The Lindy Hopper NYC

Photo courtesy of Doug Seymour.

“The most prominent [theme] is that of struggle,” notes the press release for Jason Myles Goss’ folk record Radio Dial. Loss and strife are certainly recurring motifs – even clichés – in contemporary folk. But in his newest release since 2009, Goss does more than just recount personal woes. Radio Dial is a companion for late-night drives and the soundtrack for solitary sunsets – an anthem that basks in the darkness on its quiet search for light. Drummer Joel Arnow, bassist David Dawda, guitarist Austin Nevins, and keyboardist Sam Kassirer join Goss on the journey.

Opened by a tense, highly repeating guitar rhythm, “Lion’s Mouth”  spearheads a dark momentum. Dawda’s electric bass slices into the fog while Goss’ vocals envelop the airwaves. His voice grows sultry and secretive as the piece inches forward, each lyric laced with eerie hypnotism. A steel drum echoes in the distance as Goss paints scenes of drear and revolt, slyly questioning, ”Can you see the moon hanging low? Feel the turning in your guts, sharp and slow?”

Photo courtesy of lastfm.com

The ominous aesthetic takes a soulful turn in “Black Lights”, a narrative depicting a boxer’s troubled rise to fame. Goss propels the track with wrenching lyrics and muscular vocals, evoking a fighter’s stone-cold concentration. When Arnow’s drums spark the chorus, Goss’ composure yields. As he describes the hollow bond between a boxer and his fans, the vibe turns intimate and fiercely revelatory, conjuring the sight of a singer and his listeners.

“Into the Night” and “New York City” hearken back to the rock-tinged feel of Another Ghost, Goss’ 2005 release. Arnow’s heavy cymbal rhythm fuels the former song, infusing Goss’ pleading lyrics with an assertive edge. “New York City” is the antithesis to the small-town angst of “Into the Night”, as Goss illustrates alienated city life with an alluring hint of impersonality.  

“Hospital Shirt”, however, emerges most alluring of all. The guitar-led track whittles down to grassroots essentials, propelled only by gentle strums and bare vocals. Yet from this simplicity rises the album’s poignant climax. Goss leads a first-person narrative of a seriously ill young man in the hospital, capturing the stark reality of youth caught in limbo. The lyrics are vague, but each line is visceral, seamlessly streaming through bitter wisdom and naïve hope. And through the band closes out near the three minute mark, this is one of those songs that never truly ends. “Hospital Shirt” nestles deep into the soul, where it resonates long after the final lyric is sung.

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The Undead Music Fest was a melting pot of ingenuity.
Photo credit: Dave Kaufman

Under a new moniker this year, the Undead Music Festival rang the spring-summer cusp in with bold style, showcasing a wealth of avant-garde in just four days. The celebration began in the Greenwich Village hotspots Le Poisson Rouge, Kenny’s Castaways, and Sullivan Hall, where a line-up of established and rising musicians played into the wee morning hours. A stopover in Brooklyn was in order for the next two evenings, first at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple for Medeski Martin & Wood, and then at the borough’s countless underground venues for Night of the Living DIY. 92Y Tribeca ended the affair in riveting fashion, featuring twenty different artists in an improvised Round-Robin.

These four moments captured the Undead vision in poignant form, illustrating innovation at its finest:

Fraser Campbell on tenor sax.
Photo credit: M. Ouchakof Photography

4. In the stale heat of Kenny’s Castaways, Secret Architecture was the first band to hit the evening’s airwaves. Every minute of their half-hour reign was spent in impromptu territory at the hands of Fraser Campbell, Wade Ridenhour, Julian Smith, and Zach Mangan. As the band proceeded in a thrilling momentum, Smith took an intricate bass solo, visibly intriguing – even mystifying – Campbell on tenor sax. The gregarious saxist took a seat on the stage to ponder, while Ridenhour leaned closed-eyed over his Rhodes. A few moments later, Campbell stood and looked to Mangan, who also grew sparse on the drums. And in a split second, their faces awakened with inspiration, both smiling and nodding before slipping into Harvey’s framework. Ridenhour’s synth-tinged vibe launched a high-speed chase between the two musicians, spearheaded by Campbell’s brassy blurts and Mangan’s athletic cymbals.

Matthew Mottel, donning orange-rimmed shades and an uncanny musical style.
Photo credit: Dave Kaufman

3. At 92Y Tribeca, Brandon Seabrook walked on stage as subtly as any man could with a tenor banjo slung over his side. Once saxist John Ellis finished his smooth interplay with Matthew Mottel on keys, Seabrook flipped to over dissonant territory. He grated on his strings, producing pungent sounds akin to a tense violin. Mottel’s keys rumbled forward, enriching Seabrook’s notes with billowing velocity. Without warning, several bubbles mysteriously sprouted from Mottel’s vicinity, until it became clear that it was the keyboardist himself – clad in bright, orange-rimmed sunglasses – who was blowing the soapy spheres. The bubbles hovered over the audience while Seabrook suddenly conjured the spirit of country, plucking away with a hearty, down-home flair.

Drum powerhouse Tomas Fujiwara.
Photo credit: Dave Kaufman

2. Co-led by Taylor Ho Bynum and Abraham Gomez-Delgado, Positive Catastrophe packed the stage and the floor below at Sullivan Hall. But the ten-member band’s “stage spillage” was a mere prelude to the crackling vivacity they brought to the venue. Their brief time slot was a CD release party of sorts, featuring compositions off the band’s newest release Dibrujo, Dibrujo, Dibrujo. Michael Attias’ colossal baritone sax set the mood early into the set, emerging brazen and subtly playful. Reut Regev further exuded resonant complexity in “Dibroojoh Four”, the final installment of the album’s namesake tune suite. Trombone bow pointed toward the ceiling, Regev blared one solitary roar, launching a full-band earthquake of transformative bliss. One artist, however, was the unforgettable force behind the action: drummer Tomas Fujiwara, whose rhythm formed a potent force field that seized the air like radiant thunder.

Pianist Fabian Almazan and cornetist Graham Haynes collided with gripping opposition.
Photo credit: Dave Kaufman

1. In the final two duos at 92Y Tribeca, Fabian Almazan served as ornate virtuoso, seeping classical flourishes through every key. The pianist melted into a lullaby with Miles Okazaki’s gentle guitar chords, crafting the only heart-touching melody of the night. Five minutes later, the guitarist left the stage to make way for Graham Haynes’ cornet. Hints of warmth still remained, though Haynes’ thick cries never quite mingled into Almazan’s elaborate style. And five minutes later, the cornetist stood solo on stage to cinch the marathon event. He questioned, pierced, prodded, and reflected through his brilliant instrument, before attaching a vocoder-like synth to the horn. Haynes climbed to near-inaudible pitches for what seemed like timeless eternity – until he halted for a moment and silently declared Undead 2012 over.

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Carter (Sissoko, far left) in a 2011 European tour.
Photo credits: Anna Sircova

Regina Carter is a master of the heartsong. Each twist of her violin in Reverse Thread transcends the realm of bittersweet, resonating with soul-meeting power in every humble note. Carter and her band carried the album’s reflections to newfound catharsis live at the Jazz Standard.

Every molecule of air grew tighter and richer in the hands of “N’Teri”, an immersive piece opened by Yacouba Sissoko’s kora plucks. Carter joined his rustic sound with plucks of her own, both musicians cresting and falling as Alvester Garnett tapped on his cymbals. But when the violinist brought out her bow, the mood took vibrant flight. Hearty, expressive, and innately graceful, Carter’s long notes encompassed the late set like an aural embrace. Sissoko echoed the vivacious turn in a solo as fluid as a waterfall, punctuated by Garnett’s earthy drum raindrops.

Will Holshouser, a true aural craftsman.
Photo credit: Anna Sircova

The organic vibe transitioned to “Mandingo Street” (composed by Richard Bona and featured on Carter’s 1999 Rhythms of the Heart). Bassist Chris Lightcap welcomed the work in a solo that took some time to shift into place – but when it did, his spaced phrases urged the band to join in the choppy momentum. Garnett’s sporadic accents also traversed inter-instrumental terrain, through accordionist Will Holshouser’s broken notes and Carter’s vertical scrapes. The latter musician later swapped her bow for a different kind of instrumentation. Carter’s warm vocals – a lyrical counterpart to her enveloping violin – put the two-piece conglomerate to rest, melting with Sissoko’s kora to a comforting whisper.

 “Mwana Talitambula” (in the language Luganda, “the child will never walk”) was one of the most touching collaborations on Reverse Thread, Carter’s take on the Ugandan song inspiring mothers not to fret over their young children. Her patient violin inched forward while Sissoko and Holshouser trailed not too far behind, Lightcap and Garnett stirring further in the distance. The poignant moment, however, came before the work began – in a live-only field recording of a woman singing in Luganda, lacing both hope and sadness into every lullaby lyric.

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