Baby Elephant: Turn My Teeth Up CD review (Broward-Palm Beach New Times)

The idea of a collaboration between Prince Paul and Bernie Worrell — with guest appearances from George Clinton, Shock G, and others — is a self-fulfilling prophecy, right? The quirky hip-hop producer and the P-Funk keyboard wizard are going to make some sort of Dope Dogs ‘07, because, well, that’s what they oughta do. That’s what hip-hop guys do when they team up with Funkateers: They try and give the old guys a little relevance, and in turn, the young bucks get a few albums’ worth of free, live “samples” to use at will. The thing is, in 2007, Prince Paul is just about as “old school” as Worrell (reality check: On Fire came out 21 years ago), and neither of them is likely harboring any illusions of breaking through to “the kids,” so instead of doing what they oughta do, they’re doing what they wanna do. In this regard, Baby Elephant delivers a gloriously self-indulgent piece of hip-hop-informed freak-funk that the Roots would give their hairpicks for. Well aware of their stature as icons — and iconoclasts — within their respective genres, Paul and Bernie use their position as a license to be creative rather than an edict to be redundant; thus, the P-Funkiest cut on Turn My Teeth Up! features David Byrne, and the fluffiest pop tune includes George Clinton. That’s not to say that Baby Elephant doesn’t deliver the funk; indeed, “Even Stranger” grinds along a rumbling, hard-driving organ line so relentlessly raunchy that it shames much of the work Worrell did inside the Mothership. The self-aggrandizing samples and plugs for the upcoming Worrell documentary DVD that function as the disc’s between-song skits are unnecessary: Just one listen to the broad palette of sounds Worrell engages on this disc is all you need to understand just how powerful a musician the man is.

First appeared in the Oct. 25, 2007 issue of Broward-Palm Beach New Times.

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Deep Water movie review (Orlando Weekly

(three and a half out of five stars)

With a Nick Drake song figuring as the central musical element, it doesn’t take long to figure out that Deep Water is about more than a bunch of British guys sailing around the world. The film focuses on one unlikely entrant in a 1968 single-man circumnavigation competition: Donald Crowhurst. While any of the other eight competitors’ adventures would have made for a compelling tale, Crowhurst’s lack of extensive sailing experience had him marked from the race’s start as the one to watch.Doomed to fail, but determined to succeed, Crowhurst’s bumbles, near-fatal errors and, eventually, his deception and descent into fatal psychosis make for riveting material. The work by co-directors Louise Osmond and Jerry Rothwell is misleadingly dry; what begins as a straightforward retelling of a now-legendary sailing story unfolds into a devastating and emotionally rich piece of cinema. Deeply researched and compellingly presented, Deep Water is as much about one man’s misadventures on the ocean as it is about loneliness, desperation and the danger of dreams.

First appeared in the Oct. 25, 2007 issue of Orlando Weekly.

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Mumpsy: Sings Those Golden Hits from the Misfits CD review

It doesn’t take a lot of courage or ingenuity to cover the Misfits – if you’re a punk rock band, that is. But seeing how Orlando pop mainstays Mumpsy are not a punk band, the quirky idea of Jeff Ilgenfritz and company taking on a baker’s dozen of tunes from Glenn Danzig and company is intriguing. Thankfully, the joke is dispensed with after the title is read, and the fuzz-bass-driven attack is remarkably effective and straightforward. No, Mumpsy hasn’t turned into a demonic hardcore outfit, but by splitting the difference between their normal pop tendencies and the comic-book grotesqueries of the Misfits, the group draws out the ’50s rock & roll influences that Danzig buried in corpse-paint. Rocking through well-known cuts like “Where Eagles Dare” and “Teenagers From Mars” along with less worn-out numbers like “Return of the Fly” and “We Are 138,” Ilgenfritz (or someone in Mumpsy) evinces a true love for the greatness of this over-referenced and under-appreciated band.

First appeared in the Oct. 25, 2007 issue of Orlando Weekly.

The Cult show preview (Broward-Palm Beach New Times)

If you didn’t catch the Cult’s last “reunion” lap around the States, then you may have missed one of the most libido-crushing doses of rock ‘n’ roll reality since Axl Rose stuffed his ’00s body into his ’80s spandex. The image of Ian Astbury that’s been etched into the general consciousness — that rebellious and dangerous-looking rocker in leather pants — was replaced by a clean-cut dude wearing a purple hoodie with the word CULT emblazoned in giant white letters on the front. Yes, it’s been 20 years since Electric. For those of you who haven’t been paying attention to the Cult through its multiple breakups, hiatuses, reunions, and lineup shifts (23 ex-members and counting!), you’d be forgiven for thinking that Ian Astbury and Billy Duffy actually give a shit that you expect them to look, act, and play exactly like they did way back when. They don’t. For all of its starts, stops, and ridiculous detours, the Cult is an ever-forward-moving entity. This most recidivist of rock groups has once again created an album, Born Into This. It’s simultaneously dumber and more mature, a bit rawer and more melodramatic than any of the band’s previous work. Which can pretty much be said about… well, about all of its previous work. Few bands have been able to maintain as much of their core essence while seldom sounding the same from album to album as the Cult. Even though Astbury’s fashion sense may not be what it once was, this band’s weird dedication to making knuckle-dragging rock ‘n’ roll a unique and occasionally hip experience has never wavered.

First appeared in the Oct. 25, 2007 issue of Broward-Palm Beach New Times.

The Octopus Project show preview (Broward-Palm Beach New Times)

This Austin group is far from catholic in its approach to indie rock. Though pegged as “experimentalists,” the Octopus Project is more than capable of delivering the pop goods. And despite the members’ tendency toward vintage electronic equipment like theremins, the group’s passion for tweaking the capabilities of modern recording gear should not be overlooked. Essentially, then, the Octopus Project is that most millennial of outfits. A wide-ranging (and often ironic) knowledge of historic esoterica and unorthodox weirdness combines with a contrasting thread of semi-futurism and pop formalism. The result? A deceptively complex sound that appeals to straightforward indie purists and lovers of avant-pop, never too weird for the former nor too simplistic for the latter. (And, the Octopus Project automatically earns bonus points with all camps for having named its 1999 debut EP, Christmas on Mars, when that title was still just a nebulous movie idea of Wayne Coyne’s.) The Project’s latest album, Hello, Avalanche, is the group’s first to feature outside studio help: the band used the appropriately disparate stylistic approaches of Ryan Hadlock (the Gossip) and Erik Wofford (Explosions in the Sky) to assist in recording and mixing. The recent addition of a fourth member — guitarist Ryan Figg — is allowing the group considerably more onstage flexibility, so expect an extra theremin solo or two from Yvonne Lambert.

First appeared in the Oct. 11, 2007 issue of Broward-Palm Beach New Times.

B-Side Players show preview (Broward-Palm Beach New Times)

This San Diego-based outfit is surely tired of the constant comparisons they’ve garnered to Ozomatli. But the similarities are hard to ignore; after all, both groups have brown people in their ranks … brown people who speak Spanish. And both groups put forward a power-to-the-people message via intoxicatingly effective live performances that incorporate a poly-ethnic range of musical styles. So yeah, they’re pretty much the same band. Except they’re not at all. The B-Sides put across a decidedly party-friendly vibe, one that’s amplified by their unusual blending of rock en español, reggae, cumbia and a touch of silky soul. A propulsive (and large) rhythm section drives the proceedings, and the infectious warmth this seven-strong outfit shares on stage easily spills over into the crowd.

First appeared in the Oct. 18, 2007 issue of Broward-Palm Beach New Times.

Colombiafrica: Voodoo Love … CD review (Broward-Palm Beach New Times)

The Caribbean lowlands region of Colombia — where the rough northern Andes descend into the sea — is informed by centuries of conquest and cultural assimilation. The result is a vibrant melting pot as tangled and organic as the humid swamps that weave throughout the coastline. Descendants of slaves and Spaniards have intermingled with the country’s indigenous people like elsewhere on the continent, but the slave ships that docked in the ports along Colombia’s 1,100 miles of Caribbean coastline ensured that the African influence would continue to be a strong presence, even today. The sounds of Colombiafrica are rooted in a desire by an Afro-Caribbean musician — Lucas Silva — to make explicit those cross-continental cultural connections. And in a sort of reverse Buena Vista Social Club, Silva invited a coterie of Africa’s most notable guitarists — players like Sekou Diabate (the founder of Bembeya Jazz) and Dally Kimoko — to participate in a series of recording sessions in Colombia. The results initially appear to favor more straightforward Latin arrangements, as the rhythms the group employs are heavily informed by cumbia. But the melodic styles and mellifluous guitar-work of Silva’s guests are indisputably African in nature, and what begins as “Afro-Caribbean” eventually reveals itself as a Latin-influenced blend of the highlife and soukous sounds typically associated with Ghana and the Congo. It’s something of a spectacular hat trick, as fans of one particular style or another will undoubtedly latch onto that particular aspect of Voodoo Love upon early listens but soon become enamored with the range of sounds employed by this loose and upbeat ensemble.

First appeared in the Oct. 18, 2007 issue of Broward-Palm Beach New Times.

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The Inspiring New Sounds of Rio de Janeiro CD review

Thanks to the Diplo-inspired popularity of “favela booty beats” among U.S. audiences, there’s a certain expectation of unhinged rhythmic fire and verbal violence when it comes to Brazilian hip-hop… especially the type emerging from the slums of Rio de Janeiro. This multifaceted compilation from the upstart, “socially conscious” Verge label makes it clear that those rockist, sexually aggressive sounds are but one part of the noise made by Rio beat-bangers. In fact, to ears saturated with the grungy “baile funk” sound, the overall sonic impression left by The Inspiring New Sounds of Rio de Janeiro is one of polished diversity and accessible positivity. In other words, there’s no popozuda-poppin’ here. Unfortunately, rather than being a sort of backpacker analog to the favela thug party, the artists on Inspiring come off as lite-jazz, Brazilian versions of Arrested Development. While these sounds may indeed be emotionally inspiring, they’re musically flaccid, thanks to unimaginative production and clunky verbal flows. Even with the rhymes in Portuguese, it’s impossible to ignore the mouthful-of-marbles style of rhymers like Edu Lopes of A Fillial, especially given the thin, predictable “bossa-funk” backdrop he’s rhyming over. Even putting aside the putative hip-hop tracks and focusing on the more pop-oriented and traditional songs on this compilation, the glowing, up-with-people vibe of the disc ultimately becomes grating and somewhat disingenuous.

First appeared in the Oct. 11, 2007 issue of Broward-Palm Beach New Times.