Some recent work:
Looks like Reverb re-published a piece written for them last year, so here’s a link to a meditation on Kid Chocolate, Lee Dorsey, and the sound of a smile.
“Me, I go with the contradictions. That’s what I’m interested in. That’s where the action is.” On the occasion of his recent string of concerts performing his lone solo album, Corky’s Debt to his Father, a feature on Mayo Thompson’s long, strange trip through Texas psychedelia, British post-punk and art-rock, Chicago post-rock, and more. For Texas Monthly.
[This essay on Jean Seberg originally appeared in the print edition of Stop Smiling Magazine. It’s not in their online archive, it’s one of my favorite pieces from back then, and since there’s now a movie about her life, I dug it up.]
At the end of Played Out, David Richards’s biography of doomed blonde starlet Jean Seberg, he offers an epilogue set at Marshalltown High School, Jean’s Iowa alma mater. Members of the Masque and Dagger drama club are preparing to crown that year’s winner of the Jean Seberg Award, named in honor of the small town’s most renowned citizen, who long since absconded from farm life for the life of a movie star in Paris. Both finalists, Patty Tiffany and Kris Hoelscher, are visibly nervous about the impending honor, yet neither –when prompted– can conjure the name of a Jean Seberg movie. It is September of 1980, but eight months on from when Seberg’s body was found in the back seat of a Renault on a Parisian side street, wrapped and bloated beside emptied bottles of barbiturates and mineral water, and yet she is already a distant memory in her home, all but forgotten in America.
And were it not for a sick day spent watching Turner Classic Movies, which paired up The Mouse That Roared and Paint Your Wagon! (perhaps the nadirs of sixties movie musicals), I myself would’ve been in Miss Tiffany and Miss Hoelscher’s position, hard-pressed to name a feature outside Jen Seberg’s defining role as the capricious American chick that smash-faced cop-killer Jean-Paul Belmondo beds in Jean-Luc Godard’s incipient shot of the French nouvelle vague, A Bout de Souffle, (Breathless).
Jean Seberg is the All-American story though. If by All-American you mean a small town nobody made into an idol overnight, via the sadistic dictums of a merciless control freak with a foreign accent. If by All-American you mean the story of a beautiful blonde whose every licentious encounter became fodder for the gossip pages. If by All-American you mean a public disgrace suffered at the hands of her government through the surreptitious seeding of the press, an mandate dictated from on high. And, if you mean by All-American, embodying a strain of beauty and fame that is both the very apex of sexual power as well as a vortex managed only by more illicit encounters, fuelled and dulled by alcohol and a profusion of pills, then Jean Seberg is indeed the All-American Girl, part of the myth factory that spawns not just Carrie Underwoods but Anna-Nicole Smiths, its Marilyn Monroes and Valerie Plames.
Seberg was seduced by Marlon Brando on the big screen at the Orpheum movie house in downtown Marshalltown, deciding she too would be an actress, though her attempts to make it through the tome An Actor Prepares failed; instead she thumbed the Hollywood glossies. A star in her drama club, her fate was cast by the town’s eccentric millionaire, J. William Fischer, who submitted her to famed Austrian director Otto Preminger’s open call, a worldwide search for his next star. “I have no specific image or character in mind,” Preminger proclaimed, settling himself in at Chicago’s Sherman Hotel so as to screen some three thousand of the eighteen thousand applicants. “I only know that there are certain qualities necessary to portray this part, which I hope to recognize when I meet the girl.”
When the 17-year-old sylph took to the stage, Preminger had found her: a wad of innocent, shapeless clay, a scrim on which to project his own desires. Such would be the case for everyone from Godard to Robert Rossen to Jean’s second husband and wannabe director, Romain Gary. Preminger introduced her to the world on the Ed Sullivan Show, then went about removing the moles off of her visage, shoring off her blonde locks, and locking her up in a hotel to prepare her for the role as Joan of Arc. Gossip rags murmured that the barely legal charge was involved with the brusque director, alluding to a paternal and sadomasochistic shade to the relationship.
Her first appearance on the silver screen in St. Joan is as a dream, draped in shadows, a wraith back from the dead. Seberg recites her lines, flat as an Iowan wheat field, her emotional capacity fluctuating between inopportune smirks and quavering histrionics. The film was both a critical and financial disaster, with the climactic scene of Joan being burned at the stake all too real when a leaky fuel tank ignited right in her face, yet the overnight success story was too good to pass up. As a Columbia publicist spun it: “Any girl can look at Jean and feel she might do it, too. She gives hope to American teen-agers that someone might discover them.” Preminger and Seberg remained linked for another film, another failure.
Still, she elicited keen admirers. Gracing the cover of Cahiers du Cinema, critic François Truffaut gushed with praise:
When Jean Seberg is on the screen…you can’t look at anything else. The shape of her head, her silhouette, her walk, everything is perfect: this kind of sex appeal hasn’t been seen on the screen…Jean Seberg, short blonde hair on a pharaoh’s skull, wide-open blue (sic) eyes with a glint of boyish malice, carries the entire weight of this film on her tiny shoulders.
Such phrenology caught the eye of another Parisian critic, Jean-Luc Godard, who decided to take matters into his own hands and –stuffing his cameraman Raoul Coutard in a lidded mail cart– filmed Seberg as she peddled the Herald-Tribune along the Champs-Elysées. Before Bardot, before Anna Karina, Seberg was Godard’s first obsession, focused on her profile, on the nape of her neck, intent on her unblemished brow and lowered lashes throughout Breathless. Sure, she was cold and capricious, handing her lover over to the police, but France swooned regardless. Seberg’s boyish hair was asked for in salons as “la coupe Seberg.” Actress Josie Yanne noted that “as much as Brigitte Bardot was the woman as object, Jean stood for the woman as free spirit.” While Pauline Kael deemed her character “the most terrifyingly simple muse-goddess-bitch of modern movies…like a new Daisy Miller… she is so free that she has no sense of responsibility or guilt.”
Seberg embodied the insouciance and informality of the New World, she was America, even while residing in Paris. But soon her roles began to follow that typecast: the innocent daughter, the Nebraskan abroad, the virginal American teenager sent to Paris for a summer. Other roles hinted at her future troubles, playing schizophrenics or women with paternal vagaries. When Robert Rossen cast her for 1964’s Lilith, he noted that Seberg has “got that flawed American girl quality – sort of like a cheerleader who’s cracked up.”
And crack-up she slowly did. When she wasn’t stealing husbands from wives (in the case of lovers like Romain Gary and Jamal X), she was involved in multiple trysts. When back in America to work on boilerplate like Paint Your Wagon! and Airport, she became involved with the Black Panther Party, going so far as to run guns for them out of her Coldwater Canyon home, when not bunking down with its ranks. In much the same way that a two-bit thief like Belmondo got in her panties and impregnated her in Breathless, Jean committed innumerable dalliances with other deviants and lowlifes. While filming in Mexico, a fling with a student led to her second pregnancy, but when news slipped out, the truth was twisted ever so slightly.
The FBI’s COINTELPRO had already targeted the Panthers, as well as any public figures that assisted them, including Jane Fonda and Donald Sutherland’s wife. A 1969 internal memo pondered how best to neutralize and discredit Seberg. What better way than divulge that unspoken social/ sexual taboo of America, that a Black Panther was the father of her child? Deemed “a sex pervert” by J. Edgar Hoover and the bureau, that salacious scoop made its way to LA Times gossip columnist Joyce Huber, who ran with it. Tongue-clucking articles followed in the Hollywood Reporter and Newsweek, the fallout such that Seberg miscarried her fetus that same week. Paranoid, distraught, strung out on painkillers, Seberg sought to place the fetus in a glass coffin, so that the press could see the baby wasn’t a mulatto.
The effect of such slander was absolute. Overnight, her star turned suddenly abhorrent in Hollywood, work declined on the continent too, while her appetite for illicit sex, liquor, and pills escalated. With every anniversary of the dead child came another suicide attempt, until that final, tragic scene played out far from watchful eyes. And yet, the seeds of her demise are hinted at in that very first scene of St. Joan. When her accusers were revealed to be corrupt and wrong, she recites in her monotone: “I was burned all the same. Can they un-burn me?”
Digging through an old CDr of work from 2007 and came across this piece, originally written for The Believer, though I don’t believe it ever ran there and remains unpublished. It was based on a compilation of composer Alireza Mashayekhi and a CDr that Simon Reynolds sent to me. Not sure where either item might be now. But in light of this story about how David Rockefeller’s involvement with the Shah has led to decades of conflict between the US and Iran (buried in the Times buried at the end of the year), it felt timely. Most recent events suggests war is unavoidable. And so…
Persian Electronic Music
For a decade, I’ve been riddled by the coda to Iranian director Abbas Kiarostami’s Palme d’Or garnering film Ta’m e guilass (A Taste of Cherry). After an hour and a half of the austere film, its principle character closes his eyes in a makeshift grave on the outskirts of Tehran; the audience too is in the dark. Our eyes re-open to another green-hued world: the arid landscape is now verdant, captured not on celluloid but in grainy video. The curtain pulls back to reveal Kiarostami’s crew at work and strains of “St. James Infirmary Blues” blare across the once-hushed film, the lone instance of music. A minor-key dirge voiced by the likes of Louis Armstrong and Jack White, “Infirmary” gives voice to innumerable clashes, between illusion/ reality, sound/ silence, past/ present, ancient/ modern, and –most charged in this time– East/ West. But why that song in particular? Why then?
Slouched in an American theatre, watching the films of Kiarostami or Jafar Panahi, I can’t help but feel an irretrievable distance. There exist myriad parables and allusions in their work of such depth that as an outsider I feel I may never dig it out. Even an attempt to bridge that divide, be it in the translated poetry of Sa’Di or else the dialectic disco of Farah (who sings in both Farsi and English) on that After Dark compilation, in reading Polish reporter Rsyzard Kapuscinski’s account of the last days of the Shah’s regime in Shah of Shahs or that of ex-pat Columbia professor Hamid Dabashi, nothing gets me closer. If anything, my inquiry makes me think of Kapuscinski’s remark that “the most common Iranian technique is active assimilation, in a way that turns the foreign sword into the Iranians’ own weapon.” My presumptive probes are being used against me.
When the opiated buzz of heretofore-unknown Iranian composer Alireza Mashayekhi’s 1982 composition “Mithra, Op.90” reaches my ears, it is as if emanating from down a long tiled hallway, the disorienting echo that reverberates throughout contingent to the piece. As it unfurls, it becomes like a plaint from the void. Half of Sub Rosa’s 2CD overview of Persian Electronic Music is given to Mashayekhi (covering the years 1966-1982), yet it’s difficult to situate his place in the pantheon, much less the global bazaar.
Surely Mashayekhi isn’t the first Iranian to cite Adorno and Schoenberg, but was he the only Iranian doing such audacious electronic compositions during the time of the “Great Civilization” and the “White Revolution”? The closest example of Iranian electronic music I can recall is that of an outsider, Greek composer Iannis Xenakis, who staged his visceral 1971 composition Persepolis amid its ruins at the Shiraz Festival. So how did this music survive the return of the Ayatollah Khomeini, the instituting of an Islamic Republic? In the notes to a cdr of Mashayekhi’s music that made its way to me, it says that the LP was found “in a bin for distruction (sic),” noting that no current information, much less a photo, was available at that time.
Barely three years after the Ayatollah Khomeini’s return from exile, the resulting revolution and institution of the Islamic Republic that followed, Mashayekhi created “Mithra,” whose intent is to “take us to an unreal space.” It conspires with Dabashi’s words in Iran: A People Interrupted, which speak of “impermanence,” “misplaced memories,” “temporary allocations” and an Iran “where no history can even begin, let alone end.”
Similarly purgatorial, Mashayekhi’s work hangs between East and West, between the Persian past and their Iranian future. He knows as much, as his “East-West Op.45” piece from 1973 makes clear. A scabrous soundclash, he deploys traditional modality and instrumentation, then twists them through the computer banks. Much like that lamentable trumpet arising out of the Tehran landscape at the end of Cherry, the sound here ruptures any and all human notions of borders, cultural distinctions, and time. As the gulf widens between our two sides, Mashayekhi’s declared aim resounds all the louder: “We can discover truth only through multicultural structures of artistic thought.”
In January of this year, I started speaking to Mat Dryhurst about artificial intelligence and machine learning. I knew very little about it, save for the works of David Behrman, George Lewis, and the like, early pioneers into the interface between man and computer. Mat was open, enthusiastic, and suggested many fine articles. Along with partner Holly Herndon, the two created Spawn, an artificial intelligence that was also a member of their vocal ensemble.
In April, I chatted at length with Dr. Holly Herndon about her upcoming album, PROTO, which was the first album to feature AI. It certainly won’t be the last.
And in November, an excerpt from this chat was finally published as part of New York Magazine‘s Future Issue. You can read that here.
Below is a deeper dive into the future of music and machine learning.
What’s the starting point for Spawn?
HH: It came out of touring for two years and asking questions after that. how do we want to make music going forward? We wanted to work with people, with players. I get lonely and depressed when I’m in the studio along. Even with an ensemble, I spend even more hours alone doing editing. It was a need for human contact. From having toured so long in electronic music circuit, I noticed that things were becoming so automated, the perfect AV show. It almost doesn’t matter that there’s someone onstage. Even with Platform, we tried to present the imperfection of it as well, showing the desktop and things like that, to do Wizard of Oz behind the curtain, show the human aspect of it. There’s always a human component. We were working on AI in parallel.
Your daughter is way smarter than Spawn. Probably way cuter. It was more of a research thing. We didn’t even know if it would be usable or interesting. The first six months were pretty uninteresting. After six months, we got more interesting results. We started training with my voice and Mat’s voice. And then we opened it up to the ensemble. My approach to technology is how can technology make us more human. People misunderstand the Cyborg Manifesto or what Donna Haraway is saying. The cyborg is a metaphor, how women can be liberated from a past gender role. It’s not about trying to erase the human body or dehumanize ourselves at all.
To the contrary, it’s allowing a flexible definition of humanity so that we can allow ourselves to evolve. If a computer is doing all this heavy lifting and repetitive legwork, if the computer is doing all this crazy automated stuff, what’s left for us to do onstage? You could look at it and just say, “I’ll just leave the stage.” I see a lot of electronic music going that way. The computer is freeing us to be more human and deal with other performative parameters and to celebrate each other on stage even more. It’s two visions.
What does it mean when Spawn is trained on Jlin?
HH: Jlin has been involved very early on. She declared herself the godmother really early on. We tried her music on all different forms. The voice model was most interesting. When we put her music through Sample RNN, the outcome wasn’t very interesting. Her music is repetitive, but with nuance and inflections, that’s what makes it interesting. It’s the groove and small inflections that make it interesting. The neural network didn’t understand that. It was just trying to guess the next sample. It’s both super-impressive and like…terrible. It’s like ‘God, you’re so dumb!’ With the voice model, it made way more sense.
Spawn has such a limited perspective. People talk about AI vs. AGI (artificial intelligence versus artificial general intelligence). AGI is what we are, we’re not artificial, but we have a general intelligence. I can apply what I learned from this coffee cup to the next thing. Spawn will just be trained on cup and just see cup and doesn’t understand where cup lives in the world.
Human bodies are such sophisticated sensorial machines. With AI, that’s going to really be hard to replicate. Do we even want to replicate us? And why does it have to always be tied back to us? Even though we refer to Spawn as a child, we don’t see her as a human child. She’s an inhuman child, it’s a different kind of intelligence.
How does Spawn hear the music?
She gobbles up WAV or AIFF files, you can feed her an iPod. Right before we left, we fed her an insane stream of music and every once in awhile you’d hear her gargle something out. She was chugging music (laughs). We’re now trying to figure out this real time system.
The people who trained the AI, we wanted it to be audible. We wanted to use peoples’ voices, so that then you can hear them going into it. Instead of a huge data pool, we limited it to a specific community. That’s why we used sound as material rather than MIDI and statistical analysis. There’s an oral history there, a storytelling.
We were deliberate about not using material that we didn’t have permission to use. We wanted it to be our community. That’s going to be one of the big problems coming up with AI. If you look at how sampling has been treated over the last 40 years, and all of the ethical issues around that and we haven’t dealt with that well. There are people who still aren’t compensated. It’s a total quagmire. How much did Moby pay the Alan Lomax Archives for the voices on Play? Did the vocalists’ families get paid? We don’t know how that was dealt with.
There has been a historical entitlement towards sound material as just material. (we sing Enigma to each other) Those are Taiwanese farmers and Enigma just sampled them with no permission. People just like taking in a way without context or attribution or naming someone. People are so entitled when it comes to other peoples’ voices. On one hand, there’s something beautiful about remix culture, but there’s also something fucked up about that sense of entitlement and not understanding it. Even with a legal framework, we are still fucking up all the time with it.
AI has no legal framework. If we can’t figure out sampling, we’re in trouble with attribution and appropriation with AI. It’s going to open up a minefield for people.
What does Spawn look like?
HH: It’s a souped-up gaming PC, a tower. A laptop wouldn’t be strong enough. We have a GPU unit, we could have a stack of them. Mat wants to get some souped-up casing for it. You just need power, sound card, and a cooling system. She’s an old-school tower.
How far is AI from being integrated into popular music-making?
Not far at all. I think it’s just around the corner. It just depends on how that’s going to look. The sound as material approach that we took is still pretty rough. We compared early 1900s phonograph recordings to digital recordings today and it’s insane how that’s developed over a hundred years. We’ll have very accurate voice models of past vocalists pretty soon and that’s going to open up a new quagmire of questions about what we do with our forefathers’ and foremothers’ voice models. Who has the right to do whatever they want with them? The voice model will come a long a way. I used to say we’ll have infinite Michael Jackson records, but that probably won’t happen anymore (laughs). There will be infinite Aretha Franklin records is maybe the better example. But there’s no opt-in or opt-out for that. She wasn’t able to say you can’t make a model of my voice. That’s coming.
Automated composing is already here. It’s wallpaper, it’s mood music, it’s making opaque past human labor, taking that as a given canon and then creating something off of the back of that without acknowledging that that every happened. Ultimately that creates a recursive feedback loop of aesthetics that I’m not interested in. It gets us into an artistic cul-de-sac, but it’s cheap and functional so we’ll see that. Anything idiomatic, like Hans Zimmer, where you know what’s going to happen, that’s what AI will really thrive in.
“What if I just want my ambient music perfectly attuned to my mood?” people ask. One problem with that is that somebody at some point had to create ambient music. It now seems this chill relaxed thing. At one point, that wasn’t the norm, somebody had to take that chance and create that new thing. We need the next thing to be developed in order for us to develop as a culture and as a society. Music needs to reflect our current times. We can’t constantly be just regurgitating the past.
We are constantly shifting this interest from the composer to the consumer, which is what Spotify does, it’s about pleasing the consumer. It doesn’t give a shit about the composer’s ideas. Even if payment wasn’t an issue, just even representing the music and allowing an album to be an album. Payment aside, how it deals with music as a material, it’s so consumer-focused. There are so many start-ups now that offer to change the music to match your heart rate. If you start jogging, make the music match that. The composer didn’t intend that.
This shift from the composer to the consumer –while that is very lucrative– we lose something in this shift. If I think about my 16 year-old self and if music was trying to please me as a teenager forever, how am I ever going to grow out of these aesthetic immaturities? You have to listen to things you don’t like, things that challenge you, things you don’t understand, things that are different. I’ve had so many conversations with programmers about this. Many programmers don’t see culture in this way, that’s not the problem that they’re trying to solve. We don’t view cultural creators as experts. Musicians have spent years and years and years on how to communicate an idea through sound, let’s respect that as an art form.
Difficult things, emotions that feel bad or different or unacceptable, that’s what music has always been about for me.
HH: And new emotions that we don’t have a Spotify category for! Not everything is so fucking quantifiable in this way. It’s a really impoverished way of looking at culture.
I’m curious how George Lewis and his writings about Voyager informed your work with Spawn.
We took so much inspiration from Lewis because he’s a badass. He has a very different approach to technology than other academics. He approaches AI, the inhuman Voyager from the view of how African-Americans were also treated as inhumans during slavery. He gives this example of Blind Tom Wiggins, this savant pianist, a Mozart-like improviser and composer. He was treated as an automaton. They couldn’t make sense of a black man having this ability. Instead, they would dehumanize him and he would perform in white parlors and the language around him would be “Come see this automaton!” Lewis is careful to not immediately discount an inhuman intelligence because of that history. When he works with Voyager, he sees Voyager as a collaborator, he’s not afraid to dethrone himself as the artist. He’s not afraid of this idea of the human input being the end all be all, there’s something beautiful about that humility. He’s also a rigorous intellectual.
There’s a lot of doomsday tied into AI and worst case scenario aspects of it. How do you see with Spawn and the way forward, what’s going to remain human and what will Spawn replace?
HH: AI has the ability to further entrench already existing inequalities in society. We have to fight against that tooth and nail. What you need to make powerful AI is oceans of data and you need processing power. Who has access to oceans of data? The platform capitalists that we’ve been freely feeding our digital selves to the last ten years without questioning it. Totally not valuing our digital selves at all. No government oversight or regulation. Our digital data is going into these models for training things that we’ll never even experience or it won’t benefit our lives at all. It’s insane. It’s a natural resource that we don’t view as such. Some people compare data to oil. Right now you can’t replace the human performer. Our physical bodies are amazing, how we respond.
Do you better appreciate your physical body?
HH: I love my physical body, but I understand that it has its limitations. My best gift is my mediocre voice because it forced me to develop these digital appendages. If I had been born with a natural Adele voice I probably wouldn’t have done that. I have these cyborgian things to make my voice interesting, to try and transcend that. I really appreciate vocalist’s ability to respond in the moment, with memory and historical training and being present. This human desire to connect through music is innate. The Notre Dame footage featured people together singing and it’s this innate thing to emote together. There’s a reason that there moments on this record that sound liturgical, wherein I found myself craving this public moment of emotion, sharing it together. That’s something I was craving. I don’t think we evolve past that. our technology can evolve, but we don’t need to get rid of what’s wonderful about being human. People who make idiosyncratic music are in less danger of being replaced.
If you think about how pop music is written these days, it’s not artificial intelligence, but you have upwards of 20 writers and they’re basically scanning players and the communities they are involved with, it’s functioning in a similar way.
The first wave is just background music, there’s active listening and there’s passive listening. Passive listening generates money in a streaming society, which is also arrrrgh. Valuing a work of art by how many times it’s played is such a fucked up way of valuing something. The most important music to me and my brain development have not been things I played on repeat at a dinner party. Things I only listened to once are just as valuable.
Writing about David Behrman’s early work, Paul DeMarinis once said: “Electronic instruments are in theory freed from such compromises; they permit as pure a harmony as the human mind can imagine…[Behrman] has been able “to use really rich harmonic material without having to deal with all the weight and forward direction usually associated with harmony. Without gravity.”
HH: What you’re getting at is one of my godfathers of electronic music, John Chowning. You get these timbres that you don’t find in nature. Often technologists are trying to just emulate a piano instead of developing a new sound world. That sound world was entirely new because he came up with it and now you hear it in all these movies. I love this idea of building on the past and progressing things and having things respond to how we’ve developed to today. I love trying to figured out what Spawn can do that we can’t do.
A while back, I had the privilege and honor of bestowing Best New Reissue upon Ernest Hood’s 1975 album, Neighborhoods, over at Pitchfork. If I were to try and summarize it in one line, it would be: “Hear children shouting out songs, crickets chirping, and the noise diesel engines rumbling past and feel the illusion of time dissolve.” The review has most of the bio/ backstory in it so won’t go into much detail here, save that it was a real thrill to finally hold a physical copy of it in my hands. Freedom to Spend label did an incredible job, even digging up the master tapes for it (a real rarity in this age of the easy-rip reissue).
To say I had spent many years in search of this neighborhood would be an understatement. Freedom to Spend fellow Matt Werth surreptitiously spun it for me one Sunday morning and it was that rare record that seemed to dissolve into the morning air and suddenly become tactile all around us. Searching for a copy took on the qualities of the former and I never found a copy myself. (Blurbing it for Pitchfork’s Top Ambient Albums List certainly didn’t help with future eBay bids and Discogs searches.) Like most private press records, it’s one person’s undisturbed vision, a singular sound, a path that but one person traveled down.
A few months prior, I found myself going deep on Stevie Wonder’s Stevie Wonder’s Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants, a truly misunderstood album from the man both at the time of its release in 1977 and even in the 21st century. When Slate did their Wonder Week back in 2016, they celebrated nearly every single facet of the man’s career, some 16 features in total. Secret Life of Plants merited one begrudging sentence. Short shrift for an album that was the first to use a sampler, echoes the messiness of creation, touches on the cosmic philosophy of the Dogon tribe, the god Pan, the legacy of slavery, and sending pretty flowers to your sweetie.
It’s the kind of indulgence that few artists can attempt, much less get away with, yet Stevie did it, as I wrote near the end of the Sunday Review: “Rather than attempt to carry on with Key of Life’s trajectory and his own heritage, Stevie had the rare cache to wander down every path, in effect making Motown his own private press label… Wonder literally branched out, reaching upward towards an undetermined new destination, exploring intuitively and fearlessly in a manner that few artists have ever managed to do in the history of pop music.” But I don’t mean to draw a connection between Stevie’s effort and that other private press album about plants, Mort Garson’s Plantasia.
There’s something about the use of field recordings and overheard dialogue on Secret Life of Plants that brings to mind Neighborhoods, and they are like two peas in a pod, to use a garden metaphor. Sure, one is a massive pop star, the other a neglected jazz player, but there’s something about Wonder and Hood’s blending of new-fangled technology and field recordings that resonates. Perhaps there is a correlation in that both men were dealing with debilitating disabilities, Hood confined to a wheelchair from the effects of polio, Wonder blind almost since birth from retrolental fibroplasia. As such, both men oriented themselves in this world via deep listening and conjured a full-spectrum of sound in an attempt to adequately describe these rich worlds they could hear.
Both albums acted like seeds, sinking deep into the subconscious, barely heard for decades, only to come to life in the 21st century. Hearing these albums now in 2019, one also hears an unbridled freedom. No doubt it inspired Solange’s A Seat at the Table (she vocally called out the Stevie album in interviews) which in turn had an effect on the forthcoming Joy Orbison (Joy O) Slipping EP. In a recent feature on Orbison, Gabriel Szatan notes that Solange’s album gave the producer a template for “something supple and introspective without adhering to the usual strictures of a set medium.” While both Wonder and Hood might have been physically restricted due to their disabilities, they conveyed a real sense of the freedom to roam in their music. Listen to either album and find yourself in the center of the universe.
“Johnston’s songs were fragile in a way that could disarm even the most cynical of us. His enthusiastic yip and uncanny knack for soaring choruses was undeniable no matter the fidelity. The music could feel silly and sincere, diaristic and voyeuristic, sometimes even in the space of a single line.”
We lost two totemic Texan weirdos this year with the passing of Roky and Daniel. Both suffered from terrible mental disease and mistreatment (even hero worship from non-treatment) but both men somehow turned such suffering into comforting music. In my many hours with their music growing up in Texas, I certainly didn’t understand the ramifications of such fandom, but the one time I saw Daniel perform, it was evident that it was an uneven relationship in a way that was troubling. But it really took seeing the doc The Devil and Daniel Johnston to realize the true ramifications of his suffering.
The genius of “True Love Will Find You in the End” and “Walking the Cow” deserve all the reverence though and they border on being hymns; it’s not hard to imagine them lasting for generations. I also find sweet comfort in the echo between Roky’s “Starry Eyes” (which I now sing as a lullaby for my daughter each night) and Daniel’s line about “Lucky stars in your eyes.”
Daniel Johnston Was a Hero for the Wounded for Vulture.
“I was doing what I loved to do, working in the studio and create. That’s where being a woman in the business really became real to me. I felt like if I had been a man, it wouldn’t have happened in that way, not being called for work. I had to kick the door back down. I felt like I was being a girl, that’s the way it goes.”
“Music is the Answer,” but the question is who created one of the first house tracks? And why don’t more people know Yvonne Turner’s name? A case made for Yvonne Turner at Pitchfork