Cerberus Vol. 3(23)
Featuring Phil Ranelin, d’Eon, Peak Eloquence, Rose Bolton, and The Touch Heads
I want everyone to know that September is a busy month. As some of you know, beyond holding down a day job and having two kids (like so many), I also write board game reviews for various outlets and edit a board gaming magazine. Stupidly, but also carefully (and not to put other writers into harm’s way), I will be attending North America’s biggest board gaming convention in the middle of September for said magazine. It’s likely this here newsletter, already a bi-weekly affair, may experience an interruption as I prep for the convention (where it’s a much more professional experience for me as I talk to publishers and designers). Yes, I have concerns and no, I’m not brave. It’s stupid, honestly, but here we are.
Speaking of, if you haven’t gotten vaccinated yet, Pfizer’s vaccine was just approved so that’s one less excuse. It’s a big scary world, and everything we take into our bodies is going to do SOMETHING to change it chemically. But I’m telling you, I get 5G in my heavily fortified bunker now, so it’s been worth it.
As always, thanks for reading and supporting. All I ask is you spread the word to like-minded music fans when you feel it’s appropriate.
Phil Ranelin — Infinite Expressions
Ranelin was the mastermind behind Detroit-based jazz label and collective Tribe in the 70s, and his 82 year-old mind is as sharp and inventive as it was at that label’s abbreviated height. Though his trombone playing isn’t as strong and massive as say, Vibes from the Tribe, the native Hoosier does the ghosts of Indiana Avenue proud on Infinite Expressions. It’s a fantastic post-bop exploration that feels timeless like many of the great jazz albums of the late 50s through mid-70s from where it was birthed.
Opener “Spirit of Dolphy” pays tribute to Eric with the same explosive notes and rundowns of the track’s namesake. “In the Time Being” harkens back to Ranelin’s Tribe label, leveraging space and harmony in interesting manners to create subtle layering within the Spartan composition. It takes a solid 4 minutes before Ranelin’s trombone warms up, but he never lets it overheat.
Much of Infinite Expressions is given over to Ranelin’s backing band. Like much of his career, Ranelin was often a deft, thoughtful sideman. Between sessions with the likes of Steve Wonder and early Red Hot Chili Peppers, to his late 70s and early 80s with Freddie Hubbard, Ranelin has always focused on group dynamics. Infinite Expressions is no different, even if Ranelin’s name is on the masthead. That alone is almost a relic of a bygone era of jazz, and that era continues to slip further and further away.
d’Eon — Rhododendron
In the 1991 children’s book Chrysanthemum, the titular child is confronted with plain-named children who ridicule her “perfect” name. When a beloved music teacher confesses to the child’s bullies that her name is floral and her progeny-to-be will likely be named Chrysanthemum, Rita, Jo, and Victoria finally give into the awesomeness of Chrysanthemum’s name by giving themselves names of flowers.
Chris d’Eon creates a similar effect with this 90s-inspired 16-bit soundtrack of botanical origins. Rhododendron is a perfect muse for those days when the world seems to bully our uniqueness, prunes our confidence, and plucks our pedals until we are naked and alone, discarded among the trimmings of the yard. Or maybe I’m just too deep into the vibes of “Cobra” and its playful nature…
d’Eon has crafted something romantic and nostalgic with Rhododendron that speaks to childhood innocence. It’s weird combination of gamelan, chamber, hip-hop, video games, and synthesizer hits all those awkward feelings in us that ravage our adolescence as we rummage for needles in haystacks looking for the confidence in our self-identities. So we turn to creative outlets to find it, and much like Chrysanthemum finds momentary peace in chocolate cake and games of Parcheesi, we stumble upon similar sentimentalities throughout Rhododendron.
The Touch Heads — R2D2
Pete Nolan (of Magik Markers, Spectre Folk, etc.) dons his one-man jam band cap for this psychedelic drone apocalypse of galactic proportions. While I hesitate to call this jam music for people who don’t like it, there are some stone-cold classics on this burner music account. “Jam Master/Playin Trucks” is some heavy-duty funk sludge, oozing out at all sides with a rhythm section melody doing much of the heavy lifting over a crunchy guitar drone. “Loop Station on the Mohawk Trail” is far more melodic, barely a jam and more of a thesis of chill. A rose by any other name is a still a sweet-smelling enhancer of the moment. And yeah, I’m damn near rosy-cheeked listening to these three sweet treats. People keep challenging Nolan and Arbitrary Signs so that these cool digital releases keep coming.
Peak Eloquence — A Quiet Disintegration
First off — selfishly — I’m so glad Brad Rose is back to making music, writing reviews, and generally lifting up part of whatever “scene” we may all identify with. Personally, I identify with no scenes and all scenes at once. You may feel the same.
It’s this dedication that imbues Rose’s work with similar ideas. Rose’s many musical projects have identities all their own, but overall his canon rarely subscribes to one right sound or correct methodology. His muse carries him where it may, again interjecting into scenes and leaving them as time and interest levels dictate.
But I’m totally digging the Peak Eloquence scene right now. A Quiet Disintegration is heavy contemplation; its distortion and discordance washing over me in like an exfoliating loofah. Each Untitled track a delivering a different form of isolation: some sad, some angry, some triumphantly positive. It’s the roller coaster of emotions (no need for outside factors to compound it, we all already ride up and down these peaks and valleys in the everyday course of our lives) providing the one truism all music provides: we are NOT alone. Even when it feels as if we are, someone out there is listening and trying to communicate back. We may not always [want to] hear it but Rose’s guitar soliloquies are radio signals from alien planets letting you know there is life out there and it wants to respond in kind. That Rose is not only doing it musically but in digital print, in podcasts, and in interviews is just the (extra)terrestrial cherry on top.
Rose Bolton — The Lost Clock
As “Unsettled Souls” begins to cascade, its steely melodies rattle something loose within me. True to its title, Bolton’s work is mysterious and uneasy, creating tension with slow-moving sounds and eerie production. It creeps, it lurks, it shifts. It sets the mood.
The Lost Clock is a dark fairy tale, always hiding in the darkest corners of wardrobes and mirror reflections. Bolton proves to be a master of suspense, but not all of it will make you gnash your teeth or disembowel you from reality into a hyperintense fiction. But much of the time, it feels as if Bolton is trying to cajole us into action; force us into discomfort in an effort to stir something within us. It is this forwardness in her music, as ghostly as it may be, that is pioneering. It’s one thing to know we’re being followed, it’s another to be confronted by the ghoulish figure and come to terms with what we’re seeing.
Twitter: @genxsaisquoi @cerberuszine
Email: Send submissions, suggestions, and payola schemes to cerberus.zines@gmail.com
