James Moody - All About Jazz

4B
James Moody (IPO)

Unlike tennis players or eggs, musicians can get
better with age. Taste overrides technique, comfort
supplants competition. James Moody, now in his
eighth decade as a professional musician, does not
have to prove anything to anyone. 4B, the sequel to last
year’s 4A, is an equally eloquent stroll through the
American songbook, aided by relative young-blood
Kenny Barron on piano, appropriately named bassist
Todd Coolman and ever-present drummer Lewis
Nash. Six out of the nine songs on this album could
have been recorded at Moody’s first recording session
in 1948. The other three are provided by Barron,
Coolman and fellow tenor giant Benny Golson.

The album opens with Barron’s solo stride
through “Take the A Train” before the rest of the band
jumps in at the bridge with a brisker pace and Moody
takes the first solo with economic twists and turns. For
the ordinarily upbeat “Hot House” Moody slows the
tempo and takes an extended solo before giving way to
Barron’s nimble fingers and Coolman’s honey-toned
exploration. Tadd Dameron’s altered progressions,
alongside “Polka Dots & Moonbeams”, make up a
third of the album’s running time. “Speak Low” is
given a jaunty bossa beat while Cole Porter’s “I Love
You” gets a more romantic but similarly South
American-influenced interpretation with Barron
soloing distinctly through double-timed riffs on both
tracks. Coolman’s Pettiford tribute “O.P. Update”,
with its harmonized lines between the bass and
saxophone, fits in amidst the mid-century feel of the
repertoire. The composer’s solo states its case before
Moody jumps in with his funkiest lead on the album.
The pianist’s subdued “Nikara’s Song” and Golson’s
“Along Came Betty” serve two sides of the same coin;
the former highlighting Moody’s sensitive side while
the latter brings out his more meaty tones. A delicate,
brush-driven, start-stop take on “But Not for Me”
closes out the record with Moody tacking on a fluent
and boastful coda.

4B is a worthy companion to its predecessor with
Moody taking on songs that he could probably play in
his sleep, alongside consummate professionals who
have no trouble supporting the master with an hour of
unwavering swing and tasteful solos.


James Moody @ All About Jazz - New York

Charlie Hunter - All About Jazz

Gentlemen I Neglected To Inform You
You Will Not Be Getting Paid
Charlie Hunter (Spire Artist Media)

Gentlemen I Neglected To Inform You You Will Not Be
Getting Paid, recorded in Brooklyn last summer, is
seven-string guitarist Charlie Hunter’s 17th record as a
leader. For this outing Hunter plucks and strums his
way across nine radio-friendly tracks (only one is more
than five minutes long) with solid drumming from Eric
Kalb and the unobtrusive assistance of two trombones
(Alan Ferber, Curtis Fowlkes) and a trumpet (Eric
Biondo). The tunes, all written by Hunter, never stray
too far from a laidback groove that rarely enlivens the
pulse but still provides enough soulful riffage.
The seven-stringed guitar is divided into three
bass strings and four guitar strings, allowing Hunter to
occupy both roles simultaneously. His level of selfreliance
exists on a plane usually reserved for pianists
and organists. Hunter has made this technique a
permanent part of his sound, which, even in its
quietest moments, requires the utmost attention to
balance and originality.

The record opens with Hunter’s inimitable
interplay leisurely chopping out chords while his
thumb strolls below before the horns jump in with
brassy puffs of sound to fill out the tune. Throughout
the record the horn section mostly serves to backup
Hunter’s solos. Occasionally he lets them reach beyond
the charts and use a little soloing muscle but often
reins them in before they can go too far out. The record
serves mostly as a vehicle for Hunter’s likable blend of
R&B and jazz, supporting spacious guitar lines with
rock-solid bass. “High and Dry” shows off Hunter’s
ability to play brisk and drowsy simultaneously while
“Ode to My Honda Odyssey”, a tribute to his touring
chariot, allows Hunter to dig deep into a vibrato-laden
solo while the horns hover in the background, egging
him on.

The independent voices emanating from Hunter’s
amplifier sound more and more distinct with each
passing release. This record, with its vintage
instrumentation and production (“In glorious mono”
boasts the cover!) emphasizes grooves over flash,
proving that Hunter has yet to run out of challenges
for his over-worked fingers.

Charlie Hunter @ All About Jazz - New York

Phil Woods - All About Jazz

Phil Woods review - All About Jazz - New York

Solitude (with DePaul
Univ. Jazz Ensemble)
Phil Woods
(Jazzed Media)

Come Right In
(with Phil Woods)
N. Glenn Davis Quintet
(Jazzed Media)

Bop master Phil Woods has still got all the gusto he
had when he blew into the Prestige studios over 55
years ago. At a weeklong appearance at Dizzy’s Club
last month the alto saxist showed off his effortless
versatility alongside his longtime, similarly grayhaired
rhythm section, swinging to a full house every
set. So it’s no surprise to hear him sounding equally
youthful on this pair of recent releases.

Solitude features a spry Woods fronting Chicago’s
massive DePaul University Jazz Ensemble playing ten
of the saxist’s tunes, recorded over three sessions
during the 2008-2009 school year. From the opening
sand-strewn pulse of “Brazilian Affair” to the
syncopated shout of “Ol’ Dude”, Woods keeps a strong
presence amidst the vibraphones, countless
woodwinds and bass trombones. The students, who
not only mastered the arrangements but also wrote
some of them, provide all the necessary support for
Woods’ bop-based flights while also contributing a
few solid solos of their own. “Song for Sass”, Woods’
tribute to Sarah Vaughan, features a great fluttering
solo from trumpeter Scott Dickinson while bombastic
closer “Mother Time” is highlighted by a confident
solo by vibraphonist Justin Thomas. Woods is
excellent throughout, playing breakneck wails and
great bop lines over the well-groomed collegiate
band’s swing.

Come Right In finds Woods transforming drummer
N. Glenn Davis’ Quintet into a sextet for only three
tunes on his newest release. In between the tight
ensemble works its way through a couple of standards
including a simmering “If You Could See Me Now”
and a collection of hard-swinging originals. The album
opens with “A Different Day”, a Blue Note-indebted
tune of breaks and riffs before eminence grisé Woods
gets first crack at a solo, wailing a way at a spiraling
jaunt through the burning changes. Barreling close
behind him is trumpeter Jack Schantz whose twisting
phrases drive the band even harder, popping up
throughout the record with succinct blasts from his
horn. From those opening three minutes the band
continues to drive for nearly an hour. “Just a Tadd”,
Davis’ tribute to fellow Clevelander Tadd Dameron,
features more alto expertise from Woods while the
bossa “Warm Smile”, with its literal nods to Jobim,
starts off slow before ending in a swinging cacophony
of dueling solos. Overall the album is a confident,
swinging disc. Davis has written some interesting
compositions, which benefit from the intensity of his
bandmates and boosted by the presence of Woods, but
are in no way lost without them.

Phil Woods @ All About Jazz - New York

Alan Rich - LA Record

Alan Rich: 1924 - 2010

Alan was a great mentor to me. He read a few of my silly little articles when I was just starting and he didn't immediately rip them up and throw them in my face. I thought that was a good sign. I had dinner with him a few times and attended a few shows with him - great seats! He also introduced me to Raymond Richards who recorded and released the last two Leviathan Brothers records. Alan helped me tremendously and I will always remember that. Here is the rememberance I wrote about him for the LA Record - unshakable publishers of a new generation of smart-assed writers and the first place to encourage the Cult of SOC.

From the LA Record - (2/29/10)

“I am a member of an endangered species. Encountering dangerous members of the species makes me frightened or sick, especially at 82. I happen to think that I am better than a lot of them, on the strength of having studied with superior teachers and stayed awake in their classrooms.”
—Alan Rich

I first met Alan while working for the box office of Walt Disney Concert Hall. We got along well because I was the only lackey that didn’t ask to see his photo ID every week when he picked up his tickets. Being a regular reader of his weekly column didn’t hurt either. There isn’t a writer out there who can resist the satisfaction of knowing that someone is actually reading the words they hammered out in passionate solitude. Alan was no exception. When he was unceremoniously canned in 2008 by LA Weekly’s “Phoenix-based bean-counters who evaluate every word in their chain of papers against the income they produce,” he was understandably devastated, having had his internationally recognized voice silenced after 50 years of unrivaled observations and cantankerous wit. As any unemployed 80-something-year-old would do, he started a blog and, more importantly to him, began remodeling his kitchen—a project he referred to as his true gift to the world.

Alan Rich and George Bush Sr. were born five days apart in 1924, in Milton, Massachusetts, where stone-walled property lines date back to the days of John Quincy Adams and every house has as many chimneys as bathrooms. Although he attended Harvard in pursuit of a medical degree, Alan veered off the path—much to his parents’ dismay—toward a career in music journalism. He often said that it wasn’t until he had introduced his parents to his friend Leonard Bernstein that they accepted his career choice. After college he bounced around the world, helping to start KPFA and studying the finer points of Viennese musicology before returning to New York to document the ground-breaking work of artists like Philip Glass and Steve Reich. In the 1980s he made a permanent move to Los Angeles where he became an early proponent of Esa-Pekka Salonen and current keeper of the Philharmonic baton, Gustavo Dudamel.

Although he made his living primarily as a commentator on the classical music world, writing for such publications as the New York Times, Newsweek, Variety, New York magazine, and LA Weekly, and closed it with particularly astute observations on the vital work being done in Los Angeles, Rich’s career would make any music writer—or reader—green with envy. His stories of being flown to meet up-and-comer David Bowie in London, or having a dinner of metaphorical entrees and unbaked bread with John Cage, or attending the “Howl” obscenity trials, or having lunch with a young Harry Nilsson in New York, or having a roommate who smoked banana peels at the advice of Donovan, or being put in a headlock by Placido Domingo for less than flattering comments about his personal life, or counseling sophomore-slumped neighbor Rivers Cuomo on the finer points of Debussy were fascinating and, most importantly, true.

Alan was unafraid to voice his opinion or take others to task for having ineloquently voiced their own. Alan made a living typing out his diatribes on increasingly complex machinery to an increasingly complex readership without ever sacrificing his intelligence or honest opinion. He was the last of a breed who, in the “good old days,” ran back to the office at intermission to submit a review only to return to the venue for the second half to make sure he wasn’t completely off target. His advice and encouragement will live on in a handful of us, and his beliefs will live on for even more. Rest in peace, Alan—I hope the acoustics are good in the afterlife.

—S.O.C.

Remembering Alan Rich @ LA Record

Zungguzungguguzungguzeng - the District

From the District - (2/17/10)

It’s that time of year when yellow, red and green overtake the streets of downtown and the smell of jazz cigarettes defiantly wafts above helpless ushers in the Long Beach Arena. This weekend, the two-day Ragga Muffins festival, formerly known as the Bob Marley Day festival, celebrates its 29th year of everything irie. Equally full of legends and newcomers, the festival is bound to provide enough dub, jah and riddim to keep most everyone happy until next February. Here’s who to look for:

GREGORY ISAACS Jamaican-born crooner Gregory Isaacs is the king of lovers rock. His pleading voice is as steeped in Philly soul as it is in the Kingston beat. Although his recordings have appeared on over 500 albums, Isaacs’ biggest success came when he cooed over a loping beat and synthesizer on his 1982 Island record Night Nurse, pining for a little love and medical assistance. After a debilitating addiction to cocaine—wherein he lost most of his teeth and hardened his vocal pipes—Isaacs returned to the concert stage and recording studio in the ’00s.

YELLOWMAN “Zungguzungguguzungguzeng” has to be one of the greatest song titles ever written. Cocky showstopper Yellowman barked his 1983 hit to widespread recognition, introducing his rapid-fire vocal style to a world of budding hip-hoppers who would later sample the hell out of it (e.g., Tupac, Biggie, Mos Def). In recent years, he has dedicated himself to singing about more spiritual concerns. Raised in a Jamaican orphanage, Yellowman is definitely reggae’s most successful albino/cancer survivor/sex symbol.

BARRINGTON LEVY Barrington Levy released his album debut at the age of 14. By that point, he was already a dancehall mainstay. By the mid ’80s, still only in his 20s, Levy had had a string of hits in Jamaica and the UK, including “Mary Long Tongue,” “Love of Jah” and “Robberman.” His swaggering vocals appeared on hundreds of singles before earning his Long Beach stripes by collaborating with both Snoop Dogg and the Long Beach Dub All-Stars in the late ’90s.

KEN BOOTHE Mr. Rock Steady is the elder statesman of this party. A veteran of the Trojan Records scene, Boothe began his recording career in the late ’50s. He found success several years later with a few laid-back covers of songs by Jackie Wilson and Wilson Pickett before striking it big with a reworking of Bread’s “Everything I Own,” which became a surprise #1 hit in the UK in 1974. His quavering, unmatched tenor and personal style should have made him a far bigger star than he was. Bonus points for being mentioned in the Clash’s “White Man in Hammersmith Palais.”

BIG YOUTH Jamaican DJ Manley Buchanan’s unmistakable squeal was first heard on 1972’s “The Killer.” From there he and his dreads toasted their way across Jamaica, eventually amassing seven singles on the charts at one time. Big Youth’s style of punchy riffing over producers’ tracks was a decade-early influence on the hip-hop movement. His grill, however, was an even bigger influence, with his teeth capped in the colors of the Rasta flag.

SHAGGY Gulf War veteran Shaggy was the most successful major-label bid at reggae marketing. “Mr. Boombastic,” his 1995 single, sold over one million copies in the US, leading to more than a fair share of vocalists imitating his Jamaica-by-way-of-Brooklyn baritone to considerably less acclaim. The 2000 radio mainstay “It Wasn’t Me” was an even bigger hit, juxtaposing Shaggy’s low-end with a straight-ahead R&B chorus. Not quite a one-hit wonder, Shaggy has made more money and sold more albums than the rest of the festival’s artists combined. Does this mean he’s a better artist? No, but he might be the only artist this weekend that your mom can sing along with.

THE 29TH ANNUAL RAGGA MUFFINS FESTIVAL LONG BEACH ARENA • 300 E OCEAN BLVD • LONG BEACH 90802 • 562.436.3636 • SAT-SUN 1PM • $38-55 •

Zungguzungguguzungguzeng @ the District

Spoke 'N' Words - The District

From the District - (02/10/10)

Last month David Byrne presented a trial run of this week’s TED lecture, “Creativity in Reverse,” for a full house of cross-legged beardos on a desolate strip in Brooklyn. Fittingly, after opening the microphone to a lengthy question-and-answer, it seemed more than half the questions were about bicycles. As hipster spokesperson for the pedaling masses, Byrne is known first as the lead singer of the Talking Heads, and second as a guy who likes to ride bikes (Academy Award-winning composer, conceptual artist and funky dancer round out the top five). Since the early 1980s he has been a fixture of New York streets, dodging potholes between art galleries and concert stages. Eventually he took to bringing a bike on tour with him as a way of seeing whatever paved location he found himself in that day. His newest book, Bicycle Diaries, is a scattershot tour of such far-flung regions as Buenos Aries, London and San Francisco as seen from a banana seat. Much like his blog of disjointed observations, Byrne takes on everything from the loneliness of Nazi war criminals to the history of PowerPoint, stringing them all together with a low-speed travelogue of the world’s unique offerings—Filipino karaoke stalls, Australian seaside cemeteries, Detroit’s industrial ruins, etc. His ruminations are insightful but occasionally a little naïve (or is it optimistic?), with an ample amount of profanity peppered throughout. Although he does not dedicate a chapter to Los Angeles, he makes numerous references to our “residential theme park,” where sidewalks abruptly end and people are imprisoned by their own cars—the seeming antithesis of his idyllic Manhattan lifestyle. Byrne provides a convincing argument for the role of the bicycle—both socially and economically—by addressing what has worked and failed abroad (more roads = more traffic jams!), as well as at home (bike lanes, bike racks). His 30-year perspective gives him credibility, while his eccentricities prevent the text from being overly preachy. Now, if only he could find a helmet that wouldn’t mess up his hair, everything would be perfect.

BICYCLE DIARIES BY DAVID BYRNE • VIKING ADULT • 320 PAGES • $25.95


Bicycle Diaries @ the District

Drink of the Week - The District

From the District Weekly - (01/27/10)

Among Orange County’s little cottonwoods lies a windowless rumpus room known as the Sportsman. From the looks of the clientele, these sports seem to consist mostly of darts and Big Buck Hunter. From the looks of the barmaids, these sports also include a little snowboarding and underwear shopping. Los Alamitos does not do much to promote the fact that it houses a bikini bar, but there they were: pleasant, young women, walking around on designer stilts and wearing less than a napkin’s-worth of fabric. When we arrived at the Sportsman between droplets of rain, the patrons—which included but one woman—were more focused on the Lakers game than on the scantily-clad staff standing between them and the TV set. Although the hard liquor was low-priced and high-quality, the majority of drinks consumed on this night were bottled beers. (It’s not very healthy to be dipping in and out of an ice-lined fridge all day without the assistance of a little goose down, but hey, these women are professionals.) Aside from bending at the waist and cracking open frosty MGDs, the ladies also flexed their skills with a few house specialties—fruity concoctions of indeterminate alcohol content that make everything from the eyes to the toes twitch. Having already surrendered my masculinity by inquiring about the specials in the first place, I settled on the Juicy Pear. Now, pears can make a fine brandy, but in the hands of these nubile mixologists they are downright dangerous. Sugary and sweet, the drink tastes like a can of pears rinsed with vodka and strained with a little ice. Consume three or four of them, and who knows what could happen? As to who exactly orders these cloudy libations, tonight it was just me—and I was there strictly for research. Journalism can be such strenuous work.

THE SPORTSMAN 11133 LOS ALAMITOS BLVD • LOS ALAMITOS 90720 • 562.596.7360

Drink of the Week @ the District

No Words - The District

From the District - (1/13/10)

With his ever-present hat and guitar, Keb’ Mo’ looks like he could be standing at the Crossroads—a hundred years ago. In reality, few people realize one of Kevin Moore’s crossroads is the 710 freeway. Born in Compton in 1951 to parents of Southern descent, Moore immersed himself in the guitar as a child, learning the history of the blues—from the rural git-box pickers to the juke-joint slingers. In the early 1970s, he began sharing his findings with the listening public, backing psychedelic violinist Papa John Creach. But with the release of his solo debut in the mid 1990s, he became Keb’ Mo’, a blues-rooted troubadour with a grandfather-like approachability that brought him out of the blues circuit and into a wider public radio subscriber demographic.

An inoffensive blend of Delta blues and pop songwriting, 1994’s Keb’ Mo’ found a mainstream audience that helped to earn Moore a Grammy award for Best Contemporary Blues Album for his second record, Just Like You. Since then he has released six more albums of 21st-century Delta blues to an ever-widening fan base (and with cred-questionable appearances alongside Amy Grant and on Touched By An Angel). Still, when he boils it down to just voice and guitar, Moore can silence a room, whether there are 10 or 1,000 people sitting before him. His voice, a soulfully deliberate tenor, belies his origins, implying more swamps than paved rivers. And while sliding up and down his dobro’s neck, Moore’s bottle-sheathed pinky can connect a string of choice notes in a way few other performers can.

For his homecoming show, Moore will be solo, multitasking his way through some loping blues with that inimitable voice, a harmonica, a guitar and a well-heeled shoe tapping out the downbeat. Last fall he self-released a live album highlighting his charm and effortlessness before a crowd. Dust off your fedora and witness it for yourself.

KEB’ MO’ CERRITOS CENTER FOR THE PERFORMING ARTS • 12700 CENTER COURT DR SOUTH • CERRITOS 90703 • 800.300.4345 • SAT 8PM • $41-65 •

No Words @ the District

Troubador Tradition - The District

From the District - (o1/o6/1o)

Rufus Wainwright is a busy guy. After the release of his self-titled debut in 1998—a theatrical approach to pop songwriting that highlighted his drowsy baritone, buoyed by string arrangements from Van Dyke Parks and production from Jon Brion—the piano-playing troubadour has since released four more albums, as well as a note-for-note performance of Judy Garland’s 1961 Carnegie Hall performance. The son of Loudon Wainwright III and Kate McGarrigle, two earnest folksters of the 1970s, his unapologetic blend of camp and artistry has proven too disjointed for some. Still dissatisfied with his slice of the listening pie, Wainwright has written an opera, Prima Donna, which premiered in England last summer. Although he often laments his lack of mainstream recognition, Wainwright arrived at the premiere dressed as Giuseppe Verdi, complete with top hat and beard, while his boyfriend arrived as Puccini. The battle continues with a forthcoming album and an opera to present to North American audiences. In the build-up, he has been talking to everyone, everywhere. The following is every question squeezed into an assistant-timed conference call that lasted slightly longer than it took Wainwright to operate a lemon zester on Martha Stewart.

The District Weekly: Although you live in New York now, you spent a lot of time in Los Angeles in the 1990s. Where did you stay when you were here?

Rufus Wainwright: I lived all over LA. I lived in Silver Lake and Larchmont. I lived in North Hollywood. I lived at the Oakwood apartments for awhile, which I really loved. I’m being facetious, by the way. I really consider LA the home of my career. I started out there really doing my big shows. The town has always supported me.

You got quite an extensive tour of the area’s studios. Your first album was recorded in 10 different rooms. Do you think that could happen again—that a record label would bankroll such an expensive debut?

It took me about three years to make that first album. Ten studios, at least. But I don’t know. Definitely anything is possible. Arguably, with all the components put into the mix, whether it’s the work of Lenny Waronker or the great arrangements by Van Dyke Parks or the support of DreamWorks, it was just the situation I was in. I don’t think there could be another combination of big elements like that for a new artist. The record label might spend the money, but I think it is highly unlikely to happen again.

There were supposedly 56 songs recorded over that time. What happened to the rest of that material?

They’re in my vault somewhere. I’m not at the point yet where I have to release those. I have a new album coming out called All Days Are Nights: Songs for Lulu. So I don’t need to fall back on that old stuff yet. I’m saving those for when I’m old and in crutches.

Your new record is going to be just voice and piano. What do you think you gain from that approach?

It’s as stripped-down as it gets—unless I’m singing a cappella Irish folk songs. With a lot of my albums I like to have a focus on what I am trying to accomplish. For instance, the Judy Garland record was a chance for my voice to get a good workout. Want One and Want Two were about my own personal struggles with addiction. This new album is about shining a spotlight on my piano playing. I haven’t really been given the chance to show how involved I am with that instrument. There is a lot of very intricate and also simple piano work that I’m excited to share. I’m a strong believer that a singer/songwriter is only as good as when they sing their songs alone. Like my father, sister and mother, we all fit into the troubadour tradition.

Do you like performing solo?

You know, I have to say that I love it—only because it really, really pays well. Artistically it is fantastic, but it’s always fun with a band. Especially when you spend a lot of time out on the road together. But I, along with everyone else in the world, have got to work to make ends meet. I have to sort of watch my ass. This is just part of the way the world is now. We all gotta tighten our belt. But there are a large amount of people in my family [for whom solo performances are] their favorite way of hearing my music.

Of all the second-generation troubadours—Sean Lennon, Jakob Dylan—you sound the least like your father. Each of your family members has very distinct singing styles. What do you think it is that you share with your family?

I think I share a kind of—how can I say this?—very, very intense tastes. You know? Both my mother and father and my sister do not suffer fools, when it comes to music. We might not have all the same opinions—there is stuff that I adore that my mother thinks is utter crap—but our tastes are really high above average. We try to imitate that. We have very high standards—a little too high sometimes.

What do you have planned for the show?

Well, I’ll definitely be singing some of the new songs. I’m in the process of working the new show and creating it. This tour is good practice for after the record comes out. I do want to present something interesting. I’ll probably play one piece from the opera. The opera is going to be performed in London in April. Very soon! Then it will be performed around America. I don’t sing in them, but I’ll go to them.

Have you played Long Beach before?

You know, I may have. I love it. I used to drive out there when I was about to slit my wrists in Culver City.

RUFUS WAINWRIGHT TERRACE THEATER • 300 E OCEAN BLVD • LONG BEACH 90802 • 562.436.3661 • SAT 8PM • $32.50-49.50 •

Troubador Tradition @ the District

Polyphonic Espirit - The District

From the District - (12/2/09)

With all due respect to famed cricketsman Brian Lara, it can be safely said that the steel pan is Trinidad and Tobago’s most reverberant cultural contribution. Concave, refashioned, 55-gallon oil drums that were heard vibrating like underwater xylophones behind the calypso stars who emerged on US radio and television in the mid ’50s, steel pans have since been associated with coconuts, colorful shirts and thatched roofs. But those undulating tones were created for more than just cruise-ship tourists awaiting the arrival of their boat. The steel pan is one of the most underused and misunderstood instruments in popular music, conjuring sand-swept beaches the moment it is struck, regardless of era or repertoire.

Alongside the theremin and the synthesizer, the steel pan is credited as one of the few musical instruments invented during the 20th century. Due to its polyphonic abilities, it is not strictly a percussion instrument, reaching upward of 14 distinct pitches per drum. The steel drum’s first recorded appearance was among the carnival celebrations of its island homeland in the early 1910s before taking American audiences by storm with the calypso craze of the mid 1950s. The genre, led by the charismatic Harry Belafonte, rose to prominence with steel pans providing the blissful backings to countless calypso records currently wilting across thrift-store shelves everywhere. It took another 10 years before the instrument broke free of its Caribbean origins, poking its head out of the sand for a little chart placement and rock ‘n’ roll.

The Hollies, clean-cut Manchester boys with a deft pop pen, were up there with the Rolling Stones and the Beatles on the dreamboat scale, earning their fair share of screaming fans throughout the 1960s. Their 1967 hit, “Carrie-Anne,” was a mash of twee, pop and silliness that peaked at #3 on the UK charts. The song opens with the tight, unmistakable harmonies of Graham Nash, Allan Clarke and Tony Hicks, backed by a rackety guiro that clacks out the beat alongside a handful of other artifacts from the Caribbean cabinet. Their display of worldly experimentation culminates in a steel-pan solo that leaves many wondering why the instrument never caught on with the mods. (It would appear the sitar and harpsichord were taking up everyone’s time.) Midway through the song, the pannist flutters a baroque touch behind his own pulsing self-accompaniment, while the same strummed guitar chords repeat in the background. The solo, all 32 beats of it, is an economical achievement that goes beyond gimmick into the realm of pop perfection. Never again would the work of a pannist reach such widespread heights.

These days the steel drum has been used to play everything from Bach’s two-part inventions to the anthems of animated sea-dwelling creatures; from Swedish rockers the Knife, whose sullen Björk-in-reverse electro takes the pans into a digitized hypnosis, to Pan for Punk, a tribute record featuring Ramones covers lead by a undoubtedly pierced pannist fronting a rock rhythm section. In retrospect, it is probably best that the steel pan sticks to its beachside roots.

Thankfully, CSULB’s steel-drum band has been doing just that, steadily hammering the cans since 1986. For their upcoming West Indies-themed Christmas concert, the band will be led by percussion studies director Dr. Michael Carney, a master of the steel pans who has performed within a passport stamp of Trinidad. Nearly 50 members strong, the band will work their way through Christmas classics, as well as a few choice covers (Bob Marley’s “Jammin’”, the Beatles’ “And I Love Her”). Join them for a night of holiday cheer and dulcet-toned revelry as they present an army of steel pans and brightly-colored shirts. Dress accordingly.

CARIBBEAN CHRISTMAS CARPENTER PERFORMING ARTS CENTER • 6200 E ATHERTON ST • LONG BEACH 90815 • 562.985.7000 • SAT 2PM • $10-15 •

Polyphonic Espirit @ the District