Discovering Lost Sounds
Maybe y
ou’ve been covering some older songs at the GMC. It's great to listen to old recordings as a way to broaden your musical tastes, but how far can you go back? 50? 75? 100 years or more?On my radio show, The Antique Phonograph Music Program, I play 78 rpm disc and cylinder recordings from the "acoustic era"—that being, before electricity was used for the recording or playback process. In the early days of recording, the entire band would sit in a room and play music toward a "hole" in the wall. The other side of the hole was actually a machine—powered by weights—that would record the sound directly to a 78 rpm master record. The mix would be determined by how close the players sat to the hole, so the quietest instruments would be close and the loudest farthest away.
My investment in this period's music came from being interested in the history of recording. Thomas Edison invented a way to record sound in 1877, but it wasn't until about 20 years later (in the 1890s) that people could go out and buy records and phonographs for home use. These machines were built quite well, have lasted and continue to bring the joy of music to people more than 100 years after they were made. I bet your iPod won’t work in 100 years!
My radio show is done by having three crank-up phonographs in the studio, and I put microphones in the horns to let people hear what they sound like. I have kept these machines up to the specifications of the period, so they sound like they should. People are fascinated by the old technology and the sound of these beautiful machines. They are also great to look at! I do exhibitions for schools, museums and occasionally DJ, using the crank-up phonographs.
To hear my radio show, follow this link:
http://www.michaelcumella.com/phonographdj/index.html
Open your ears to a whole new world of music. Who knows what you will discover!
—Michael Cumella has hosted WFMU Radio's Antique Phonograph Music Program since 1995.
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Spotlight on SuccessMichael Farkas is a singer, multi-instrumentalist and member of New York band the Wiyos. The band, which formed in 2002 in the Lower East Side, has built a strong following and recently had the honor of opening for legend Bob Dylan on his '09 summer tour. Drawing inspiration from old-time American genres like country blues and ragtime, the Wiyos make music that merges past and present in dynamic new ways. Michael recently sat down to discuss the band’s latest album Broken Land Bell, file sharing and touring disasters.
Jacob Meade: Tell me about the Wiyos' latest album Broken Land Bell.
Michael Farkas: Joebass [Joseph DeJanette], our bass player, was the engineer, and we all decided that we wanted to have a little more of a pop sensibility with this album. I loved the way the previous two were recorded; the process was a very authentic rendering of us in the room playing our instruments. On this album, we did lay down a lot of the basic tracks live, but then we used digital tools and layered on that, and the approach was to make it sound more postmodern. I think this album would do very well in the pop-chart sense. It's just what people are oriented to hear when they put on the radio. I grew up with pop albums, so I'm more used to the way this album sounds.
J: How have fans reacted?
M: There's definitely some people who want us to maintain a very austere presentation of our material live and through our recordings. But this album's been out since the summer, and I think overall, the response has been very positive, because the songs are good—they just feel appropriate to the way we conceived them.
J: How did the Wiyos form? What sort of "scene" was there in New York in 2002 that allowed you to take off?
M: [Singer/guitarist] Parrish Ellis and I met kind of randomly and both were into Piedmont blues, and we were playing as a duet for a while. After the Coen brothers' movie O Brother, Where Art Thou? came out and won all those awards, there seemed to be more interest in rural mountain music. We used to hang out at this bar called Barbès [in Park Slope, Brooklyn]. I found the best music in the city was going through there—a small, intimate hotbox of great musicians—so I would hang out there and meet people for little jam sessions afterwards. I think we were on the road within a year's time and not in New York City all that much, but then we'd come back, and there'd be more people playing old-time music, more old jazz, more bluegrass. Every time it seemed like it was growing exponentially.
J: What's your primary role in the band? Also, what lesser-known instruments do you like to use?
M: On stage I primarily sing and play harmonica and washboard percussion and kazoo (although there's no kazoo or washboard on the newest album). From a performance standpoint, [those instruments are] awesome, because people get very engaged, and it has a comic element. But on the album, I was using everything from tuned music boxes to bottles. I really am influenced by soundmakers who use whatever it takes to get the sound across. I have a preference for organic things, as opposed to electronics where you can simulate those sounds. I'd rather just, you know…[hits glasses with a spoon]. The soundscape you hear on Broken Land Bell isn't electronically created; it's old spinning 78 records or me hitting found objects. It's a piece of what we've been doing all along, but it's a little more complex. I love anything I can get a sound out of.
J: How was it to open for Bob Dylan last summer?
M: It was extraordinary for all of us and overwhelming. It came about in a very, we thought, authentic way. [Dylan] was looking for an opening act, and someone knew someone who had our album and presented that to Bob's people, and he really dug it. So they gave us a call.
J: Where did the tour take you?
M: It was all across the country in minor league baseball stadiums. [Dylan had] been doing that for a bunch of years with Willy Nelson, and this year, John Mellencamp was involved as well. The tour didn't have video screens or a sophisticated light show; it was very stripped down and about the music. It was awesome.
J: So what's next for the Wiyos?
M: We're definitely toning it down a little bit. We've been road-dogging it for nearly seven years, and we're looking forward to getting a little time with friends and family. I think the music industry is definitely going through a transformative stage. The recorded aspect of it is becoming problematic for a lot of musicians since file sharing is rife. I think the value of the live performance is only going to go up, because it's not reproducible. I'd rather dig my heels into making better, fewer and more interesting live performances. I wish—and so do a lot of musicians—that people were buying albums and understood that when you're sharing it you're stealing. At the same time, there's only so much you can do about it unless you speak up, which I guess I'm doing here.
J: But it's generally thought that before file sharing, labels overcharged fans for CDs. What price range do you think is right if people are looking to buy music?
M: I think the iTunes 99 cents per tune is fair. I mean, some money is better than no money, so if it were 50 cents, I'd be happy with that, too. The artists I admire most have taken all kinds of right and wrong turns, but they've stayed the course of their vision and taken chances. They have to have some kind of support system to do that.
J: What advice would you give kids these days who are interested in a career in music?
M: Shoot from the hips, go with what you care about and put it in your music and practice and listen and open your ears. It's not about virtuosity: There's always going to be players that are a lot better than you, but if you really are able to express yourself through your music, you'll make a connection. And don't be afraid of liking things that no one else likes. I love Glenn Gould, but if I'd said that to some of my buddies growing up listening to classic rock, they'd be like, "Dude…"
J: If you could give everyone under 16 one album to hook them on music, what would it be and why?
M: [long pause] Based on that age group, it's great to imagine albums where young artists were starting to mature and taking chances, so I think that [the Beatles'] Rubber Soul would be the one. It didn't have the full blossom of some of their later albums, but it was getting there, and there's something even more exciting about that.
J: Do you have any funny touring stories?
M: A classic trek we made a few years ago was to Syracuse, New York, in February, and it was like 30 below. We drove six hours to get there from another show, we played the show, and during it, there was a huge snowstorm. We had to be in Savannah, Georgia, the following afternoon for a show, so we drove through the snowstorm all night, through the morning, showed up at whatever time in Savannah, played [the] show, then had to pack up…it was insane! If you want to be a road dog, you have to expect lots of that.
J: Any funny mid-performance disasters?
M: Oh yeah, we were playing a pig roast festival in Georgia—
J: A pig roast festival?
M: Yeah, a barbecue contest. We were playing under a tent, and there was a huge electrical storm, and it shut down everything. The tent started collapsing because of all the heavy rain, so the whole audience moved in. It became smaller and smaller and smaller, and everyone was literally as close to us as they could be without us hitting them, and it was one of the most beautiful shows we ever had.
Rants and Raves: Big Star and Kurt Vile at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple (November 18, 2009)
By Will Levith
When I was a much younger New Yorker, I would spend all of my money and free time journeying to live shows in around town—going to the farthest reaches of the boroughs to seek out the best musical acts. In recent years, I’ve had to cut that down to only a few big shows a year, and Big Star was one that I immediately said, "I have to go see this one."
If you’re not familiar with the greatness that is Big Star, you don't have to go much further than listening to the latest indie rock bands and power pop bands. Big Star influenced many of them. They were "indie" before it was cool to be "indie." They only put out three vintage albums—#1 Record (1972), Radio City (1974) and Third/Sister Lovers (which was not available on CD ‘til 1994)—if you don't count the "reunion" disc they dropped in 2005 (In Space). But their output on those three albums is, in many ways, second to very few in that era. Each song is expertly crafted, hook-filled and paints the picture of a "band on the verge."
Anyhow, I was super-excited to see that Big Star was playing in Brooklyn, so I snatched up three tickets: one for me and the other two for my band members. We went to see them together—as a band. Also of interest, my two band members' friend, Kurt Vile, was opening up for Big Star at the same show. So it was a no-miss situation.
We got to the venue, the Brooklyn Masonic Temple, a little early to check it out. The place reminded me of my elementary school on the outside—white/gray stone façade, pretty nondescript. And what do you know? My band member's friend, Kurt Vile, the opening act, was hanging out outside the venue. We talked him up for a little while. Turned out that he was pretty nervous about playing before Big Star—and that he was living the dream of being a rock star signed to a cool indie label (Matador).
A few short hours later, we were right at stage right, watching Kurt Vile sing/scream impassioned tunes through his shoulder-length hair into the mic. I was really impressed with his music—how creative it was. He had a drum machine going for several tunes, as well as a drummer, who was playing on a kit without a high-hat (with Timpani mallets). Also, there was no bassist in the band to be seen; just three electric guitarists (one who played sax at one point).
Then came the main act—Big Star—the ones we'd been waiting for.
I get into this zone when I see artists that I really dig. I was enamored with each and every tune.
Now, it's not as though their exact original lineup is still in place—lead singer Alex Chilton still helms the band, as well as the aforementioned Stephens on the skins. They've rounded out the band with two members of the ‘90s alt-rock power-pop band The Posies, who do a decent part of taking over for the absent (and/or no-longer-living) members of Big Star. They even got the spotlight on a few tunes, but it was really Chilton and Stephens I showed up to see.
Highlights? Well, I really dug the versions of "The Ballad of El Goodo" and (my favorite) "Way Out West," the band did. I wholly enjoyed my second-favorite "When My Baby's Beside Me," which was played on a slack-tuned Fender telecaster, I believe, and I still have yet to figure out what tuning it was in for myself. Oftentimes, if I'm interested in learning a band's song, I'll check them out live in order to see how they play a song. (Seriously, you should try it some time.) I also liked Posies member Jon Auer's rendition of the Chris Bell (deceased guitarist/vocalist from the band) classic "I Am the Cosmos." I would add that record (I Am the Cosmos) as the "fourth" Big Star album, if you want to go above and beyond the call of musical duty. It's got little beautiful nuggets all over it.
Anyhow, I enjoyed the heck out of the show and give it 11 thumbs up. And I just recently picked up some tickets to see another one of my favorite bands, Nada Surf, at GMC-approved-venue The Bell House. Maybe I'll chime in about that experience in the next Telegram.
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