Nova Ahead 6

Did you know that I only have 23 teeth? Apparently that is less than you’re supposed to have. I can’t remember what the heck was going on when I found myself in a group of people counting their teeth, but I do remember that I had the least amount. And I have a decently healthy mouth, never played competitive hockey, never boxed. The main culprit here is that my teeth were gigantic and regardless of what you may think, my mouth wasn’t quite big enough to accommodate them all, so throughout my adolescence, I was always getting them pulled out to make room. I’ve always been super anxious about my mouth too because my dad had to have a crazy surgery when I was little, and I remember him having to drink meals through a straw. His jaw was wired shut for a while, and though I didn’t understand genetics, I had a feeling that this was more likely to happen to me, since we were related and all. And all of this backstory was to bring me to Jawbreaker, a band that I had an immediate affinity for, probably due to all of this mouth baggage. I’ve got them on the brain again because Post and Beam Brewery just released a smoked porter named for one of their songs, “Watch You Burn”. The beer is fantastic, and I am also thankful to have been put onto the band again. The first of their songs that I really connected with was from a mixtape that my buddy Devin made me in college; it broke twice and I dutifully took it apart and scotch-taped the magnetic tape back together, only to have it disappear in one of many moves. The Jawbreaker song was “Sea Foam Green'', from the album Etc, and it had such amazing lyrics, delivered in Blake Schwartzenbach’s garbled razorbladed voice: “I tried to drink you off my mind / I just got wasted”. Nothing made me feel better at that time than that simple adage (would you call that an adage?). It boiled everything down to bare logic: intention does not necessarily guarantee results.

Folks, I’m lining up a weekly live stream concert and interview series here at the space, that you’ll be able to tune into then and there, and also enjoy down the line. I’m really thankful that we were able to get some actual shows in during this wacky age without incident, but I’m also glad to be downshifting a little bit. The crew that we have at the spot is pretty tight, the food is off the chain, the drinks are inspired, and it’s great to feel supported and appreciated whenever you go into a place. I’m looking forward to creating living, experiential music programming for you all in the future, but do join us on these weekly forays for now as we ride out the storm. Right now, I’m listening to Lula Wiles, thanks to Nejem Raheem, esteemed Economics professor, tequila connoisseur, haggis enthusiast, and all around A-1 human being. The harmonies that they achieve reminds me of things in layers. First layer is Jenny Lewis’ debut lp with the Watson Twins, but that record is reflective of Tom Petty’s Wildflowers, which is possibly one of the greatest “classic rocker makes a new album” albums of all time. Both of those, as well as Lula Wiles’ newest, It’s Cool, capture a great live room vibe reminiscent of the old label days, where you might arrange a band in the studio so that one mic will suffice. There is a real life to this group that extends beyond now, or aural references to past folk exposition; it’s a lovely blend of confidence and humility, and it stands out right away. It’s like seeing and hearing someone you love laugh; it cuts through to the part of you that you can sometimes forget is in there amongst the to-do lists, hang-ups, and history.

Jeff Parker has been blowing my mind since I first heard Tortoise in 1997. It was TNT, the title track off of the album of the same name, and I am not sure I would have believed it to have known that at some point in the future, I would be casually talking with him at the Peterborough Historical Society before a subtly poignant set (TNT was also on that aforementioned mixtape). His guitar playing for Tortoise, as well as his small group stuff is all fantastic, but these last couple of solo albums, 2016’s The New Breed, and this year’s Suite for Max Brown are some of the most interesting and penetrating contemporary works that I’ve heard in recent years. Parker’s compositional style reminds me of Anthony Braxton a little bit, but with a bit more Wes Montgomery; it’s accessible in that it grooves, but it’s from such a deep junction of math and heart; otherworldly but so goddamn down to earth. The music feels second nature, like maybe in utero, your mother’s primary focus was to sit for eight hours a day in front of a stereo playing nothing but Stevie Wonder, Moon Dog, Alice Coltrane, Fugazi, and Ornette Coleman. It is truly music that will move anyone, while also providing rich construction and roots. These Parker records are both on International Anthem Recording Company, a flawlessly curated and presented label that released another fantastic album in Angel Bat Dawid’s Oracle, a work of both joy and power. I’ve spoken before about the massive catalogue of albums flowing from the influence of Coltrane, and how all of those threads connect and reconnect to African and other aboriginal folk sounds; this album speaks directly to all of those traditions without being derivative in the slightest. Angel Bat Dawid’s clarinet, piano, and voice stack sound into magnificent towers, but upon further inspection you find that they are slanted, and if one is so inclined, can be climbed easily, leading directly to the stars.