Tag: 230420

Rhythmic raconteur

John Craigie and Langhorne Slim co-bill in Concord

Every John Craigie concert has two sides. His songs are sweet, lingering earworms, with lyricism that’s soothing, provocative and often hilarious. The latter trait is the other part of experiencing Craigie; his comedy talent has earned him comparisons to Mitch Hedberg, even though he’s a storyteller and Hedberg was an absurdist with a skill for the one-liner.

Both share a beat poet delivery. Marry that jazzy cadence to Arlo Guthrie’s breeziness and perhaps feed it an edible, and you’ll have a sense of why fans love Craigie, and the reason other musicians tend to find ways to work with him, such as Jack Johnson, Mary Chapin Carpenter and, most recently, Langhorne Slim.

The two met at last year’s Newport Folk Festival. Craigie played two sets that weekend. The second was a last-minute addition when another artist canceled their appearance. Billed as John Craigie & Friends, it consisted of Beatles songs. He’d just recorded Let It Be Lonely, the latest in a series of live Fab Four cover records; Revolver will be next.

Slim joined him for “I Dig a Pony,” and the two were quickly smitten. “We had mutual friends,” Craigie said by phone recently. “I’d never met him before, but we started talking and he agreed to do that one song with me, and it was really fun.” A short tour, stopping in Concord April 24, resulted.

“I’m really excited to have our crowds mix together and kind of bounce off each other,” Craigie continued. “He’s got a great stage presence, as you probably know. At the end of the night, we’ll do a handful of stuff together for sure…. I think the audiences really like that, because you get something that really makes the show unique.”

Layered with electric texture, Craigie’s studio albums are the opposite of his live shows. For example, “Microdose,” which leads off 2022’s Mermaid Salt, ends with a jazzy dreamscape of multiple guitars. That’s not happening when Craigie hits the stage. On tour, it’s typically just him and his instrument, which suits him fine.

“You’re still very free, and you can talk just as long as the crowd will have you, but when there’s four or five people, kinda twiddling their thumbs behind you, I’m not quite as relaxed,” he said, adding, “my audiences have never said to me, like, ‘Where’s the band?’ It seems to me that what they want is what I’ve been giving them.”

Born in Southern California, Craigie found his musical voice while attending UC Santa Cruz, a few hundred miles north. “L.A. felt very particular and precious; I didn’t feel very free to sit and play my guitar casually,” he said. In the laid-back beach town, “music felt like a much more natural thing … to sort of practice to an audience of people that was very nice, forgiving and pleasant.”

There’s a lot of religious skepticism in Craigie’s lyrics. “It’s a war of the gods … I never picked a side,” he sings at one point. “Is this the Rapture or just the first wave?” is his refrain on “Laurie Rolled Me A J,” one of the best depictions of lockdown neurosis to come out of the pandemic.

Some of this can be attributed to his attending parochial school in a milieu where “there was no way for them to shield us from anything,” he said. “A vague Christianity was how I like to call the way that the Catholics raised me.”

The ’90s milieu offered a weird melting pot of belief and non-belief systems, Craigie continued.

“Kids at that time were going through this born-again thing, so I was meeting hardcore Christians, getting that sort of window … meeting Mormons, people like that,” he said, “All that coming together gave me an understanding, while the society I was in was also heavily rejecting Christianity. I think it was a combination of all that stuff.”

Langhorne Slim & John Craigie
When: Monday, April 24, 8 p.m.
Where: Bank of NH Stage, 16 S. Main St., Concord
Tickets: $30.75 and $53.75 and up at ccanh.com

Featured photo: John Craigie. Photo by Keith Berson.

The Music Roundup 23/04/20

Local music news & events

• String power: With each of its three members established solo artists, a new album from Nickel Creek is a happy surprise. The catalyst for the aptly titled Celebrants came during an interview with NPR that noted it had been 20 years since their debut release. Made in the process of “spending almost every minute of every waking hour together,” according to fiddler Sara Watkins, the new disc is a solid entry into the canon of a band that helped redefine roots music. Thursday, April 20, 7:30 pm., Capitol Center for the Arts, 44 S. Main St., Concord, $53.75 and up at ccanh.com.

• Blood harmony: The first band to ever win The Voice, in 2021, A Girl Named Tom is a family affair, siblings Bekah, Joshua and Caleb Liechty. Urged on by their mother, the three dropped plans to attend medical school to form a group. The project was planned to last a year, but the fates had other ideas. Victory on the singing competition show came via their gorgeous harmonies covering hits like Joni Mitchell’s “River” and Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” Friday, April 21, 8 p.m., Nashua Center for the Arts, 201 Main St., Nashua, $29 and up at etix.com.

• Blues bonding: A summit gathering of blues power, Blood Brothers is the duo of Mike Zito and Albert Castiglia. The two have worked together over the years on a variety of projects — Zito produced Castiglia’s album Masterpiece and released it on his Gulf Coast Records label. Released on St. Patrick’s Day, their debut effort, wrote one critic, “spotlights everything cool about Zito and Castiglia without ever turning into a battle between two successful bandleaders.” Saturday, April 22, 8 p.m., Tupelo Music Hall, 10 A St., Derry, $30 at tupelohall.com.

• California thing: With a lead singer drawing comparisons to Alison Krauss, AJ Lee & Blue Summit are being called the new torchbearers for bluegrass by many. In her early years, Lee worked with fellow California-based roots superstar Molly Tuttle before striking out on her own. Her first gig was at the fabled Kate Wolf Festival. The group has released two albums. The San Francisco Chronicle praised their “deft, tasteful playing; and tight, intricate arrangements.” Sunday, April 23, 7 p.m., Press Room, 77 Daniel St., Portsmouth, $10 at Eventbrite.com.

• Fab Freddie: Last year Gary Mullen & The Works celebrated 20 years of One Night of Queen, a tribute show that does a very convincing job of recreating the classic rock act’s majestic stage show, with Mullen as front man Freddie Mercury. The effort began after Mullen won the British television talent contest Stars in Their Eyes in 2000 for his portrayal of the kinetic singer, easily doubling the runner-up, the largest number of votes in the show’s history. Wednesday, April 26, 8 p.m., Colonial Theatre, 609 Main St., Laconia, $30 and up at etix.com.

Renfield (R)

Renfield (R)

Dracula’s familiar would like to reevaluate his toxic work situation in Renfield, a gore-filled and yet very cute comedy.

Renfield (Nicholas Hoult), he of the bug-eating and the “yes, master”-ing, is sick of working for Dracula (Nicolas Cage), a total diva of a boss who makes Renfield bring him people to eat. And, much in the manner of Miranda Priestly demanding very specific coffee from Starbucks, Dracula can be picky about the quality of the humans he’s offered. Dracula is also sort of low on funds after centuries of having to make getaways when his bloodlust is found out, so Renfield has to take care of an injured and slowly recovering Dracula in an abandoned hospital in New Orleans. And to procure these people for which he is shown little appreciation, he has to eat bugs, which give him a shot of Dracula strength.

Perhaps it’s good that Renfield has found a support group for people who are also in toxic relationships. He can listen to other people talk about how hard it is to stand up to the people who have power over them — and he can go find those bullies and drag them to Dracula, which makes Renfield feel like all his murder isn’t, you know, all bad.

But a complainy Dracula sends Renfield out to find a better group of people for his boss to eat — nuns or cheerleaders or something, Dracula says, with much the same energy of a louche aging rock star demanding a better class of groupies. Renfield heads to a club to do just that but ends up in the middle of a gangland hit. Tedward Lobo (Ben Schwartz — just 100 percent doing Jean-Ralphio from Parks and Recreation), son of Lobos gang head Bellafrancesca Lobo (Shohreh Aghdashloo), is there with a bunch of goons to kill Rebecca Quincy (Awkwafina), a police officer who is determined to bring down the Lobos (who killed her police officer father). Rebecca doesn’t blink when Tedward holds a gun to her head, instantly dazzling Renfield with her strength and bravery. Thusly he finds a bug to eat and helps her defeat the Lobos. Of course the Lobos don’t love this, so they go looking for Renfield just as Renfield starts to make a serious attempt to break away from Dracula, getting his own studio apartment and buying some pastel sweaters from Macy’s.

Renfield is good-naturedly silly — a good-naturedly silly movie where sometimes dudes get their arms torn off. It keeps the vampire lore to a minimum, goes easy on the quippiness (it’s there but it’s not wall to wall) and offers plenty of opportunities for Nicolas Cage to just take center stage and do his thing. And does he! He dives in with enthusiasm and fully commits to every increasingly hammy bit of Dracula-ness. I’ll bet those spiky teeth he has to wear were unpleasant to have in his mouth but he really does make every moment count with his open-mouth hisses and big vampire smiles. Everything about him, from the increasingly slicked back hair to his specific style of imperious whining, is just note-perfect. B-

Rated R for bloody violence, some gore, language throughout and some drug use, according to the MPA on filmratings.com. Directed by Chris McKay with a screenplay by Ryan Ridley, Renfield is a brisk hour and 33 minutes long and distributed by Universal Studios.

The Pope’s Exorcist (R)

Russell Crowe eagerly tucks into the plate of spicy meat-ah-balls that is his Italian accent in The Pope’s Exorcist, which is based on the real life of the Rev. Gabriele Amorth — have fun with that Wikipedia page.

Crowe’s accent is great in the sense that he seems to be having a great time with it. I mean, does it have a stagey quaility that reinforces my theory that this movie is a low-key comedy? Sure, but the kid with the veiny skin and the devil voice is pretty standard-issue possession movie stuff, why not have a little fun with it.

The Rev. Gabriele Amorth (Crowe) is a noted exorcist in the Catholic Church. He is also, as we witness in his opening exorcism, a guy who appreciates that sometimes what people need isn’t an exorcism but to believe they’re getting an exorcism. As he explains to a skeptical panel of Vatican dudes later, 98 percent of his cases need doctors or therapists. The other two percent are E-vil, much in the style of the Paramount + TV show Evil, which is a giddy delight particularly if you’ve ever spent any time in CCD as a kid.

Meanwhile, it’s the latter half of the 1980s and a widowed mom, Julia (Alex Essoe), moves with her two kids — angry teenager Amy (Laurel Marsden) and traumatized little brother Henry (Peter DeSouza-Feighoney) — to a castle/former abbey in Spain that is her late husband’s sole asset of value. The plan is to renovate and flip this property to raise some cash to take back to the U.S. Neither kid is happy about moving to Spain — not Amy, who flips her mom the bird when she’s not ignoring her, and not Henry, who has been silent since he saw his father killed in a car accident. Very quickly, though, they figure out that this ancient church structure in Spain is not a particularly happy place to have moved (once you see it you’ll think that it would have been more shocking if an ancient evil didn’t dwell in its crumbling walls). Naturally, one of the children is quickly possessed and, because it’s more disturbing for younger kids to say sassy things to priests in a deep voice, Henry is the child who wins the demon lottery.

Eventually, Gabriele is sent by the pope (Franco Nero) to Spain to investigate Henry’s situation. There, Gabriele teams up with the Rev. Esquibel (Daniel Zovatto), who was told during his initial evaluation of the demon-Henry that he’s the “wrong priest.” It seems that whatever evil entity that has possessed Henry has a plan that involves Gabriele.

As I said, this movie has a strong ribbon of goofiness that runs throughout — from Crowe’s accent to Gabriele’s little Ferrari scooter to the vein-y stage-blood-heavy representation of the demon to Gabriele’s own jokiness. Some of this comedy is intentional, is what I’m saying. The rest of it — eh, I don’t think the movie minds if you find some of its lore cornball, particularly with the very “episode one” way that it ends. The idea that your child would be in the grip of something no one can diagnose and that is clearly killing him is terrifying. But this movie doesn’t really lean much on that, even though it is probably the chilling element of the movie, and as a result the movie isn’t really scary as much as it’s a kind of non-scary gothic horror that at times almost tips into camp. That said, this movie also isn’t quite as goofy as I would have wanted either, which I say as someone who, again, loves the cheeky Evil.

The Pope’s Exorcist doesn’t do anything you haven’t seen before but it lets Crowe’s Gabriele have just enough lightness to make it a basically entertaining endeavor. B-

Rated R for violent content, language, sexual references and some nudity, according to the MPA on filmratings.com. Directed by Julius Avery with a screenplay by Michael Petroni and Evan Spiliotopoulos, The Pope’s Exorcist is an hour and 43 minutes long and distributed in theaters by Columbia Pictures.

Featured photo: Renfield

Reading the Glass, by Elliott Rappaport

Reading the Glass, by Elliott Rappaport (Dutton, 322 pages)

Have you ever felt the urge to throw everything away for the love of a good boat and a life at sea? Me neither. But there are people who not only feel the urge, but obey it, who consider “life ashore” boring and “hard to reconcile.”

Part-time Maine resident Elliott Rappaport is one of those people and with his new book he promises “a captain’s view of weather, water, and life on ships.” For those whose knowledge of seafaring comes from Carnival cruises and watching The Perfect Storm, Reading the Glass might be a rough slog. Who knew that boat captains, always portrayed as blue-collar and salty, could be so erudite? Who knew that their memoirs would read like high school science books? Reading the Glass is eye-opening in this respect, as modern mariners apparently talk more like learned meteorologists than pirates of the Caribbean.

But Rappaport brings a dry sense of humor to the task and works to break up long professorial descriptions of weather with elegant descriptions of life at sea. “Below the surface,” he writes, “are things seeable only when the sea is calm — the dolphins, grazing whales, sharks, and mola, ocean sunfish as big as car hoods. Once a giant leatherback turtle, four feet across with long triangular flippers and drooping dinosaur eyelids. I’ve seen their babies on a beach in Mexico racing toward the surf, identical but small as silver dollars.”

Rappaport has been a ship’s captain for 30 years and teaches at the Maine Maritime Academy, a small public college in Castine, Maine, that trains ships’ officers and engineers. (If you have a driftless kid, send them there — the school says 90 percent of its graduates have jobs within three months of graduation.)

Whatever the seafaring equivalent of a public intellectual is, that’s what Rappaport is. He can wax eloquently about where New England’s summer air originates (“the subtropics, carried along by the southerly winds at the the edge of the Bermuda-Azores High and moistened by the warm waters of the Gulf Stream”) and about atolls, the “recipe for shipwreck” created by submerged islands that present “an opportunity to run aground without ever seeing land.”

He can smartly and simply explain weather phenomena we so often hear about in forecasts, such as jet streams, El Nino and the ever popular polar vortex. And you will learn so much about clouds that you didn’t retain from middle school. “There’s a lot going on inside a cloud, most of it poorly understood by the average person,” Rappoport writes. “Or, fairer to say, it’s not a priority for most people to understand.” For example, one misconception is that most people think clouds are composed only of water vapor, which can’t be true since water vapor is invisible. “Clouds are in fact clusters of of water droplets and ice crystals spawned by condensation or deposition the process whereby water vapor converts directly to ice.”

That’s clear enough, but many of his explanations aren’t quite as simple; it would have taken me two years to finish the book if I’d looked up every word I didn’t know (“Taxonomically the bora and mistral are katabatic (downhill) winds….”) and it is not by coincidence that the first glowing Amazon review I saw for this book was written by someone who included at the end of his name “Ph.D.”

For those of us with B.A.s, it’s more of a struggle to enjoy this book, but it’s possible if you focus on Rappaport’s stories, which are wide-ranging like his travels, and vividly memorable. He’s sailed all over the world, and for every place he hasn’t been, he’s seemingly talked to someone who has. He can tell you about the port in Tahiti where the tattoo artists are so good that the crew requires time off for appointments, and explain the origins of a microburst from a personal encounter with one at sea.

For those interested in maritime disasters, he is an encyclopedia of knowledge, not only of long-ago tragedies with no survivors, but also of contemporary battles of human vs. sea. Describing the type of offshore cyclone that can suddenly roil the ocean without warning, he writes of a discussion he had with a friend about a storm in 1990: “‘A giant hole opened up in the ocean,’ he told me, ‘and the ship fell in.’”

It was, Rappaport writes, “an image I have not forgotten,” and neither will we.

Nor will we forget his funny description of the Beaufort scale of wind force (which includes “Force 6: Umbrellas ruined” and “Force 10: Don’t go out”) or the image he paints of himself making his way through suburban Washington, as off-kilter as most of us would be at sea.

“It is May, the trees already a deep summer green and the sky boiling with clouds that would alarm me if I were at sea.” He vaguely knows the direction of the Metro station, but the battery has died on his phone, and “I have no chartroom to visit, no swarm of seabirds flying helpfully in the right direction.” He is wearing the orange rain slicker he wears at sea, its pockets filled with “old bits of twine and candy wrappers.” Finally he finds something by which he can navigate: a Starbucks in the distance, where the well-dressed professionals are “mysteriously dry.” Perhaps they’ve read the forecast, he quips.

It’s that kind of writing and imagery that makes Reading the Glass pleasurable for those without Ph.D.s.

But truthfully, a Ph.D. would help. B+

Album Reviews 23/04/20

Messa, Live At Roadburn (Svart Records)

Meanwhile, back in the doom-metal sphere, we have this new four-song LP from an Italian crew whose unlikeliest press quote came by way of Spin magazine: “If you’ve ever longed for an album that could reconcile Stevie Nicks at her witchiest with the sublime gloom of How the Gods Kill-era Danzig, this is the LP of your dreams.” Anyhow, these guys have a girl singer, which works when the (always slow) music is new-age-y or folky, but when it goes more in the direction of raw, blissed-out, Candlemass/Kyuss-tinted doom metal, it’s a bit of a reach, at least with her vocals, which, although strong overall (she sounds more like Florence Welch than Stevie Nicks, point of order), sound a little overwhelmed in the context. I’m sure she’d rather be in a Nightwish-type epic-metal band, but she’ll figure that out at some point. It’s a different kind of trip, I can assure you of that. A

Ric Wilson, Chromeo, & A-Trak, Clusterfunk (Free Disco Records)

Collaborative, highly accessible nine-song EP from a bunch of guys I remember covering (or ignoring) during my days covering velvet-rope club techno back in the mid-aughts. And that was probably to my detriment; I keep hearing about this or that going on with A-Trak and Wilson, but I don’t like Chromeo, as you may have noticed in these pages, and probably never will. Suffice to say, though, that this record is a pretty big deal, there are lots of semi-famous names on board this often catchy funk/hip-hop/spoken-word fricassee, such as King Louie (who tables some cool weirdo-rap on the ’90s-prostrating “Whisky In My Coffee”), Felicia Douglass of Dirty Projectors (in the Kool & The Gang-sounding “Everyone Moves To LA”), STIC.MAN of Dead Prez (on the record’s most fascinating dance-funk track, “Git Up Off My Neck”), Kiéla Adira and Mariame Kaba, whose spoken-word rant on the criminal justice system is pretty priceless. A

Playlist

• This Friday is April 21, which means we’re pretty much done with this stupid delayed-action winter, unless Mother Nature has plans to dump 20 feet of snow on us just to see if we’re paying attention. Ha ha, remember in January, there was no snow, and it was kind of warm, and everyone was like, “yeah, wow, talk about a lame winter” but suddenly in March (my least favorite month to begin with) good old “MoNat” (that’s the celebrity hip-hop name for Mother Nature) realized she’d lost all track of time playing Candy Crush, and she suddenly turned into Oprah Winfrey, yelling “Yikes, here you go, you get a driveway covered in a foot of frozen vanilla Slushy, and you do too” and whatnot, and all that massively heavy, dense-packed hatefulness sent 8,000 people to the hospital with chest pains and dislocated elbows? Well, folks, it’s almost over, it almost is, but first we must talk about a few albums that will be streeting this week. I’ve decided that we’ll start the week with Atum, a new album from comically overrated ’90s band The Smashing Pumpkins, because that’s what’s crackalackin’, home skillets, look at the ’90s rebirth that’s happening all around us, it’s all that and a bag of chips, I tell you! Can you even believe it, a new Pumpkins platter, and the band is still fronted by that Uncle Fester dude. I keep seeing all kinds of tweets and stuff saying, “Man, I loved the Pumpkins back in the shizniz, they were so fly, booyah,” and no one gets into an argument with them because they feel so sad for them. Anyway, I’ll bet this music will be absolutely awful if it’s anything like old Pumpkins, so I suppose I should trudge off to the YouTube box and see what the new single, “Beguiled,” is about. OK, here’s the video, and the tune is pretty much like Megadeth-metal at first, and ha ha, look at Billy Uncle Fester, all dressed up like the crazy dream-villain from that Jennifer Lopez movie The Cell, but it’s 100 times worse than ever before, like he’s really trying to channel that Cell dude. You shouldn’t let your kids watch this video. Huh, now there are ballerinas doing Swan Lake stuff, in Uncle Billy’s creepy Cell world. The song is OK if you like mid-tempo ’90s metal. Hm, now a bunch of people are doing fancy modern dances and stuff. One of the guys looks like Jim Carrey’s alter ego from The Mask. The ’90s are coming back, folks, there is no escape. Pray for us all.

• No way, a new album from The Mars Volta, with their most transgressive title yet, Que Dios Te Maldiga Mi Corazon, which translates to “May God curse you my heart.” Lol whatever, I’ve made fun of — um, I mean, reviewed some of their previous albums, like, their music has always struck me as freeze-dried low-grade prog-rock that’s missing its flavor packet, but let’s not go there, I’ll go have a listen to the title track and be normal. Wow, it sounds like Latin-radio stuff, which is a lot better than anything these guys have ever done. Maybe there’s hope, fam.

• Frenetic and spazzy flamenco guitar duo Rodrigo y Gabriela are releasing their new album, In Between Thoughts A New World, this week. Hopefully it won’t be a bunch of metal covers again, please oh please oh please. OK, the single, “Descending To Nowhere” is normal, but then a bunch of spiffy Spyro Gyra layers appear and it starts to sound like polite Weather Channel jazz. Kinda dumb but it’s OK.

• Lastly, it’s ’90s-radio-poppers Everything But The Girl, with their newest full-length, Fuse. The rope-in track is “Nothing Left To Lose,” a trippy, percussive, trance-pop dealie that sounds like Roxy Music reborn as afterparty patter. It’s perfectly fine.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

Cornmeal cookies

Cornmeal may not be an ingredient you consider when making cookies. However, after trying a cornmeal cookie on a trip to Kentucky, I was hooked and knew I needed to create my own version. Think of these cookies as short, sweet corn muffins that have a nicely crisp edge. Enjoyed with a cup of coffee or glass of milk, they are a delicious treat.

The majority of the ingredients in this recipe are straightforward with only two notes. If you are a regular reader, you will notice that I specified the type of salt. Although it’s a small amount, the taste of the cookie can be altered by the salt. If you use kosher salt, you will need a pinch more. However, kosher salt is a bigger crystal, which may mean that there will be tiny pockets of saltiness in the cookies. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it is worth nothing. With smaller crystals, table salt guarantees even distribution of salt.

The other ingredient of note is the cornmeal. I recommend using medium grind, as I think it adds a nice amount of crunch to the cookie. You can use coarse grind, but that may make the texture almost pebble-like. Fine grind is an acceptable substitute, but that does mean you will lose some of the crunchiness.

Make a batch for your next gathering. I am pretty sure you will be the only person who brings cornmeal cookies. You may even get requests for the recipe!

Cornmeal cookies
Makes 4 dozen

1 cup unsalted butter softened
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 large eggs
2 cups all-purpose flour
1½ cups medium-grind cornmeal
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon table salt

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Combine butter and both sugars in a bowl.
Beat on a medium-low speed, using either the paddle on a stand mixer or a hand mixer, for 4 minutes.
Add eggs one at a time, beat after each addition, scraping sides to combine.
Add vanilla to dough, and mix until combined.
Add flour, cornmeal, baking soda and salt, stirring until combined.
Line a baking sheet with a piece of parchment paper, then scoop heaping tablespoons of dough onto the prepared tray.
Bake for 10 to 12 minutes or until the edges are golden brown.
Allow to cool for 4 minutes, then transfer to a baking rack to cool completely.

Featured photo: Cornmeal cookies. Photo by Michele Pesula Kuegler.

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