lyrics enter at 0:44, sung by a predominantly female chorus, and describe a one-sided relationship: “‘Cause you’ve been mean to me, and I’ve been good to you, and I’ve been oh so true.” The content is secondary to the rhythm of the words, the way the syllables edge into the groove in a polyrhythmic fashion. Ayers begins to sing at 1:33, but his cycle of silence every two bars gives the impression of confused, half-completed thoughts, those of a man unable to comprehend the reasons of a failing relationship. At 2:24 the chorus returns, and Ayers chants mournfully in the background: “I’m running away.”

The lone notable distinction between the album and club versions occurs at 2:48, where the album cut would have begun to fade out. The guitar drops out and a shimmering Fender Rhodes enters, augmented by a massive dose of tremelo, to start a sequence of gorgeous chords that are less about harmonic substance than thick splashes of color to add to the mix. Ayers begins his vibraphone solo at 3:20, somewhat passively at first, then increasing in confidence and versatility. At 4:20 the guitar returns, and it’s almost startling how critical its role is after exposure to its absence. The vocals then layer themselves on top of each other for the ecstatic climax, a dense web of “doo-be-doo”s, “running away,” and “hey!”s that ricochet and echo off each other, increasing in intensity as they overlap. As the track fades abruptly its potency has long been released, and anyone could be forgiven for placing the needle back on the lip of the record to begin the dance again.

“Running Away (12” Version)” – Roy Ayers 6:58 (Lifeline, Polydor 1977)