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If I went to a Britney Spears’ concert….

Let me start that again.  A bit more realistically.

What is a Britney Spears concert?  I suspect that, like a Kylie concert or a Madonna concert or a Justin Timberlake concert, it is an event where fans go along and expect to see note-perfect reproductions of the songs they love from albums performed in front of them with all the added glitz, glamour and gadgetry that you can only get in a concert situation.  They want dance, and fireworks and sex and anything else these stars feel like giving them.

Do they care if some of the music is lip-synced?

The Victorian Government thinks so:

POP stars such as Britney Spears could be forced to disclose whether they lip-sync under new laws to stop fans being ripped off.

Consumer Affairs Minister Tony Robinson said fans deserved to know what they were paying for, the Herald Sun reports.

“We believe it is good business practice for concert promoters to make it clear to consumers before they buy tickets whether the performer will be miming, and make this clear on advertising, posters and other promotional materials,” Mr Robinson said.

It seems a no-brainer, in one way I guess.  Why not make them declare whether they will be singing live or not?  At least that way you can decide in advance whether you want to go or not.  Informed decision and all that.  And I strongly suspect that it wouldn’t cost the performers I’ve listed above a solitary sale.

But what’s at stake here?  Not much it seems to me.  Like I said, I think certain fans just presume that some lip-syncing goes on and they don’t give a toss.  It’s not, as a promoter quoted in the article suggests, that they are not there for the music.  Of course, they are there for the music.  It’s just that they want to hear the music live like they hear it at home, and then they want a show to go with it.

Of course, there are other sorts of fans of other sorts of music who definitely don’t want to hear anything pre-recorded at a gig (except maybe a tape-loop or something like that).  If I thought for a second that Lucinda Williams was lip-syncing her way through a gig, or that Martha Wainwright was or the Stones were or that the Sydney Symphony had pre-recorded the first violin part, well, yeah, sure I’d be annoyed.  I’d feel ripped off.  But if they did, the market, that is, their fans, would sort it out so quickly it would either never happen again, or the performer would simply cease to have a viable audience.

For fans of music like this, the live performance of the music, with the possibility of improvisation, of a singer or musician excelling themselves, of variation rather than rote reproduction, even the possibility of error, is the essence of the live experience.  Lip-syncing or equivalent technique by such a performer would certainly be a betrayal as it would genuinely involve deception.  Do I need a law to protect me from such a likelihood?  Nup.

My inclination is to tell the government to pull their head in.  Read the rest of that article: there is so much righteous indignation about “protecting consumers” (see the quote from the person from the Consumer Action Law Centre and the NSW government), not to mention sneering put-downs of music they don’t happen to like, that I’m more inclined to pass a law against politicians lip-syncing pious inanities.

It seems to me this law will “protect” people who don’t really care and be irrelevant to people who do.

So, Victorian Government, leave Britney alone!

UPDATE: Since I wrote that, Britney has performed in Perth, and guess what? The media found someone who walked out!:

Disappointed fans stormed out of the arena complaining they had parted with hundreds of dollars for their tickets to the circus-themed show. One female fan outside the arena said it was cheap act.

“People are paying for it and have come here so she should sing,” a fan told the Nine Network. “It was just really bad,” Kathy Wright, 32, told Perth’s Sunday Times. She has not spoken. There is no interaction.”

Talk about the lamest, beat-up of a story. Britney might be lip-syncing, but this journalist is doing paint-by-numbers reporting. Get one person (or at best, a handful) to mouth something about the controversy du jour and bingo, the article writes itself.  And seriously, if you go to a Britney concert and are shocked that she lip-syncs, then I have this nice bridge you might be interested in…

UPDATE: The Punch has a piece by the journalist who wrote the walk-out story and she’s a bit upset that people are piling on:

I personally spoke with 25 people who left, some as early as the third song, and while I was speaking to disgruntled fans, more and more people walked past.

Okay, so fair enough, that’s more than the handful I suggested, and good on her for defending herself against charges of lying by Britney’s promoters, but it still sounds like a beat up to me.

Beyond that we discover she is a fan, but she was really disappointed with the show.  She cites the quality of the dancing, the quality of the lip-syncing, Britney’s attitude to the fans, the amount she spoke between songs, (guess she’s never seen Dylan), the view she got of the stage, and the fact that Britney said Australia was a beautiful country when “how the heck would [she] know that from her hotel room?”

So she hated the gig.  She knew there was going to be lip-syncing so doesn’t appear to be upset about it per se, other than the fact that the star didn’t lip-sync very well.

I think all it reinforces my point.  A law requiring artists to declare lip-syncing in advance is unlikely to save anyone any trouble or money.  Some gigs are just crappy.

There’s something a bit old testament about this new album.  There is certainly some testifying going on.  This one was sent to me by the band’s management and it happened to arrive just as I had a moment to spare, so I pulled it out of the jiffy bag and bunged it the CD player and lo, there was music.  Disturbing, satisfying music.  I sat and listened to the thing the whole way through, and I’ve heard it a few times since.  Although I tend to wait before committing thoughts to screen on new albums, I figured I could risk a few thoughts on this.

Loved it.

The opening track, ‘This Wood and this wire’, is a twisted blues number with the sort of clammy, distorted, distended guitar and horns sound that is pleasantly stomach churning (not a million miles from the Drones, dare I say it).  The thing that really stands out, though, is the vocal arrangement, here and elsewhere on the album.  Lead singer (and songwriter) Daniele Marando, has a great, tenor-ish sort of voice that he isn’t afraid to kick around the studio with all the abandon of a prison guard with a serial killer at his mercy, and the whole sound of it makes a nice change from the growling sort of booze-soaked vocals songs like this usually attract.

There’s also a choir, as they call it, providing backing vocals, about ten people singing together, and it adds an interesting extra dimension (though what they do live, I don’t know).  I must admit, though, that at first I was about to launch into one of my diatribes against the usual sort of football-chant back-up vocals you usually get in Australian rock bands, but I changed my mind on that and decided that it worked.  I especially had to eat my words a few tracks on.

The choir is dubbed the Don Walker Appreciation Choir, and they come into their own on track 5, an actual song by Chisel’s resident songwriting genius, Don Walker.  ‘Silos’ is beautiful piece, and the band elevate it.  Marando’s lead vocal is supported by gen-u-ine harmony vocals that fit perfectly.  This one is more Hank Williams than Chicago blues and it is a real highlight.

I also really liked ‘Take me down’, which is steeped in gospel and blues, and again, the choir works really well here.  (UPDATE: I forgot to say, I could imagine Plant and Krauss doing a version of this on their follow-up to Raising Sand.  Would love to hear it, actually.)

Other than that there are a whole range of influences, the most obvious to my ears being Tom Waits (his post-Swordfish Trombone era) and Nick Cave.  Lots of industrial-strength percussion, and deranged, cut-throat vocals in other words.

An added bonus is that some of the lyrics are really clever: the extended riff on love-as-addiction on ‘Song from a hot country’ is particularly good, I reckon.

So look, I’ve only heard it through a few times, but I’m guessing my opinion isn’t going to change too much, which means I’m happy to suggest you might want to give it listen (click the MySpace link above).  I can’t imagine them ever busting through into the ‘big time’, but there is a reassuring ambition about what they have done here.  They sound like they can be bothered and that they are having a lot of fun.  Like I said, loved it.

What a perfect little album this is.  The vinyl original came out in 1975 and I remember very well buying it and playing it to death, though I’m less clear on why I’d even heard of it or why I thought I wanted it.  Peer pressure or social osmosis, I guess.  Yay for following the herd then.  I actually still have the vinyl copy but it’s in storage (long story) so I haven’t heard it in an age.  So when I saw this re-released CD version in a shop the other day I grabbed it.  Glad I did.

As I say, I didn’t know much about the band, though I did know they were from Melbourne, and I do remember my cousin telling me when she was staying with us in Canberra one Christmas holidays that she knew someone who knew the lead guitarist, which I thought was pretty cool, and I can even remember writing a letter to the guitarist and giving it to my cousin to give to her friend to give to him, but I’m pretty sure it never made it past my cousin.  God knows what it said.

Listening to Stillpoint again after all these years was less a trip down memory lane, or a nostalgia mainline, than a reacquaintance with an old friend who had grown and prospered in the years of our separation.  By which I mean, I am hearing it with fresh ears and I think that it stands on its own two feet without any need to justify itself in terms of past glories.  To put it another way, if someone released it today, it would still sound fresh and original.

Describing the music is a bit tricky.  There is a noticeable blues element, especially apparent in lead vocalist Mick Fette’s voice.  But it isn’t a blues album.  Some of the acoustic guitar licks are pretty straight sixites folk, or folk-rock, so I guess you could put it in that category.  Rock n’ roll?  Well, sure, but that’s a bit of a meaningless, generalised term.  There also seems to be a tendency to put them in the “progressive rock” category, a genre that is even evoked in the literature that comes with this re-release, but I don’t really hear it, I must admit.  That is, if by “progressive” you have in mind the likes of Yes or Emerson, Lake and Palmer or Soft Machine.  Nup.  There is none of the symphonic over-the-topness of any of those, nor any of flashy instrumental soloing you associate with them either.

However, if by “progressive” you had in mind the likes of Uriah Heep or Greenslade or maybe even Jethro Tull, you might be onto something.   Maybe.  All of those bands were more interested in hooky, shorter songs, and that’s what you get with Madder Lake too.  Not as heavy as Heep or as idiosyncratic as Tull, and more guitar based than Greenslade, but I can still see why I might’ve been inclined to lump them all in together.  In fact, I reckon it might be the Middle Earthish cover art (which is really wonderful, by the way) that has people thinking progressive, maybe even more so than their music.  I mean, the Roger Dean factor was a huge part of the fun of Yes, Greenslade, Heep and others and the cover of Stillpoint was also definitely part of the appeal  of this album too, back before the rest of the world decided that Middle Earth is somewhere in New Zealand.  But that’s a pretty tenuous link to “progressive”.

Anyway, two things really strike me about hearing the album now and those two things might even seem contradictory.  First, it is amazing to me how much of the album is actually instrumental.  Most obviously is the eight-minute opener, ‘Salmon Song’, which only has a chanty little bit of vocal right at the end.  But nearly all the songs are quite light-on for vocals, which is kind of weird given what a distinctive and good singer they had.

So that was the other thing that struck me: I’d forgotten — or maybe never realised — what a great vocalist Mick Fettes was.  I guess you’d put him in the Joe Cocker category, if you wanted a point of reference.

The album sound is really clean, with lots of space, with every instrument, every lick apparently carefully considered and given due room in which to make its presence felt.  The playing is tight and the songs themselves are all strong.  In fact, I could’ve easily lived without the extra tracks loaded onto this re-release (mainly single and live versions of songs on the original album).   There’s not a dud song on here and some of them are just extraordinary (’Salmon Song’, ‘On My Way to Heaven’, ‘Song For Little Earnest’).

Actually, there’s a nice passage in the liner notes that sums it up: “Recorded in just six days, Stillpoint highlights Madder Lake’s distinctive sound which was mostly due to the combination of Fettes unique (often effects laden) vocals, Mason’s understated blues-tinged guitar playing, the sparse yet effective use of McKinnon’s keyboards and the agile drive of the rhythm section. In addition to the vocal effects the band used fuzz bass and a bass pedal which is easily mistaken for a synthesizer, while Mason’s subtle use of wah wah to produce shimmering explosions of sound gives the album an almost otherworldly quality.”

The band released other albums, but who cares?  As it says on their website:

Stillpoint went Gold nearly completely on Victorian sales only. At that stage a national profile wasn’t held by many artists.

1974 saw a change in members with replacement of John McKinnon with Andy Cowan.  This impacted on the band material and direction changed. With this line-up Butterfly Farm was produced, an album in a new direction, but unfortunately didn’t outsell Stillpoint. Consequently this had an effect on the machine that was promoting us.

In 1974 the band parted company with Mushroom and worked with various agents and independently.

It was at this time that the band connected with Classical and pop conductor David Measham, and the concept of band and orchestra was touted. Madder Lake composed a piece based on Brave New World. The project still lies dormant, partly due to the death of David Measham.

It’s like they came into the world in order to bring forth this album and then, their work done, they drifted away.  A little rock n’ roll fairy tale for which this beautifully done re-release provides a happy ending.

It’s hard to talk about Lisa Mitchell without mentioning Australian Idol, so I guess I should begin by explaining why I’ve been a fan of the show.  We  lived overseas for the first two seasons of Idol so kind of missed the initial buzz it generated.  But one thing that was really noticeable when we came back, and maybe only to people like us who’d been away, is that the show went some way towards changing the social culture at schools.  I don’t want to oversell this idea, but it really did make it easier for a kid who wasn’t so much into sport and was instead into singing or even dancing, find a place.  Idol conferred some sort of legitimacy on the idea that you could be a performer.  No small thing.

That’s not the only thing I like about it, but it is a pretty good legacy for a show like that.  Anyway, having watched virtually every episode from Series Three onwards, I would also say the show has probably ruined as many careers as it has made.  Not just careers, but artistic lives.  I certainly don’t just blame the show for that — nobody forces people to audition — but it is as well to acknowledge the reality.  And Lisa Mitchell, from my vantage point, was one the kids it chewed up and spat out.

Hailed in the early stages as some sort of Australian musical wunderkid, the show gradually reduced her to rubble.  A combination of the inane demand that contestants perform in a range of styles — from disco to big band — with the truly lunatic rantings of the “judges”, in which I include Marcia Hines’ cryptic mumblings whereby she says everything except what she means, slowly but surely saw Mitchell’s self-confidence taken from her, leaving her in, what I remember, as a state of utter confusion by the time she exited some time after the “disco” round.

Lisa Mitchell probably was never an Australian Idol, whatever that might be.  She was certainly not meant to be a disco singer or a belter of big band numbers either.  What she was was a shy kid with an interesting but not very big or versatile voice who had begun to work out a way to express herself musically.  I liked what she did and so I was interested to hear this, her first album.

The verdict is mixed.

First up, it’s great that she has found a home at Warner Music after, I presume, failing to find one at Sony, the company associated with Idol.   (When I was in the music retail business — not to mention the video retail business — Warner were always the best company to deal with, even if they did guard their product more fiercely than anyone else.  There was always something classy about them and it shows in this album.)

Second, the album is good, with a couple of tracks tripping over into the great category.  I gotta say, I don’t really think it is likely to be an album that appeals to the Crikey demographic, but I’m sure plenty of your kids will like it.   And that’s not a put down, in case you are tempted to think so.

My biggest concern is that some of the songs just don’t cut it and that, in an attempt to make them sound better than they do, there is some pretty heavy handed production filling up the spaces with various bells and whistles.  And I mean that literally: bells and whistles.  Not sure who to blame here: those in control or Mitchell herself.  While I guess a case can be made that the idea is to clothe the album in the sort of sonic wardrobe that makes it distinctive and appealing to the teenage demographic it is targetted at, it is a bit like putting a couple of extra cups of sugar in the cupcake mix and then loading a whole pile of lollies on top of the icing as well.  The net effect is the musical equivalent of tooth decay and pimples.

For me the tracks that really offend in this regard are ‘Neopolitan Dreams’, ‘Coin Laundry’, ‘Red Wine Lips’ and ‘Heroine’.  Rather than pump them up on the sonic steroids, it might’ve been better to just leave them off (though I’d still probably leave ‘Coin Laundry’ on: as much as it annoys me, I can see why you might want it there as a single and scene-setter.)

The rest of the album is just fine, and two tracks, ‘Pirouette’ and ‘Oh, Hark’ are great, with strong and catchy melodies, some decent lyrics, and what you might call at this early stage, classic Lisa Miller Mitchell vocal performances.  I really liked them, and ‘So Jealous’, ‘Clean White Love’ and ‘Stevie’ aren’t bad either.

But even these good-to-great tracks are almost ruined by the sugar-and-spice production.  It’s like someone just didn’t have enough confidence to let the songs stand on their own two feet.  I’m not sure who this failure of nerve is down to, but they need to get a spine.  My point is proved when you listen to the four tracks on the bonus disc that comes with the album.  These are listed as demos, and so they are recorded without all the bells and whistles and they almost the strongest part of the package.  It is really noticeable, to my ears anyway, on ‘Oh, Hark’, which we get to hear in the souped-up, sugar-hit version on the main album, and then again in its unpumped version on the bonus disc.  Know which one I prefer.

So here’s my gratuitous, non-invested advice: Warner have a talented performer on their hands who needs some serious nurturing and trust from them.  She’s still only young, finding her feet, and so needs a bit of space to grow.  Leave her alone — as much as your investment will allow — and I reckon she will be churning out memorable albums a decade from now.  One thing I’m certain of: she’ll be around a lot longer the television show that ‘discovered’ her and that even as we speak is sputtering into irrelevance.

It is a fact universally acknowledged that a francophone pop/folk chanteuse in search of critical acclaim will at some stage record an album of Edith Piaf songs. Nothing wrong with that — who wouldn’t want to sink their chops into the Piaf songbook? — but said chanteuse has to be careful. The two big questions are: has the pretender got the vocal chops to hold her own against the sui generis Sparrow, and can she bring something new to what is, at this stage, a pretty well-thumbed set of sheet music?

Enter Martha Wainwright and her album of Piaf songs due out November 13.  As a big fan of Wainwright’s usual work, especially her first album, I was curious as to what she would do with this and I have to admit it is a bit of a triumph.

Looking at the first of those two criteria I set out above — does she have the vocal chops to handle the Piaf songbook — the answer is well, yes, d’uh. Wainwright can sing most contemporary singers under the table and she combines that power with a gentleness of touch and an ear for subtle melody and harmony that comes from being born to a family of singers. If you want to know the power of that heritage, get hold of the Leonard Cohen tribute she, her mum and her aunty participated in a few years back and have a listen to the harmonies on their rendition of Winter Lady. Martha sings right in the middle of every note and her diction is probably only rivalled by another chanteuse who has tried her hand at the Piaf songbook, Ute Lemper.

None of this is to say that Wainwright sets out to replicate Edith’s singing. Her voice certainly isn’t the piss-and-sperm soaked instrument Piaf’s was, which means that while she matches Piaf’s power, she doesn’t bring the same sort of street grit to the performances. Which is just as well as far as I’m concerned: she’s a singer, not an impersonator.

As to the second criteria — how do you make fresh a songbook that has probably been done to death? — Wainwright solves this problem neatly by choosing songs that I suspect most fans of Piaf have never heard. The promotional material from Shock Records calls them “rare and acclaimed Edith Piaf songs”, though the emphasis should probably be on “rare”. The only one that is likely to be instantly recognisable is L’Accordioniste which Wainwright delivers pretty straight.

The rest are stylistically recognisable — the weeping accordion, the martial air often apparent in French cabaret, the theatricality, the sense of lives ruined, loves lost — and on the first few listens it is a little tempting to nod your head knowingly and say to yourself, well, I can see why these ones aren’t as well known as ones we do know, but I think it would be very unfair to dismiss them as somehow second rate. Sure, it’s a bit hard to live up to the standard of ‘La’Vie En Rose’, or ‘Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien’, or ‘Milord’, but these are beautifully crafted songs based on strong melodies and Wainwright has unearthed, or at least, breathed new life into, at least a couple of tracks that deserve to stand with the best of Piaf.

In particular, track 11, ‘Sudain Une Vallee’ is stunning, and Wainwright sings it beautifully. Honestly, what a track. Tracks 1 and 2 are also great, ‘Le Foule’ and ‘Adieu Mon Coeur’.  And while each of those is worth singling out, the standard is high throughout.  I am so glad she chose this set rather one peppered with the usual suspects.

Wisely, too, the album was recorded live, in fact, it “was recorded over three intimate performances in New York’s Dixon Place Theatre in June.” So much of the success of this sort of music relies on not only that frission that comes from live performance but on a bunch of musicians who can handle the work, and the band she has assembled here is up to the task. No show-offs, just skillful players with the discretion and confidence to support the main instrument, the lead vocal.

This is a great album. What it represents in terms of artistic development is also amazing. Hard to imagine that this is the same singer, the same artist, who whined with righteous immaturity through BFMA on her first album.

So if that European chanteuse/cabaret thing is something you like, I can’t imagine that you aren’t going to want this album.  Even if that is not your cup of absinthe, but you are a fan Martha Wainwright, I reckon this might be worth the effort.

Anyway, despite the other work, I’ve been listening to a bunch of stuff, most of which I’ve really enjoyed, and so this week I’ll be putting up reviews of those and maybe some other pieces as well.   Then there might be some silence again, but we’ll see.  So thanks for hanging in there.

The first album I’m going to say something about is the new one by Martha Wainwright.  That’ll be up later this morning.  Also, I note from @hawleyrose that The Band are set to work together again.  Which a good excuse for this.  (See you shortly.)

The show of his getting most of the attention — rightly so — is Edge of Darkness, and The Guardian offers a pretty of good assessment of it in their piece on Martin.

To me, Edge of Darkness is probably the first of the sort of quality, grown-up, extended drama series that we now tend to associate with the programming that comes out of HBO in the United States (peace be upon them).  If you haven’t seen it, it is so worth getting a hold of the DVDs.

And of course, one of the things that made it a success and that gave it a distinctive edge was the soundtrack it used, written in part, and played by Eric Clapton.  They also deployed — brilliantly — Willie Nelson’s song, ‘The Time of the Preacher’.  Is there a better television drama soundtrack anywhere?

Vale Troy Kennedy Martin.

Here’s a few clips: first, Clapton doing concert version of the soundtrack. Then, a scene from the show where “‘he Time of the Preacher’ is used.

(And now I go back to my hiding place for a bit longer. Unless someone else “seminal” dies.)

Also, I’m trying to finish another project at the moment so will be a bit pre-occupied with that over the next few weeks.  I’ll keep posting, but not quite as frequently as usual.  I’ll still be lurking around comments, so feel free to drop in with suggestions, comments or any other music-related observations.

So here’s Patti Smith doing ‘Soul Kitchen’ by the Doors.

Hard to believe Steve Hillage was once under consideration to join the Rolling Stones. Here he is doing Donovan’s ‘Hurdy Gurdy Man’.

For something completely different, here’s Carly Simon doing Kris Kristofferson’s ‘I’ve Got to Have You’. Really nice slow guitar solo in this. (Wasn’t available on YouTube).

And one more. Again, no YouTube. A surprisingly straight version of ‘Kiss’, the Prince song, by English folky, Richard Thompson

Lucas is one of those musicians who had kind of passed me by, someone whose name I had heard mentioned in hushed tones of reverence over the years but who, for some reason, I had never really followed up on.  I knew that he had worked with Jeff Buckley on Grace, for instance, but I had no idea of the list of people he has worked with over the years, nor, really, any idea of why he is so revered.

So this is me doing the stalker thing, trying to fill a gap in my knowledge.

What started it all was this god-awful piece about Tom Verlaine over on the eMusic site.  Specifically, the author (Lenny Kaye, Patti Smith’s guitarist) mentioned an album by Lucas that included a version of the old Pink Floyd (Syd Barrett) song, ‘Astronomy Domine’.  Okay, that piqued my interest.

So I checked out Wikipedia and discovered that:

Lucas has played and collaborated with Leonard Bernstein, Captain Beefheart, Jeff Buckley, Chris Cornell, Lou Reed, John Cale, Nick Cave, David Johansen. He has also worked with Mary Margaret O’Hara, Onetwo, Peter Stampfel, Fred Schneider (The B-52’s), Bob Neuwirth, Geoff Muldaur, John Sebastian, John Zorn, Bryan Ferry, Patti Smith, Kate and Anna McGarrigle, Matthew Sweet, DJ Spooky, Damo Suzuki, Iggy Pop, Dr. John, Allen Ginsberg, Graham Parker, The Dark Poets, Future Sound of London, Van Dyke Parks, Adrian Sherwood, Richard Barone, Bob Weir, Warren Haynes (Allman Brothers, Gov’t Mule), Kristin Diable and many others. Jazz collaborations include Roswell Rudd, Steve Swallow, Joe Lovano, Dave Liebman, and Billy Bang. Some of these collaborations appear on his retrospective album Improve the Shining Hour, which also features his film and TV music for ABC News, 20/20 and Turning Point. He has produced albums for composer/saxophonists Tim Berne and Peter Gordon, and for the French avant-rock band Tanger. He co-wrote Joan Osborne’s Grammy-nominated song “Spider Web” from her triple platinum album Relish.

Lucas co-wrote two of the songs, “Grace” and “Mojo Pin“, from Jeff Buckley’s popular and critically acclaimed album Grace.^[4][5] Early collaborations can also be heard on the recent Jeff Buckley and Gary Lucas album Songs to No One, which charted internationally with worldwide sales approaching 100,000.

Dutch lutist Jozef Van Wissem has collaborated with Lucas on several albums, which include “the Universe of Absence” and “Diplopia.” They have appeared and performed live on Dutch national tv together.

The collaboration with the lutist sounded interesting, so I found the album on eMusic and had a listen to the samples.  Pretty nice, from what I could tell.  And, of course, there was a YouTube clip of them together.  It’s short and sweet.

The next thing that piqued my interest was the fact that he had just released an album with the woman who sings on the “unledded” version of “Battle of Evermore” with Plant and Page:

Lucas has recently collaborated on a new world music collaboration with an Indian vocalist from the UK, Najma Akhtar. Their album “RISHTE” combines rock, blues, folk, and raga, and will be available mid 2009, on Harmonia Mundi/World Village.

Gotta say, the phrase “world music” makes me reach for my gun, but anyway, I had my free downloads from eMusic available, so I thought, what the hell, and I downloaded the album.

So I’m just in the process of listening to that and it is holding my attention.  There is some lovely stuff in there — I do like Najma Akhtar’s voice, and there is some great guitar playing — but sometimes these cross cultural collaborations backfire.  That is, instead of combining two great forms of music and creating something new and wonderful, they often come closer to cancelling each other out, as elements of one are subsumed by the other.

For instance, what goes missing here is my favourite part of Indian music, the rhythmic complexity.  Or at least, on my brief listen so far, it seems to.  The track, ‘Woh Dhin’, for example, seems to be trying replicate Indian-style rhythms underneath the repeated blues riff that forms the basis of the song, but the form ultimately limits what can be done.  Still, it is interesting to hear how they handle it, and Lucas plays some pretty special lead over the top of it all.  So I’m starting to see why the guy is so revered.

Anyway, I’m still burrowing away through reviews and back-catalogue of Lucas’s work and look forward to uncovering more.  A man often referred to as the greatest living electric guitarist is probably worth some effort.  If you know his stuff, feel free to fill me in.  If not, the link below collects most of the links I’ve used here.  Help yourself….

Gary Lucas links

A series of links related to mus…

http://www.clusterurl.com/343yo9z