by Jake Goldbas

Brooklyn Steel is a warehouse converted into a concert venue in the north part of East Williamsburg. An unassuming location and a short walk from the subway, Brooklyn Steel can be a host to nearly 2,000 people. The warehouse feel is something dance music fans are always drawn to so, it made sense that Hot Chip headlined and sold out Brooklyn Steel this Wednesday.

Hot Chip played one hell of a show, with a Buffalo stampede of sound rushing the audience. As expected, there was an average of four synthesizers on stage at any given time with a clear intention to make the audience dance to disco-infused beats. Listeners on Spotify or YouTube might have been pleasantly shocked because the bass one could never pick up in your headphones came to life with the power of a rocket ship.

The stage setup consisted of a range of hot lights, a smoke machine (of course), and even lasers. Hot Chip used laser pointers from automatically mounted cannons, which made triangles and danced while the band played. In at least two songs, four of the band members had their own choreography while rectangular boxes surrounding the band lit up with neon lights, and had strange Martian shadows. Finally, there were strobe lights above the band. The overall effect of the loud dance music and the lights was a sensory overload. 

The band followed their digital roots with complementary lyrics and vocals. On the band’s single, “Ready for the Floor,” the bridge sings, “You’re my number one guy!” like the AOL ping, “You’ve got mail!” And Hot Chip is de facto sisters with Brooklyn’s LCD Soundsystem with whom they share guitarist-keyboardist Al Doyle, who spent the concert twisting and jiving around the stage. Hot Chip differs from LCD with a more up-tempo attitude and has no anxious self-awareness. Listeners might notice a small kinship with 1980s band Devo, who dared to play bizarre sounds in praise of technology.

Midway through the set, Hot Chip played “Sabotage,” by the Beastie Boys and the crowd collectively went nuts. The homage recognized the Beastie Boys are from Brooklyn, and the song also has a lot of screaming, which was super fun.

Pleasing the crowd with new originals, the band played “Positive,” and “Bath Full of Ecstasy.” “Positive,” has a catchy recursive hook, where band members sang, “We used to get together and talk about how we used to get together,” in a call and answer. In fact, the band consistently had excellent vocal harmonies. The song, “Bath Full of Ecstasy,” has an oldies or soul chord progression, and is slower than most of the band’s songs, but not by much. The song had manic energy that couldn’t sit still, and the chord changes swung in weird ways.

Hot Chip’s live show illuminated the way book learning can be second to in-person classroom teaching. The band’s ideas for the music as propulsive dance fusion were better articulated in the immersive experience. Whereas the lyrics might have put off the casual listener as trivial, the live show made those lyrics seem much more important because the music was loud and beautiful. Indie rock’s angst was missing, and no one missed it.

Thus, the show is somewhat at odds with its recordings. The liabilities as recordings become assets in its live show. Repetitive bass lines and lyrics on a computer or cell phone can be tossed aside as trivial, however, in person they become central to the message of the band as a dance-pop experience. Idiosyncrasy seems obnoxious on recordings but becomes charming and unique at the live show.

At the end of the show, band members pointed their microphones to the crowd to amplify the crowd’s cheers. It was a cool trick and in a moment caught some of the ambitions of the band to capture the energy of the crowd and say the feelings were mutual. Likewise, sometimes people in the band say, “We love you too!” back to the audience in between songs. This was a loud, brilliant, mind-expanding show. Hot Chip is an electronic dance band, but last night they rocked.

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There was a cool breeze on a hot night in Brooklyn for multi-instrumentalist DJ and songwriter RJD2 for a City Farm Presents show in Sunset Park. The DJ and producer used four turntables and a synthesizer, occasionally mixing in guitar and backing vocals. Some of his best works were with a live drummer and bassist, or alternatively with rapper STS aka Sugar Tongue Slim and a soul singer Khari Mateen. 

RJD2, born Ramble Jon Krohn, served up an energetic, fast-paced show always singing, playing guitar, and making small talk with the crowd. The man is also constantly flipping the vinyl, always moving, scratching and chopping the turntables, deeply connected to the live audience by remaining headphoneless – a near-total outlier on the DJ circuit and a sign of a scratch DJ.

Krohn performed songs from his most recent album, Dame Fortune and the record with STS, released in 2015. “Doin’ it Right,” with the rapper was a huge highlight for the whole audience. STS’s vocals are high-pitched and cut over the bass with a loveable punky staccato-like jalapenos on a hamburger. The music is thrusting provocative hip-hop electronica. Snare drums snap through deep, murky, sludgy basslines and smooth horn samples. The music is inherently danceable, but not especially romantic. People swayed back and forth with only a few truly dancing. The slower tempos of the music are perfect for nodding one’s head up and down. 

The music has infinite possibilities with the only consistency being a hip-hop beat. RJD2 samples soul music, plays synth or guitar, and even drops out to let his drummer and bass player play solo, giving the music space to breathe. The music has a super cool menace to it that explodes on a drum break. 

The show was great in its sprawl of genres and instruments. For his rocking live shows and suspicious beats, RJD2 has a common lineage with DJ Shadow. The weird quilt of different instruments is made light of in 2014’s video for “Descended from Myth,” where a wall of instruments blast set to the track.

Ending the set was RJD2’s hit song, “Ghostwriter,” which uses a French guitar progression into a massive horn section. It was such a high note that the Krohn left seeming like there was much more to play, leaving the crowd wanting more.

To watch an RJD2 show is to submerge oneself in possibilities and ideas like a deep-sea diver. The music pulses and quakes with twists and turns, full band or solo DJing, lasers when the obvious choice would have been guitar, and astounding forgotten 1970’s drum breaks like so many fireworks. It was a bright, vivid, and spectacular show.

Images courtesy of the artist

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Summerstage in Central Park is a weekly concert series in New York City. One might be pleasantly surprised by available weekend parking at Museum Mile on the East Side. Once you make your way through the beautiful greenery of the woods and lawns you’ll find Rumsey Playfield, a small outdoor concert venue on top of one of Central Park’s many hills. On her way, a concertgoer might pass friends having a good time playing soccer and frisbee. Good start so far.

World music band Magic System performed there on a hot and humid sunny day this past weekend. In front of a crowd of some five thousand, the band played fast, fun dance music. In the heat of the late afternoon, the crowd moved sometimes like a big blob. Other times the band invited the audience to join in with some simple dance moves, like moving arms side to side.  The vibes were contagious – the music of Magic System is irrepressible and unstoppable good will. It’s the kind of pop that asks and deserves to be liked. The band members were among devoted fans, who sang along in French with the music’s call and answer, or sometimes just sang lead vocals all together.

Magic System is from the Ivory Coast, and the band is Zouglou – apparently translating to shameless dance music in English. Zouglou started in the 1990’s from zouk, ragga, and soca music, such that Zouglou is a mix of genres bouncing around the world.

All of these elements combine in the band’s 2014 hit, “Tu Es Fou,” which translates to, “You are crazy!” Their music video for this song has a whopping 29 million views on YouTube, and one can’t help noticing contemporary influences. Keyboards and synthesizers splash like American pop hits, and the drum cymbals have familiar washes. Because the song is party music, it could easily come out of French electronica band Christine and the Queens. “Tu Es Fou” uses all four of the band’s lead singers, and is better than LMFAO’s “Sexy and I know it.” Magic System’s flash mob dance-off in the video for the song definitely has a cousin in Carly Rae Jepson’s dance-off in her video “I Really Like You.”

The gang is all here, and not just because Magic System has so many members! Magic System’s sound has influences from rap, in its use of hype men, and T Pain’s creative use of auto-tune making the vocals themselves an instrument. “Zouglou Dance,” also from 2014, has a video where the singers reach out over the internet to people who listen in their homes, and resembles Lil’ Jon’s video “Turn Down for What.”

Because Magic System’s music is so positive, the question then becomes how to successfully build the kind of tension necessary to get people moving. Part of the answer lies in the music’s repetitiveness, and the happy vibe makes people want to boogie. In addition, often their music uses weird time signatures against a marching beat. The result is less like a super-fast waltz, and more like a feeling that the music is always supposed to resolve any time in the future – but never now.

Finally, the chorus effect is a fascinating aspect that appears twice in the band’s menu. The chorus effect is named after the weird sound of a choir when many people sing the same note at the same or nearly-same time. The differences in people’s voices makes their combined sound wiggle around. In other words, it’s an effect. Magic System uses this when they put their four main singers together, and separately as an electronic filter on guitar. The chorus gives the guitar a rubbery sparkle, cutting through bass and keyboards in way that’s unmistakable. It’s a warm, friendly sound that matches perfectly with the good spirits of this band.

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The band Yellow Days sold out City Farm Presents Summer Series in Industry City, a new warehouse development in Sunset Park, Brooklyn. In twilight lighting, the band played its mix of neo-soul, disco, and R&B as the crowd danced to the slow jams.

“I’m a huge fan of Yellow Days and was super excited to book them… It’s been nice to book international acts, as well as local acts for this [summer] series,” said Rachael Pazdan, Director of CityFarm Presents.

Yellow Days is fronted by singer and songwriter George van den Broek, who has a bleached blonde, mohawk-style long hair. George croons and yelps, and the music rightly garners comparisons to Tame Impala, for its slow disco, or Mac DeMarco, for its sense of playfulness. George’s music is beautiful. He knows how to write a melody around a bass arpeggio, or, later in the set to feature his keyboard skills in a solo. The band even paid homage to their influences when they played a cover of “Diamond in the Back,” by Curtis Mayfield. The selection was perfect, and the crowd went wild.

Earlier in the set, the song “A little while,” showed what the band does best: The drums and bass are tight in the pocket with a solid march, while the guitar’s rhythm is lock-step in its syncopation. The song was a two-chord jam perfect for dancing. Later, the band romanced the crowd with “Real love,” George’s stylized singing over this two-chord song got the whole crowd dancing once again.

Broek isn’t a “shredder” guitar player, but his technique is fitting in its own way. In at least two songs George capably soloed while singing a vocal melody – akin to juggling. George squeezes every possible note out of his words, and there’s never a dull moment or talk singing. His scat included “coos,” and “dat dat dats,” and has roots in Billie Holiday. Likewise, his mellifluous purring also reminds one of dance music’s imperative to keep the beat going for people to move and shake. Again and again, the band made amazing soundscapes from the drums, bass, and keyboards.

The band lets the music do the talking. That’s not to say the lyrics are bad per se. The lyrics are soul, and while they aren’t especially deep, they are thrillingly effective and might make people want to get romantic. One song, “Your Hand Holding Mine,” from LP Harmless Melodies, is bedroom music meant for intimate lovers. Nevertheless, the song came to life as a slow jam dance track.

Coming fresh from a cool $400 million grant, Industry City is the town square of Sunset Park, preparing itself to be the next Williamsburg and with new lineup of shows by City Farm they are off to a great start. 

Photos by Yvonne Yuen

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Let’s say you break up with your significant other, pop music generally has two answers: sadness or anger. What about emotions that don’t fit into a box? Ada Lea’s stunning debut album, What We Say in Private, out July 19^th on Saddle Creek Records, is a magnificent blazing fury against idiotic generalities and an outlet for all missing emotions. 

The album’s opening track “Mercury” is a perfect example – easily an overture to the entire album – where Ada Lea charges ahead with a disco beat only to interrupt the song with hard rock. On its bridge, there’s a violent release into sublime harmony, as if forgiving her lover for the breakup and not letting herself off the hook with anything less than gratitude. The album continues to work through similar feelings with “Wild Heart,” which shows Ada Lea letting go in a bittersweet way by complimenting her lover while acknowledging her jealousy. This song has a wonderful build and Ada isn’t afraid to bend notes on her guitar solo to make the melody dissonant. 

“The Party” is another great song worth pointing out for its originality, vocals, and instrumentation. The track opens as a slow tempo ballad about a romantic setting, where the moon is out and Ada’s lover is escaping – this speaks to the title of the album because the “Privacy” is two lovers in the night, away from “The Party.” Then the song speaks to violent neutrality of feelings when Ada sings “I couldn’t tell the difference at all.” Repetitions of that line create added emphasis to the lack of caring, and the song is, therefore, a reaction – there is no emotion where there should be, or used to be. The song works as culture jamming, out of the mainstream narrative of symbols. What does Ada Lea want us to do? Perhaps, realize the prescribed emotions of ordinary pop songs aren’t relevant to how a person feels after a breakup. Songs usually tell people what emotions to feel and when to feel them, and Ada Lea smashes that script. Here, Ada Lea presents a moon and a romantic feeling, and she feels nothing! 

The ambling jazz-influenced, “What Makes me Sad,” tries to attack the weird parts of emotions. The guitar walks as if it were circus music while the chord progression speaks to doo-wop. “What makes me sad is I can/What makes you sad is I don’t know,” is a lyric with mystery and mystique because it starts out one way, and ends another. Maybe the lover is sad because Ada doesn’t know what she wants to do. Being fearful of decisions is a hobby horse of millennials, but this line implies a power that the singer has.

Ada Lea is the most fun when she noodles. Sometimes she creates melodies and harmonies, yes, but also just whale sounds and twinkles with her guitar. Her note bends have more heritage in jazz than pop songs, and one can’t think of a pop musician who articulates a better sense of wonder through instrumentation. The songs often use changes in volume, and the songwriter isn’t afraid of palm muting (placing her hand on the guitar to change the ringing out) or loud guitar with overdrive punk rock influences. As a technique, Ada and her producer placed microphones outside at different times of day to gather ambient sounds which, in combination with the static fuzz from instruments, speak to strange emotions and makes the music unique. The use of strange sounds makes whatever comes next, like violent power chords in the songs “Easy,” or “Mercury,” or swooning arpeggios in “The Party” make sense. Ada Lea is surprised by her emotions, and by extension, so is the listener. 

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On Tuesday, June 25th Quinn Christopherson will headline at Baby’s All Right in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Baby’s All Right is a music venue bar at South 6^th Street, near Bedford Ave. Williamsburg is hosting the large-scale Beyond the Streets Art Fair – based on graffiti –  and the vibe is a bustling center of hipsters and styles that will set trends for a long time.

“We are very excited to have Quinn on Tuesday,” said Tom Moore, Head of Production at Baby’s All Right. “It’s our first time doing the Tiny Desk Concert. We think it’s going to be busy and a lot of fun.”

Christopherson won the NPR Tiny Desk Contest for 2019 and hails from Anchorage, Alaska. His singles, including “Erase Me,” and “Mary Alee,” are passionate lyrical stories about people in his life, and often have a slow build. In his Tiny Desk Concert, Christopherson played, “You Told Me,” about a friend, and “Glenn,” about his father. The music shows leadership in its originality—none of his released tracks have drums or autotuned vocals. His Native Alaskan heritage lends heartfelt authenticity. In parallel, Christopherson represents the burgeoning Anchorage music scene and was years ahead of a sobriety movement now picking up national attention.

When asked about his ancestry, Quinn said: “I am indigenous, that’s my heritage. I am Ahtna Athabaskan and Inupiaq. My father is Inupiaq. I grew up listening to my grandmother being a storyteller. And so that’s where my songwriting comes from. I’m a songwriter because I learned from her storytelling.”

Sparse arrangements and Christopherson’s accent, from Alaska, sounds something like Conor Oberst, also known as Bright Eyes. Christopherson’s blues-inflected guitar music and lyrics have deep benthic melancholy. They sound a bit like indie darlings Alt J or the Antlers, such as Alt J’s song, “Breezeblocks,” which talks about losing a loved one. The idea is these indie songs can access a greater, truer emotional palette than mainstream popular music. “You Told Me,” sounds like a song about a friend who overdoses on drugs or alcohol, maybe the opiates crisis. This intimacy of lyrics extends to his hometown, as Anchorage, has a lending culture that’s so open, Christopherson didn’t need to buy a guitar until going on tour. Finally, Christopherson’s charisma means he has a smile matching his sense of humor, which makes strange ovals, grimaces, and contortions when he hits all of the right notes.

The video for the song, “Erase Me,” was filmed at the Anchorage Museum and has 193 thousand views on YouTube. “Erase Me,” tells how the artist transitioned and deals with the problems of sexism, misogyny, and homophobia. The song is liberating and powerful in its howl and is certain to be an inspiration to hundreds of thousands. 

Christopherson’s Fender Telecaster guitar is played with reverb and has surf rock lineage. Christopherson uses his lead guitar player Nick Carpenter to double vocals on choruses, which gives emphasis and spice to the proceedings. “I met Nick at one of our mutual friend’s listening parties, at her house. Ever since then we’ve been playing together,” said Christopherson. The songs are not afraid of minor chords. Instead of using these chords for anxiety as in dance music, he uses the chords to express depression and menace. Over the bridge, which in pop music can be spoken over, Christopherson sometimes breaks the fourth wall to talk to the audience, which is cool.

In dealing with dark themes for dark times, Christopherson has a courageous, straightforward, and honest perspective, with a wry sense of humor, representing an outsider’s hopeful look at alienation and depression. When asked about this, the artist just laughs and says, “Oh yeah, Alaska is cold and dark!” When he always comes out on top, at the end of the song and the story, the listener feels the same way. When Christopherson sings, the tragedies and transgressions are somehow bearable in their realism. He brings fresh water and breathable air.

When asked about Alaska’s affinity for Canada, where QUIP Magazine is headquartered, Christopherson’s warm-hearted sincerity was on full display. “Yeah, we drive through Canada all the time! How else are we going to get anywhere? We need a passport for sure. I’m heading to Toronto on tour later this summer, and I’m looking forward to making new memories there.” QUIP will be there for that success when he does.

Photo Credit: Ash Adams

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As a white suburban Millennial of 31 years young, I had a ton of DMX on my WinMix mp3 player in high school – my sisters stole it from Napster, and the like. “Ruff Ryders Anthem,” “Party Up,” and, “What’s My Name?” were the tracks I remember most. “Party Up,” always reminds me of my mother, because I made her lose her mind, go “all out” yelling at me when I had the music playing too loud.

20 years later, “Party Up” is still an awesome song. It uses a one to six chord progression as a way to put two chords under the same melody. DMX borrows from Wu-Tang Clan here, and not just in the glass break in the middle of the song: the entire song is braggadocio and boasts about how great he is. No one would take it seriously, lest they miss out on the fun of the track. In other words, it’s a gangster rap song with the trick that the violence in the song is sleight-of-hand. The song gives itself away in the first 30 seconds, when DMX says, “Whoo!” It’s not a grinding song so much as a dance song. Do whatever.

Could you imagine Lil Peep, or 6ix9ine, or Xxxtentacion making a track like this? 6ix9ine was always trying to prove his credentials, either by screaming or saying that he would kill someone. Then in the news, he would actually do it, which is problematic. Compare “What’s My Name?” to 6ix9ine’s “FEFE,” where the younger rapper is removed from the song because he wants to prove himself. 6ix9ine says, “I don’t want no friends,” like he’s scared of losing them. It’s the same lyric rapped that much worse. DMX sings, “I have no friends,” and it doesn’t sound like a loser complaining, so much as an individual declaring his self.

More importantly, DMX’s hooks and choruses are chants. They’re mantras when performed live and this anniversary concert was a great example of that. Take his hit, “X Gon Give It To You,” the concert hall lit up for the chorus and picked up every answer to the call:

DMX: First we gonna–

Audience: –Rock!

DMX: Then we gonna—

Audience: –Roll!

The chant is part of why rap is so inspirational. It’s not the verse where DMX talks about holding his junk, it’s the chorus when he says “Stop, drop, shut ‘em down, open up shop,” like the “Ruff Ryders Anthem,” or “Gotta live my life, like there’s one more move to make,” in “One More Road to Cross.” When the character Michael Bolton from the movie “Office Space,” listens to gangster rap in the car on his way to work, he’s on his way to do battle. It’s a fight to assert his individuality and be an extrovert in a world that wants him to submit to monotony at an office job.

As expected, DMX went on late, really late, around 12:30 that Friday. Which is generally a given for big acts in New York City. DMX busted out all of the hits to a hometown audience of people who grew up listening to him and knew all the words to every song. The concert had five opening acts: two DJs, a mime, and two rappers. Naturally, people were not big fans of the mime which prepped the audience for heavy booing when the two rappers came on and bombed their sets mostly because of the audience. All five were instantly forgettable.

The music is uncomplicated and that’s the appeal. If you can get past the violence, which is never specifically explained outside of the general shots from a gun, DMX is an inspiring message, his Wu-Tang-inspired raps are about chopping down mountains and taking direct action. This is an obvious feeling of empowerment for teenagers who felt socially isolated and powerless in high school. That DMX has had a resurgence in the past few years represents a drive away from the complications of the Internet run amok, and the interminable paralyzing facts. It’s refreshing to hear simple solutions to complicated problems and shout along.

Cover image courtesy of Edwina Hay

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Grace Acladna is about to release her newest Extended Play Phonophobia on Hometown Records. The four songs of Phonophobia build on her smash success EP Songs of the Subconscious. In “When I Saw You,” “Fuming,” “If You Want,” and “Braincrush,” Acladna uses precise vocals and bizarre electronica for intricate beautiful melodies. Phonophobia’s tracks each have a dark, hushed sensuality and reward multiple replays. Acladna is an incredible singer, and although the music has much soul, all of her notes are deliberately chosen, and the singer seems to eschew melisma. Each of the tracks shows many different facets of this artist’s talents.

To start, the track “Fuming” is a microcosm of what the songwriter does best. At the end of the tune, the singer jumps, expertly and effortlessly, two octaves from the root note. Acladna might be angry, as the saying goes when a person is fuming, however, the coolness of the song gives an eerie and fearful atmosphere. If there’s an explosion, it hasn’t happened yet, and as the listener, you might be wondering how she is going to react. Her sultry and sexy intimations are romantic; they’re pop songs radical in specificity, and the listener feels like walking in on a private conversation or reading someone’s diary: “I want you to myself,” Acladna rasps, and it’s attractive in its loneliness.

The first single from the EP is much happier without losing any of the badass vibes – “When I Saw You,” mentions dancing in the lyrics, with music to match. Acladna shared with us:

“’When I Saw You,’ was me just having fun. Right away, it made me so happy. I feel like these sounds are special for me and how it makes me feel. That’s what that song is all about.”

That feeling might partly be because of the song’s bassline when two notes are immediately next to each other on the piano. Alternatively, this half-step interval is the basis for many salsa or Latin songs. The half-step can be insidious – going back and forth on a half-step is the theme from the movie, Jaws – and gives the layman listener a clear line of motivation for dancing. The song uses synthesizers to mimic Caribbean steel drum sounds, and Acladna matches her vocal melodies with these rapid-fire taps. The verse melody leads to a pre-chorus in double-time, which builds the intensity. This banger is certain to get heads bobbing in agreement.

Talking about her songwriting processes on these songs, Acladna states: “It depends on the song, but I actually like to think of music as a companion for how you’re feeling, and if I feel like dancing then I start with a beat or something that will make me want to dance, or if I’m writing a song that’s really about how I feel, and what that means to me, then I might start with a piano or a guitar, or I might start by writing. So, it changes every single time. But sometimes, I just sit there at my computer and go through versions of sounds and see which ones make me happy and make me feel something and something that captures my imagination and takes it there, and plays with those sounds. You know, creativity comes to me how it comes, and I then try not to control it or fabricate it.”

Similarly, control is the storyline of the track “Brain Crush,” where she sings she wants someone romantically as a meeting of the minds. N.E.R.D.’s “Brain” from their 2002 album In Search Of, covers similar material and misses delicious and fun scheming Acladna’s crooner is about. And there, Pharrell questioned whether he loved the girl based on her brain, as a parody of a love song about sexual attraction. There is no question here from Acladna: she loves her object of affection for their combined devious potential.

Similar conflicts slice through, “If You Want,” which is almost an instrumental ambient track that becomes a dancing march. This song sounds like Radiohead’s “Amnesiac,” or some of the more parts of tracks from Nine Inch Nails’ soundtrack to The Social Network. Acladna’s “If You Want” has low-level anxiety and the vocals resound with an echo in an almost Arabian melody.

Around a minute into “If You Want,” the synthesizers blast in pure passion. On second listen there’s a huge euphoria from when the beat drops and it cuts through all bullshit. This song is sure to light a crowded dance hall on fire, but it’s also shocking because it compares two lovers’ lust-in-music to ambivalence-in-word. By using this call and answer between lyrics and instrumentation, Acladna intentionally points to the subconscious – her first EP was titled Songs of the Subconscious – and the point is the passions cannot be spoken aloud or articulated.

Grace Acladna is in many ways an extraordinary songwriter, singer, and musician. The synthesis of the three tracks packs much more power into her songs than most other people.  Just like her divine musings on, “When I saw You,” Acladna knows that music reaches higher emotions, intelligence, and sensualities that ordinary speech and body language cannot. It might be said the Phonophobia EP hits the spot. The truth is, that Acladna’s music hits all of them.

The post Grace Acladna on writing “Phonophobia” and playing with sounds appeared first on Quip Magazine.

Paa Kow’s high life is Cirque du Soleil for the ears. The music isn’t strictly divine, it didn’t come out of thin air. And yet its buoyancy gives it a heavenly aura. Ghanaian high life comes from its own indigenous roots in the country and still has influences from American jazz and later funk, reggae, and Afro-Cuban calypso. If you give it a chance, Paa Kow is a weird sort of candy for the ears.

The eponymous track from Paa Kow’s 2018 Cookpot, is a good introduction to the band. Paa Kow is the songwriter and bandleader, and the group’s drummer. His rhythm is an ordinary high life staple, similar to any number of 1980’s hits from Genesis, Phil Collins, or Peter Gabriel. Staccato bursts of horns punctuate Paa Kow’s Cookpot, maybe about a conversation with a favorite friend.

That’s when things get interesting. After establishing the beat and the horn verse, Paa Kow begins playing the melody on the drums. The rhythm fractures a kaleidoscope where each horn’s punctuation mark from earlier is articulated with its own corresponding drum, cymbal, or percussion block. The experience is a little bit queasy for someone accustomed to the regimented down strums of the Strokes or Interpol, and nothing is more mind-expanding than seeing Paa Kow nail down a trumpet solo note for note on the drums. The swinging high life beat does steady itself in the keyboards and the drums. The funk guitar bounces octaves like the Meters and then pushes up as if the conversation is about to go off of a ledge—the anxiety is a dance beat.

In this way, songs by Paa Kow and his band often take surprising turns because of this artistic virtuosity. Simple ideas and three-chord songs turn from straight pop into basically any form of music, like on Cookpot’s “Forced Landing,” which starts out as cool jazz and morphs into high life into faster funk fusion. Jazz’s combo traditional progression of soloing in order from the trumpet, to the piano, to bass, to drums, back to the hook is often tossed out the window naturally because drummer Paa Kow is the leader. Strong emphasis on an elaboration of melodies in jazz takes the backseat to call-and-answer improvised solos and pre-arranged melodies. Often, it’s hard to tell what is improvised on the spot, and what has been drilled into second nature, which is the point. Paa Kow’s live concert closer, “Dreams Come True,” adheres to a strict disco beat, with American gospel modulations and climbs on the keyboards. Paa Kow’s music often shows an authenticity in emotion American pop music lacks because emotions aren’t rigid technical conversations.

Paa Kow’s drum fills are what progressive indie rappers like Kendrick Lamar and Chance the rapper are doing, as in “To Pimp a Butterfly.” This is especially clear in “Meetu Ehum,” easily Paa Kow’s most accessible song from this record. In American indie rock, drum fills usually happen in between chords, and more often in between chord progressions, so they “fill” up the space. Fills make basic songs seem more full. Paa Kow’s fills ooze and drip in between chords, melodies, and progressions. Again, with dizzying mastery, Paa Kow never loses the beat.

In addition to the musical themes, Paa Kow’s work has deep roots in jazz aesthetics. Specifically, the fusion of Miles Davis because of its use of drums. According to legend, Miles Davis’s problem with piano player Oscar Peterson was Peterson organized rhythms from the piano instead of the drums. Davis thought drums represented jazz’s background in Africa. Paa Kow’s drums are the most important piece of any of his songs, and the instruments support the rhythm. More broadly, Paa Kow is from Africa, returning the favor from Davis.

African music, especially High Life, is making its way into popular consciousness, probably best exemplified by 2015’s top 40 hit “Cheerleader,” by OMI. Vampire Weekend continues to use African influences, as seen in its recent release in 2019. Separately, Paa Kow’s music has a common thread—and shared fan base–with jam bands like Dave Matthews Band, Phish, and the Grateful Dead. Dave Matthews cites his foundational childhood influence growing up in South Africa before moving to Virginia. Phish’s “Punch you in the Eye,” and DMB’s “Warehouse,” morph angry rock into salsa breaks, which wouldn’t be out of place in a Paa Kow song. Musically, this jam band background is partly because of Paa Kow’s improvisational manner, the surprising “anything goes” digressions, and because his compositions can last longer than many pop songs. Bela Fleck’s bass player Victor Wooten has said as much by playing with Paa Kow. And although they don’t sound alike, Paa Kow’s playbook was pioneered by jazz band Medeski, Martin, Scofield, and Wood, who are a jazz band on the jam circuit.

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