I had a blast at 3 Clubs last night, drinking tons of liquor and watching scores of rawkers do America-themed covers, some of them solo on them there acoustic-type instruments, as part of the Christof Certik curated “1st Annual Preindependence Day Musical Extravaganza”. Whilst Darren Grealish’s anti-Bush tune and Sara Melson’s folk sing-alongs inspired a lot of hoots and hollers, by far the best portion of the night was when Winter Flowers (just a trio this time–Astrid, Gavin, and Christof) got on stage with a banjo and did a cover of Schoolhouse Rock’s “Preamble!”
Their performance was so amazing, I woke up in my car at six in the morning in a Hollywood parking lot!
Yesterday, my baby and I rolled on out to the High Desert to Pappy & Harriet’s to see Winter Flowers, the Chapin Sisters, and a bunch of really amazing bands at the Manimal Festival.
We left L.A. early, didn’t hit much traffic, and about an hour in I put in the first CD from the Zabriskie Point soundtrack, which was recorded in 68 and 69 and had songs by Pink Floyd, the Youngbloods, the Kaliedoscope (U.S.), and even, gasp, Jerry Garcia solo (yes, I have finally made the fifteen year transformation from spit-gobbing punk rocker to road-trippin’ hippie. Jerry Garcia’s solo stuff was the final threshold I needed to cross. Good morning, Starchild!).
Anyway, all the tracks sounded remarkably good coming out of my car’s speakers as we cruised through the desert, but once we got off the Interstate and were zipping up and down through boulders and burnt-out cacti, Pink Floyd’s “Come in Number 51, Your Time Is Up” started coming through my speakers. Maaaaan, there is nothing better for boulder-hopping than a good strong case of Rick Wright’s farfisa playing and the groovy sound effects from the Space-Rock era of Pink Floyd. Fuck Dark Side, this song is where the gettin’ is good.
The next day driving back, lysergic delights now dimmed but not fully dissipated, and sleep and refreshing coolness being only distant memories, the CD worked even better, though this time it was the country-rock that really helped us take a load off. The cool, alienated feeling of these songs felt so similar to what was rattling around in my head, that it made me feel like “okay, I’m normal, this music is normal, my environment around me is at peace with my mental state, so who cares that I have to drive two hours to Los Angeles with no sleep and a belly full of gross?”
On another note: aside from the Burrito Brothers, this album seems to be where Beachwood Sparks got all their ideas. And I love them for it.
I took a lot of flak from certain friends and girlfriends of mine, for my suggestion yesterday that Winter Flowers’ “reach exceeds their grasp.”
I want to go on record and say that Winter Flowers is one of my favorite groups in Los Angeles. Their concept alone, of bringing back the elven folk of gentle people in the spirit of Pentangle, has always wowed me. I’ve seen them several times throughout the years, as they slowly evolved from a longhaired duo with mandolins to adding a glockenspiel, getting a girl singer, and plugging in some guitars and keys and things. Their songs are awesome, I’m glad they have a strong, clean male vocal in the lead, and when they mix up a little rock into their medieval pudding bree, it has a Dionysian boogie that sounds wonderfully reminiscent of the experiments going on with early Fairport Convention, the Byrds, Donovan, or Roy Harper, without ripping off any of these greats.
But here’s the caveat. While musically and conceptually they may be great, vocally they just do NOT have the chops to pull this thing off like it needs pulling off. I mean, listen to this vocal of them performing at Houdini’s castle:
The song starts off pretty damn good. But notice that when the group vocals come in, they warble in and out of pitch? There’s no way else to say it–these guys are not together at all, and this is fairly consistent with how they sound every time I see them.
Their vocal execution can only be compared to the musical execution of W.A.C.O. a couple years back–an orchestra just sounds like bad band class rehearsal when they squawk along with tinny brass and flat oboes. And a small folk choir sounds like amateur hipsters when they can’t get the harmony buzz going demanded by their medium.
Back in the real folk sixties, people were doing spot-on four and five part harmonies in their sleep. Listen to something like Soft Sounds for Gentle People, and you never ONCE hear a group of people committing things to record that they could not fully pull off. I know, from being in bands and trying to harmonize, that it’s very, very difficult to be good at singing with people you didn’t grow up singing with for years. But then again, I also would never get up with a horn and try to blow like Charlie Parker. By committing themselves to the folk ideal (and playing on bills with flawless singers such as the Chapin Sisters), Winter Flowers are stretching themselves past their talents and exposing their own shortcomings. They need to spend a little more time in a room together, singing and listening, until they get it right.
Recent Comments