Thursday, June 30, 2011

Xalam Project

Brandon Terzic is one of my oldest and best friends, a fellow veteran of the Akron Public School system with all the scars and residual trauma to prove it.  Like the great bluesmen of yore, he's managed to summon his anguish and frustration and turn it into a musical phenomenon for the ages.  How does that happen to a skinny white kid from Akron?  I'll remind you that Firestone High School, not unlike the Mississippi Delta, is one of the legendary breeding grounds of great musicians.  The release of Xalam Project indicates that there must be more to that West Akron water than fluoridation and heavy metals. Yes, Akron has served as a launching pad for a number of first-rate acts, but Brandon's journey to this point is unique, one steeped in many lands and cultures and all the winding roads he's traveled down.

Our friendship has always been centered in part around music.  He introduced me to Jimi Hendrix, not just user-friendly hits like Purple Haze, but the dark, brooding blues, funk and soul found in Band of Gypsys.  Hoping to repay that immense debt, I mixed for him tapes of choice Dylan songs. While other guys were trying their damnedest to hang out with girls, we exiled ourselves to my parent's house with a CD player, a jug of Minute Maid fruit punch and our latest score from the local record store.  There were some miscues along the way, but John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Robert Johnson, Mozart and Beethoven proved milestone discoveries and lasting companions.

While laying that foundation of influence, Brandon was becoming more proficient on his Stratocaster.  Often of a Friday night, he and his band could be heard electrifying the dingy haunts of Highland Square, turning half-dead saloons into, at least for a few hours, hallowed blues houses.  Though it would seem an easy jump from basement bar to major record deal, somewhere along the line our prodigy gave it up, relocated to New York and rode the tech surge to a full-time job.  That move may seem an aberration considering that most musicians move to New York to pursue, not abandon, their artistic endeavors, not until Brandon quit the job and made a few transitional transatlantic journeys--Israel, Cyprus, Morocco, Senegal, Egypt--was his calling renewed.  Only now he was experimenting with the sounds and instruments of the regions.  Gone was the Strat, replaced by distant stringed cousins the oud, the ngani, the saz.  

His return to New York saw him having to grind out a living as a subway performer.  Though dwindling coffers and an inability to find steady work and may seem like a bottoming out, I would argue that the fetid platforms of the Manhattan mass transit system were as formative a training ground as the streets of Egypt.  He could easily have packed up and headed back family and friends in Akron.  He did not.  And here we are.

I'm not sure how one goes about writing a proper music review (I continue to rebuff job offers from Rolling Stone), and so here is a simple, unequivocal, stone-cold endorsement of a powerful debut.  Xalam Project is a tour de force that I have spun dozens of times and gotten just a cursory peek into the wealth of surprises housed within a ten-track production.  Emotional to its core and yet intellectual enough to satisfy the snootiest jazz enthusiast, the band packs in something for everyone into these generous instrumentals.  Xalam Project is neither predictable nor inaccessible.  Fans of jazz, blues, funk, rock and world music will feel right at home because Brandon has not confined himself to one style.  He avoids the trappings of esoterica by surrounding himself with a top flight band of diversely talented musicians: 

Matt Kilmer - percussion

Matt Darriau - sax

John Shannon - guitar

Peter Slavov - bass

None of them hails from Akron, but all of these boys can play, and thus there is not a single dud to be found on the album.  Am I biased?  Certainly, but I wouldn't be writing this post if I didn't mean every word.  I implore you to buy a copy from Amazon or download it on itunes.  Put on a pair of headphones and immerse yourself in a world that is both here and there, grounded and transient, East and West, earthbound and intergalactic.  You know this album, and yet it is entirely new.  Jimi, Coltrane, Miles, Eddie Hazel, Led Zeppelin, Toumani Diabate, Peter Gabriel, the Delta, Cuba, Senegal, Islam...I hear all of these sounds and places and influences and more, not rehashed but amplified through the creative channels of five superb musicians.

Buy Xalam Project and see why I give my buddy's album 5.0 McBones.

nwb

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Not a Baby Blog II

In Venezuela there's an expression that says a baby is born carrying bread under its arm.  Not sure what that means or who would even want a loaf of bread dripping with amniotic juices, but I can tell you that the house has been filling up in a hurry with all manner of baby-related objects.  Here are just a few of the things that have appeared as if by magic ever since my sometimes-pregnant wife announced to the world that she was with child:

Orb.  We have no idea where it came from or what its purpose is or why all the fish and plants have died since the orb's mysterious appearance a few weeks ago.


Baby books.  There are countless books about birthing methods and child rearing and about a billion experts ready to tell you that your child will certainly become a homicidal maniac if you don't follow their proven methods.


Giant pillow.  Each night this massive, hypoallergenic pillow forms the foundation of a pillow fort that my wife constructs around herself at bedtime, effectively reducing my share of the mattress to a three-inch sliver.


Bigger, better wife.  What could be better than having a cheeseburger?  A bigger cheeseburger, of course.  The same principle applies to foxy wives.  She's growing at an astonishing rate and every millimeter added to her middle section makes her that much foxier.


nwb

Friday, June 24, 2011

Good Week

Damned good week all around.  I suppose one could say that things are blowin' up here in the McBoniverse.  Some highlights:

-Felt the McBonerito move for the first time, a good swift kick to my sometimes-pregnant wife's lower abdomen.

-Sometimes-pregnant wife passed dissertation prospectus, vaulting herself into official PhD candidacy.

-Now being followed on Twitter by our involuntary spokeswoman, Chan Marshall.

-No diarrhea.

-Cavs got better.

-Amazing shrimp boil prepared by our doula to celebrate doula's b-day.

-Four life birds: song sparrow, field sparrow, common yellowthroat, dickcissel.

-Obliterated the five-minute 0.7 mile mark.

-Awesome Friday Robots.

-New York legalized gay marriage (learned from a Chan Marshall Tweet).  Forty-four states to go!

Now we're winding things down with some Jimmie Rodgers and I'll be mixing a martini about 20 seconds after publishing this post.  For one seven-day span, that will be hard to top, but prospects are excellent heading into the weekend.

Have a good one, McBoners.

nwb

Mock Draft

As a loyal fan of Cleveland sports, I'm given, nay, I'm obligated, without really understanding what we did to deserve it, to believe in curses.  Long, drawn out, decades-long curses.  The silver lining is that I also get to believe that curses are meant to be broken.  By choosing Kyrie Irving with the number one pick in the NBA draft tonight, the Cavaliers are hoping to smash two bad luck trends to microscopic bits:

1) The Cleveland championship drought - 1964 and counting.

2) The Duke point guard curse.  Johnny Dawkins with his crumby knees and mediocre NBA career represents the best of them.

I quietly shook my head when ESPN draft coverage opened with a clip of Michael Jordan hitting his goddam game winner over Craig Ehlo--some programmer with a morbid sense of humor poking a finger into the permanent festering wound of the Cleveland devotee.  Then I had to wince when Irving was selected, ascended the dias and put on what is probably the ugliest cap I've ever seen.  Can an ugly hat really prophesy the quality of a player's career and the future of a sports franchise?  That I would even consider such a possibility must mean I'm a hopeless Cleveland fan.  Ah, what the hell.  We got the best guard in the draft, and probably the best all around player.  Good.  Great.  I love it.  Fucking hat.

Then, following Minnesota's pick of Derrick Williams (crammed into a suit that would comfortably fit my 6' 165 lb frame) and Utah's choice of the big Turk Enes Kanter, the Cavs selected, um, Tristan Thompson.

Excuse me?  Who?  And why?  And wtf???

I do not accept this pick.  Not at #4.  The line on Thompson is that he's a high energy defender, rebounder and shot blocker.  He also has a very limited offensive repertoire and shoots an alarming 49% from the line--not so good for an around the rim type of player who likes to mix it up in the paint.  I'm being pessimistic I know, but this doesn't this guy have 'journeyman' written all over him?  Oh, he's also touted as a character guy, and I remember all too vividly the halcyon days of Gund Brothers ownership, when loading up on character guys was paramount.

Could it be that GM Chris Grant would use the fourth overall pick on a destined backup forward?  Sure.  I've seen the Cavs botch too many drafts to put it past them.

Then again...NO!  A grand scheme has to be in the works.  The Cavs now have 5 power forwards, 5 point guards and not enough minutes to go around.  Something's gotta give.  JJ Hickson, the Cavs just sent you a message--you and your low b-ball IQ are living on borrowed time.  If you please, score us another unconditional first round pick from the Clippers.  Thanks!

Round 2

With the 32nd pick in the draft, the Cavs selected Justin Harper out of Richmond...and then promptly traded him to Orlando for two future second-round picks.

The 54th pick in the draft resulted in burly Croat Milan Macvan, whom analysts described as a 'below the rim' 'bull in a china shop,' and someone they weren't sure we will ever see don an NBA jersey.

So that's that. 

It's still early.

Months to go before the season maybe starts.

Sigh.

Go Cavs.

nwb

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Serial Hedge Trimmer Strikes Again

Today I spent 2 hours pulling weeds and trimming trees in response to the slightly psychotic action taken by a neighbor yesterday.

To me there are better ways to make a grievance known.  A note in the mailbox?  A friendly knock on the door?  I suppose I'm a little old fashioned that way.  Anyway, I get it.  Things were overgrown.  The sidewalk was crowded.  I leaped to action.

Apparently my gesture of reconciliation wasn't enough:


The first time was amusing.  Now this shit's real.  It takes a lot to summon the rage of McGraw, but if I see this reptile sniffing around our yard again with his clippers, he's going to have to extract these razor sharp blades of decorative grass one by one from his ass.

nwb

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Hormones, Meet Mr. Jackman

Pregnancy, it's a strange and mysterious thing.  This trailer for the movie about boxing robots (which I will absolutely, 100% see in theaters), brought my sometimes-pregnant wife to tears.  For real!



Then again, with dialogue like this, who can blame her?

Kid: What are we looking for?

Dad: Anything I can use to put a fighting robot together!

Powerful stuff indeed.

nwb

Serial Hedge Trimmer Strikes West Lafayette Lawn

Today, as my sometimes-pregnant wife and I were outdoors reading on a glorious 75-degree Saturday afternoon, an old man came striding along the sidewalk with a pair of hedge clippers.  Following a long, icy glare in our direction, he went on the offensive, snipping away any plant life that had dared encroach from our yard into public space.  Clearly this codger saw it as is duty to keep the walkways of West Lafayette free of impediments.  He wasn't messing around, either.  Snip first, ask questions later--that was his style.  After a furious few seconds of pruning, he was gone in a trail of dust.


I wasn't sure how to react.  Should I have upbraided the old vulture and run him off?  It's true that I'm not the best about maintaining the verge, but I can't help thinking this slightly deranged ancient was overstepping his rights as a fellow citizen and neighbor.  I'll be honest, though; potential senility in combination with sharp garden implements gives me pause.  I didn't want to get too close lest I have a new haircut inflicted on me.  Also, I was drinking beer, and therefore mellow.

The wife and I laughed it off.  Was I right to play the amused spectator?  Should I be more protective of the verdure in the future?  As always, I defer to your wisdom, McBoners.

nwb

Friday, June 17, 2011

Not a Baby Blog

Just thought some of you might be interested in a good look at a fetal spine and a heart pump, pump, pumping away at 140 beats/minute, or roughly half as fast as Dad's was racing after today's 0.7 mile run (with a gut full of hamburger, fries and beer).



nwb