Patrick Sisson - Writer, Journalist, Cultural Documentarian, Music Lover

PATRICK SISSON

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Tussle Fight Clean: SF group moves from dub wrestling to Cream Cuts

Interview
Earplug
October 2008

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Planes of bright green figures on an Atari-like landscape of oscillating lines, vectors, and grids — these are the sorts of images that accompany performances by San Francisco’s Tussle. It’s an appropriate set of visuals for a band that creates taut, bewitching rhythms. And, with a recent series of personnel shifts — original members Nathan Burazer and drummer Jonathan Holland are now joined by fellow drummer Warren Huegel and bassist Tomo Yasuda — Tussle have added another dimension, taking their music into free-ranging, cosmic arenas. It’s fitting, then, that the band wanted to release its new album, Cream Cuts, on August 8, 2008, in honor of a certain sacrosanct Roland product. Earplug’s Patrick Sisson phoned knob twiddler Nathan Burazer to talk about music’s collective call, looking over the shoulders of giants, and how making music is like the plastic arts.

Earplug: You have an art background and often perform in galleries. What is proper gallery etiquette, and how do you score a lot of free wine?
Nathan Burazer: For us, there is no etiquette. The wine just comes, you put up your glass and they fill it up, and you do your thing and be yourself. You need to put your pinky out a bit while drinking your wine and occasionally go to the bathroom to make sure your beret looks OK.

EP: The music on Cream Cuts sounds more flexible than on previous albums. In addition to the lineup switch, how has the songwriting process changed?
NB: It was interesting. We came out of the lineup change and were like, shit, we have to write new songs. And a lot of the songs came out of samples that we had, things I had kept around from touring that we took into the studio. Over the span of two years, we added some overdubs and had a lot of back and forth. It was actually a lot like painting. Erase, paint some, sit back, look at it a couple of months later, add something, and then take it out.
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Deadbeat: Roots and Wire

Music Review
Earplug
October 2008

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As a sample on his new album suggests, Berlin-via-Montreal producer Deadbeat is adept at stripping his sleek rhythms and solid bass lines to “the skeleton of the music.” Though his sounds are indeed massive, his music doesn’t just fill out a room; it animates the space, laying down hypnotic dub beats with Basic Channel-style rhythms, before giving everything a subtle, energizing tweak. Tribal beats gradually simmer on “Grounation,” until a wave of synths pushes them to the boiling point. “Deep Structure” plays bubbly Detroit techno sounds against a mellow, clicking rhythm, and “Night Stepping” flirts with Metro Area-like sleekness, as waves of bass eddy and flow. Suffice it to say, Deadbeat’s deft, detailed touch brings a new, streamlined lightness to dub techno.

Tobacco: Fucked Up Friends

Music Review
Earplug
October 2008

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Like his work with psych-tinged noiseniks Black Moth Super Rainbow, Tobacco’s solo debut evokes nostalgia for nostalgic sounds — in this case, the warm acid tones and fuzzy analog mysticism of Boards of Canada. The signifiers are there — warbly flutes, folksy backdrops, and backspun sound effects — but rather than floating a misty interpretation of an already hazy sound, Tobacco adds a muscular, evil edge. Traversing the darker corners of BOC’s druggy rural landscapes, he revs up the tempo on tracks like “Hairy Candy” and drops heavier, juiced-up beats for “Truck Sweat” and “Gross Magik.” On the more mechanical, driving “Dirt,” rapper Aesop Rock’s guttural lyrics gel nicely. If BOC are childhood bliss borne out in a country cottage, Fucked Up Friends explores the more isolated, warped headspace in the backwoods.

Brewtopia: Portland’s Brewing Scene

Article
XLR8R
October 2008
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Dylan Goldsmith, who single-handedly runs Portland’s Captured by Porches brewing operation, takes a very DIY approach by default. Every pint of the company’s beer is made in a makeshift, one-room brewery–part of the process involves a dishwasher–at Clinton Street Brewing, the brewpub that sells the bulk of Goldsmith’s beer. The home brewer was first inspired during a stint working at a grocery store, when he transformed some apple cider into hooch using an old recipe from a Food Not Bombs customer. He continued making his own beer for parties and eventually became inspired to start his own venture. One day, while biking to school with some homebrew in his backpack, he saw his friends hanging out on someone’s porch. He never made it to class that day. In a friend’s words, he was “captured by the porch.”

“My DIY ethos comes from belief that the Walmartization of America can only lead to more low-paid and meaningless jobs,” says Goldsmith. “Every bar that is moderately busy could support a full-time brewer and only sell their own beer. They would save money–one-third of the price of a keg goes to the distributor–and create a meaningful and well-paying job. I guess when gas hits $10 a gallon, the choice will be made for us anyways.”

Goldsmith is one of many independent-minded local brewers who, over the last few decades, have turned Portland into a mecca for beer lovers. Located near the biggest hops-growing regions in the United States–which account for the bold, spicy, hopped-up varieties popular in the area–Portland boasts 30 breweries within city limits (the most in the world), along with a budding-but-healthy micro-distillery scene (local Integrity Spirits just released its own absinthe).
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Interview: Mavis Staples

Interview
Pitchfork
October 21, 2008
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Well Lord, I’m still on the case. I’m still doing what Dr. King and Pops want me to do. I’m still on that freedom highway, and I’m going to walk on it until Dr. King’s dream is realized.”

When Mavis Staples sang in an a cappella choir in grade school, her low singing voice was criticized by her teacher, who would say, “You’re in the basement, Mavis, you’re singing with the boys.” The constant harping made her so mad she eventually quit.

Thankfully that teacher’s opinion wasn’t the final word. Her father Roebuck “Pops” Staples, who learned guitar alongside blues legends like Charley Patton while growing up on a Mississippi plantation, made Mavis the lead in the family gospel group the Staple Singers, which started performing in Chicago in 1950. Over the course of the next few decades, that deep, roughhewn voice has been recognized as a gospel and soul treasure. The Staple Singers became a favorite of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., their music long associated with the Civil Rights struggle. Mavis later cut a solo album for Stax, had her music produced by both Prince and Curtis Mayfield and was even proposed to by Bob Dylan (“Somehow that rumor got out on this doggone internet,” she said.) Earlier this summer, Mavis recorded an album, Live: Hope at the Hideout, a timely selection of protest songs and anthems set to come out on Election Day. We spoke with the singer about her early career and her continued motivation to perform what she’s called “good news music.”

Pitchfork: Did singing and recording the new album at the Hideout remind you of the small clubs you played at when you were just starting out?
Mavis Staples: Oh yes, it did. It reminded me of places in New York, it reminded me of Club 47 in Cambridge. There is a great feeling in a small venue, with the closeness of the people and the intimacy. Those are the best. You just feel the whole scene better.

Pitchfork: I always thought it was so amazing that you and your siblings were performing in music clubs as teenagers with your dad, Pops, who managed to be a bandleader but also a good role model. Lots of parents today with children who are musicians tend to not do that so well.
MS: Our father and mom kept the role of mother and father while we were singing. When we would first go on the road, they would let us know, you stay humble. These people running up to you telling you how great you are, don’t let that go to your head. Low is the way. Pops even wrote a song called “Low Is the Way”. You stay low, not high and mighty. You don’t forget this is your gift from God, if you abuse it, it’ll be taken away from you. We were a close-knit family from day one. Our father, on Saturdays, he would take us to the movies, and make us peanut brittle candy then on Sunday mornings he would take us to church. My mother saw that he wanted to be with the children, so she just let him have it, you know? So we were with our father most of the time. Our mother was our spiritual guidance. She would pray with us and was the best cook in the world. We were taught to love our sisters and brothers, to love our neighbors, to listen to our neighbors, to respect elders. Thank the Lord we never got on the star trip. We stayed everyday people.
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Madlib the Beat Konducta: WLIB AM: King of the Wigflip

Music Review
Earplug
September 2008

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Alias-heavy, stylistically omnivorous producer Madlib jumps between beats and styles like a blunted lothario hopping beds. While artists with such ADD-driven inclinations are often dismissed as radio-dial wanderers, WLIB:AM King of the Wigflip‘s silly, non-sequitur vocals coalesce into an inarguably glorious, if intentionally messy, transmission. A collage of R&B, soul, and funk, the record incorporates the spiritual depth and otherworldly sounds Madlib has been folding into Beat Konducta and Yesterday’s New Quintet releases — from the punchy brass and conga roll of “Blow the Horns on ‘Em” to the sweet interstellar coo of “Yo Yo Affair Pt. 1 & 2.” However, the occasional weak guest spot makes a rumored reunion with Doom, especially after the recent Madvillainy remix, more enticing; for all their virtues, these multi-dimensional beats deserve a crazy lyrical counterpart.

Koushik: Out My Window

Music Review
Earplug
September 2008

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On his “official” debut, Koushik mines ’60s psych and folk, producing staggered beats and melodies that are at once hazy and refracted, like sunspots on a camera lens. Partly shaped by Koushik’s voice, the mood is also dictated by the album’s overall pace — deliberate, contemplative beats occasionally bunch up and explode into something feverish and rapturous. Drenched in echo, Koushik’s breathy voice is otherworldly, brightening up sleepy grooves like “In a Green Smile” and “Coolin.” Nothing clicks quite like “Be With,” an older single tacked onto the album, but, generally, that kind of summer-jam shuffle isn’t what he’s after. Four Tet and Caribou have mined similar territory with enviable intensity, but Koushik’s tracks are more serene and fleeting, mixing smoky atmospherics with sunny harmonies.

Tricky’s Homecoming: Trip-hop veteran revisits his roots on Knowle West Boy

Interview
Earplug
September 2008

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A lot has happened since Tricky dropped twisted, shape-shifting trip-hop classic Maxinquaye in 1995. Now a daddy with a teenage daughter by vocalist and former collaborator Martina Topley-Bird, the Bristol-bred artist (born Adrian Thaws) is taking great pains to remain animated and kinetic as he enters middle age. Named after the Bristol neighborhood in which he was raised, Tricky’s latest album, the eclectic Knowle West Boy, continues to incorporate guests, as well as the producer’s own raspy lead vocals into aggressive singles such as “Council Estate.” In addition to new tunes, Tricky has also turned label impresario, working on the Brown Punk imprint alongside Island legend Chris Blackwell. Earplug’s Patrick Sisson spoke to the artist about paranoia, fighting skills, and the joy of genre tags.

Earplug: It seems like “Council Estate” is your answer to people who said you can’t do anything or go anywhere if you come from Knowle West…
Tricky: Well, yeah. The track is me saying to kids in council estates that you’re a superstar; you’re success waiting to happen. I am the same person who grew up there. At my school, there were teachers who said, when you go for a job interview, as soon as they know you’re from Knowle West, you’re not going to get the job. I’m glad that teachers told me that, “You’re kind of a no-hoper.”

EP: Many of your songs mention paranoia or being watched. How do you feel about the growth of a surveillance society, especially online? Do you think some things you said in the past are coming true?
T: Yeah, it’s scary. I’ve got my laptop at home, and I’m scared to go on it sometimes, know what I mean? It’s like people can hear your music and stuff. It’s becoming apparent we’re a controlled society. And the more things happen, the more we get controlled, so it’s scary times. You can’t challenge the state. They’ll squash things beforehand. Black America had Martin Luther King and Malcolm X — there won’t be anyone like that now. I think the closest we got to that now is Michael Moore. I think he’s incredible. But he can get his films out, and nobody does anything. He can’t do anything.
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TV on the Radio: Dear Science

Music Review
Earplug
September 2008

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Relentless and righteous as hell, TV on the Radio soar through Dear Science, retreating from the buzzing, hotwired rock of Return to Cookie Mountain for a wide swath of lush hymns and muscular tracks. Made for confusing times, the record tends to look outward, not inward, and sounds more crisp, electrified, and anthemic than anything the band has done before. It’s even, occasionally, upbeat. Though tense riffs and sheets of noise still grind and smoke, there are more sugary strings (“Love Dog”), taut rhythms (“Dancing Choose”), and clipped guitars (“Shout Me Out”). The thicket of damning lyrics in “Crying” and “Red Dress,” meanwhile, offer a counterpoint to the last record’s tales of toxic attraction. Stirring and poetic, it’s a lithe, gorgeous art-rock record.

High Places: High Places

Music Review
Earplug
August 2008

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Like water trickling through outstretched fingers, the found-sound melodies of Brooklyn duo High Places suggest escape. Warm, rippling, reverb-heavy beats bump into each other, bending and bowing like waves on a pool filled with pebbles. Dropping in the wake of a scattered series of 7-inches and a compilation, the group’s self-titled debut has more cohesive rhythms and a more mystic air than its earlier work, conjuring up hazy, nameless nostalgia. The high, haunting echoes — cavernous spaces, heavy bass — mesh with singer Mary Pearson’s sunny, nursery-rhyme delivery (“I’ll buy a plot of land / One full of trees / Where I can practice taxonomy”) in the makeshift, gorgeous manner of a less austere Young Marble Giants. It’s private and playful, quiet and quirky pop that’s utterly engulfing.

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