New York Music Daily

Global Music With a New York Edge

Another Brilliantly Allusive, Eclectic Album From Haunting Singer/Multi-Instrumentalist Elisa Flynn

For over ten years, Elisa Flynn has been one of the most spellbinding and distinctive voices in New York music. Her songs are rich with history. They sparkle with images and tackle some heavy questions. Her melodies range from moody Radiohead complexity, to scruffy indie vignettes, to stark detours toward noir cabaret and 19th century art-song. Flybn’s vocals – full, meticulously modulated, often soaring, sometimes wrenchingly plaintive – are the shiraz that fuels the narratives on her latest album The World Has Ever Been on Fire, streaming at Bandcamp. She’s playing Picasso Machinery, 43 Broadway at Wythe in South Williamsburg on April 27 at around 9 PM. 

On the new record, Flynn is a one-woman orchestra, playing all the: guitars, banjo and drums. The Ballad of Richie and Margot rocks pretty hard, with a dreampop edge: spare, emphatic verse, big enveloping vintage Sonic Youth chorus, bitingly crescendoing stadium-rock guitar solo in the middle. She builds hypnotically ringing, pulsing grey-sky ambience with variations on a catchy, simple guitar hook in Before He Went Down – its doomed storyline ends suddenly, yet in the exact place where it makes sense.

Flynn picks out a spiky, distantly Middle Eastern-tinged vamp as Lost in the Woods shuffles along. “Maybe I’ll be addicted to those sleeping pills as well,”she muses in Syd, a catchy, darkly watery anthem. Paula Carino comes to mind: “I can only write these words in a kind of a trance…I can only feel like a girl when my lips are far too red.”

With its iush bed of multitracked, clanging guitars, the distantly tango-inflected escape anthem Wolves echoes the gloomy, anthemic intensity of Timber, the standout track on Flynn’s 2008 album Songs About Birds and Ghosts. The slowly swaying 6/8 ballad Prison Ship Martyr’s Monument – inspired by the Fort Greene memorial to the legions of US Revolutionary War soldiers who died in British captivity – is the album’s majestic centerpiece, a grim conflagration scenario. “Would you lend e your hand to climb out of the hold?” Flynn asks: the answer is all the more shattering for being left unsaid. It might be the single best song of 2018.

Veronica rises from a spare, rustic, allusively blue-infused one-chord banjo tune to a big, echoey, crashing full-band crescendo. The chiming, echoing No Diamond is even more hypnotic, an allusively wintry tableau capped off by an unexpectedly roaring guitar outro.

Sugar has a stomping, vamping mid-80s Throwing Muses vibe. The album winds up with Caution, a guarded love song that begins as a solo banjo number and then morphs into swirling, pouncing trip-hop. The contrast between sharp, translucent tunesmithing, Flynn’s enigmatic images and her strong, forceful vocals make this one of the best rock albums of 2018.

Fun fact: Flynn was a founding member of cult favorite kitchen-sink noiserockers Bunny Brains!

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An Early Morning Blaze From the Uncategorizably Brilliant Klazz-Ma-Tazz

Pianist Ben Rosenblum hit a sharks-teeth minor-key spiral, echoed with slithery precision by bandleader and violinist Ben Sutin. Meanwhile, bassist Mat Muntz dipped and swayed, a monster truck spring at peak tension crossing a ravine in some remote Chernobyl forest. Behind them, drummer Tim Rachbach worked tense variations on a clave groove as guitarist Rafael Rosa held back, deep in the shadows, saxophonist Elijah Shiffer waiting for his moment. That would come about fifteen minutes later. At this point, it was about quarter to noon on Sunday morning.

The album release show by Sutin’s phenomenal band Klazz-Ma-Tazz transcended a lot of things, including but not limited to genre specificity and time of day. While Sutin’s compositions and arrangements draw deeply from the vast well of classic Jewish folk music from east of the Danube, they’re hardly limited to that. What they play is jazz, but it’s also dance music. You could also call it film music, considering how deeply they can plunge into noir. But they didn’t stay there, or anywhere, for long.

Musicians tend not to be morning people. But watching this band blaze through two ferocious, sets made it more than worthwhile to sit there glassy-eyed after spending most of the previous evening at the Brooklyn Folk Festival. Interestingly, Sutin launched his epic Letting Go suite, from the band’s new album Meshugenah, just two songs in. Its allusive, chromatically electriified rises and falls foreshadowed the feral but expertly orchestrated intensity they’d save for the second set, veering from panoramic desertscapes to hints of samba and some Cuban flair.

Shiffer’s moment was a coda. Before then, he and Sutin had built a briefly heated conversation, but even that didn’t hint at what the saxophonist had up his sleeve. Working his baritione to what seemed the top of his register, he dropped it and reached for his alto. The choreography wasn’t perfect, but the effect was irresistibly fun as he went for the jugular…then put it down, picked up the bari again and took that big horn to heights nobody expected, or probably imagined were possible. Sure, it was a show-off move: to see somebody actually pull it off at such an early hour was really something else.

Sutin told the crowd that Sunrise, Sunset was one of his alltime favorite songs, then reinvented it as lush, plaintive, latin-tinged syncopated swing, a Lynch film set somewhere in the Negev. His version of In Odessa pounced and charged, possibly mirroring Putin-era terrorism there, Rosenblum’s bittersweet accordion holding its own against the stampede.

The second set showcased the band’s sense of humor as well as how feral they can get. Muntz’s quasi-Balkan dance Cyberbalkanization had a relentless, tongue-in-cheek faux EDM whoomp-whoomp beat, Sutin and Shiffer trading terse, acidic phrases overhead. From there they ranged from brooding and mournful to cumulo-nimbus ominousness in their version of Tumbalalaika, segueing into a majestically careening, turbocharged take of the classic Misirlou – but without much in the way of surf.

They saved the guest rapper and singers for the end. Sheyn Vi Di Levone is best known as a schmaltzy ballad, but singer Astrid Kuljanic worked its coy internal rhymes for all it was worth, the band making perfectly decent, uneasy midtempo swing out of it. Then guest Zhenya Lopatnik opened their version of Bei Mir Bist Du Schön with a suspenseful, moody rubato vocal solo before the band swung it, hard. Thank You, from the band’s sizzlingly good debut album, was one of the closing numbers, awash in slashing modal riffs and shifting meters. That the band managed to play one of the best shows of 2018 so far, so early in the day, speaks for itself. Sutin’s next gig is a low-key trio show tomorrow, April 11 at 7 PM at Sidewalk. 

Single of the Day 4/9/18

The snarling psychedelic guitar solo that kicks off Les Sympathics de Porto Novo’s  A Min We Vo Nou We (via Soundcloud) offers more than just a smoky hint that it’s going to be proto stoner metal.

Nope.

Instead, it warps into absolutely feral pre-Fela Afrobeat. That the band managed to make it under brutally repressive conditions in Benin in the early 70s is even more impressive. When the organ kicks in, there’s no way you’re clicking through to anything else. It’ll be on the forthcoming African Scream Contest 2 compilation this June.

The Brooklyn Folk Festival Is Ten Years Old and Better Than Ever

Over the past decade, the Brooklyn Folk Festival has become a New York rite of passage. Like Golden Fest, Rev. Vince Anderson’s Union Pool residency, the Brooklyn Cyclones and Shakespeare in the Park, it’s something that everyone should experience at least once. It’s held over a weekend every spring, with both daytime and evening lineups; a lot of people go every year.

The best thing about the festival is that it isn’t exclusively devoted to artists who play music by the greatest and most prolific songwriter of all time – whose name varies from language to language, but invariably translates as Anonymous. This past Saturday night’s lineup featured some of that repertoire but also originals drawing on a global expanse of influences, from high-voltage Romany dance music, to moody Balkan ballads,  ecstatic Afro-Colombian trance-dance chants, honkytonk, southern gothic and jug band sounds. Which makes sense, considering that the folks at the magical Jalopy Theatre – New York’s Americana music central – put this thing together.

By the time the nighttime lineup got underway, St. Ann’s Church on Montague Street was already packed with a diverse crowd of veterans and kids hell-bent on getting the most bang for the buck out of their all-weekend or allday passes. Italian pianist/singer Luca Ferraris kicked off the evening on the stage next to the beer stand with a dynamic set of originals and a few traditional numbers that ran the gamut from bouncy dance tunes with Romany or even Russian tinges, to ballads that sometimes sauntered unexpectedly in a jazz direction. A bassist joined him about midway through and became a vocal sparring partner. Even for those in the crowd whose Italian might be limited to restaurant menu items, the songs were infectious. 

In the church’s main space, pan-Balkan singer and song reinventor Eva Salina and sorcerer accordionist Peter Stan benefited from the rich natural reverb, which added yet another layer of mystery to their distinctive versions of songs from the catalogs of iconic Romany singers Saban Bajramovic and Vida Pavlovic. Nimbly negotiating the slithery sibilances of the Romanes language, the California-born Salina channeled resilience and grace in the face of longing and abandonment, sang a cartoonishly bouncy number from the point of view of a guy overjoyed with his three-foot-tall, extremely fertile wife, and didn’t shy away from the issues of displacement and exile that permeate so much of this repertoire. Stan sized up the sonics in a split-second and maxed them out with flickering torrents of bracing minor keys and chromatics that took on new dimensions, echoing off the walls.

There was a little overlap while one of the Jalopy house bands, Skalopy, played live dub reggae and some classic Toots & the Maytals material with a lineup that included both banjo and piano. Meanwhile, in the main space, Bulla En El Barrio built a frenzy of call-and-response with their hypnotically percussive chants, which draw a straight line back from Colombia to Africa. A succession of men and women took turns leading the choir over the thunder of the percussion; they closed with an original that was as rustic and otherworldly as any of the traditional epics.

They would have been a tough act to follow, but not for Jerron Paxton, who may be the most talented musician in all of New York. Playing a longer set than any of the other acts on the bill, solo, he nonchalantly showed off his spectacular chops as oldtime acoustic blues and ragtime guitarist, fiddler, banjo and harmonica player. This time out he didn’t take a turn at the piano, but he could have. In his genial Louisiana drawl, he entertained the crowd with stories from the kind of colorful past only a musician could have…but also didn’t hesitate to remind them of the sobering reality of how many ex-slaves died of starvation after the Civil War. And you wonder why so many old blues songs mention hunger. Moving methodically between carefree proto-bluegrass fiddle, wickedly precise blues fingerpicking, ominously ancient, hypnotically percussive banjo and some fierce harmonica blues, he made it all seem easy He encored on harmonica as well, with a breathless medley of 18th century blues tunes, including Abraham Lincoln’s favorite song.

Nick Panken, frontman of high-voltage Americana crew Spirit Family Reunion, didn’t waste time admitting that they had an impossible act to follow. And they’re a great band – but loud electric rock with drums doesn’t work in a space like St. Ann’s. In that context, the matter of who was playing before or after was irrelevant. The sound people really tried their best, and the band realized what was up, so their ballads worked out ok. But when they picked up the pace, the mix was just vocals, drums and Maggie Carson’s icepick five-string banjo lines. Their songs blend bluegrass, honkytonk and oldtime string band music and they can jam like crazy. And their fan base is crazy about them. But this was the wrong venue. The Jalopy is their New York home base when they’re not on tour; they’re best experienced there.

Speaking of Jalopy people, guitarist/singer Feral Foster – who’s been running the weekly Roots and Ruckus series there since forever – was next on the bill. Looking dapper in a sharp tan suit, he crooned, picked expertly in oldtimey open tunings and took a couple of unexpected and very successful turns into ragtime and slow blues. It’s hard to think of a more original songwriter in gothic Americana. Some of the songs were tongue-in-cheek but others were not: there’s an omnipresent dark undercurrent that always grounds them in grim reality. He’s at the Jalopy virtually every Wednesday sometime after 9 PM.

Finally, at around midnight, Birmingham, Alabama’s Steel City Jug Slammers took the stage, bolstered by Ernesto Gomez and one of his bandmates from Brooklyn’s Brotherhood of the Jug Band Blues. It was amazing to watch Washtub Jay pick out swooping basslines on that clothesline string – without any tape on his fingers, either! – and play kazoo lines through a trumpet horn at the same time, and not miss a beat. Frontman Ramblin’ Ricky Tate played guitar and led the band through a sly series of shuffles and stomps as Maxwell Honeycup kept the low end going at the other side of the stage with his jug. By now, the crowd had thinned out, but these guys were not about to let anybody down.

That was it for this year’s Brooklyn Folk Festival, but a lot of these acts can be found at the Jalopy. Bulla en El Barrio are at Barbes on April 30 at around 10. Eva Salina and Peter Stan are at the American Folk Art Museum on May 4 at 5:30 PM, sharing the bill with irrepressibly fun, charming oldtimey chanteuse Tamar Korn, who can vocalize any wind instrument ever invented.. The Steel City Jug Slammers are at KGB Bar at around 9:30 PM on April 11. And Spirit Family Reunion are at the Knickerbocker, 35 Railroad Ave. in Westerly, Rhode Island on April 14 at 9 for $13 in advance.

At 72, Soul Survivor Bettye LaVette Releases Her Best Album At a Sold-Out Show at City Winery

Friday night at City Winery, soul music legend Bettye LaVette bragged that she was the oldest living artist with a new record deal. She joked with the sold-out crowd, explaining that at 72, she’s at the point where she needs a cheat sheet – except that onstage, she can barely read the thing. But she’s never sung better, nor has she had such a great band behind her. It was a shattering performance by someone who’s dedicated herself to transcendence probably more for simple survival than as a career strategy.

LaVette was the first of a long line of soul music rediscoveries back in the 90s, rising from near destitution in Detroit to a level of popularity that had eluded her since a promising start as a teenager in the 1960s.  Most recently, a member of her inner circle had floated the idea that she should do an album of Bob Dylan covers. That took shape with her latest release, Things Have Changed, streaming at youtube. A cynic would say that it’s the kind of last-ditch stunt a cash-starved label would pull, recycling whatever they have left in the vaults that still might generate any income. Yet LaVette reinvents these tunes, many of them on the obscure side, as the guy who wrote them never could. As Dylan cover albums go, the only two that rank alongside this one are Mary Lee’s Corvette’s thrilling, chilling live performance of Blood on the Tracks, and The Byrds Play Dylan.

The band behind LaVette had brilliance to match LaVette’s gritty, simmeringly impassioned vocals. Guitarist Brett Lucas was more slash than flash with his purist, pristine minor-key blues licks. Bassist James Simonson and drummer Darryl Pierce switched from swing to lowdown slink. Keyboardist Evan Mercier shifted between deep echoey shadows from his electric piano, to moody washes of organ.

LaVette didn’t waste time bringing the blue-flame intensity to redline with the album’s title track, stalking along over reverbtoned electric piano and Lucas’ minor-key surgical incisions. In her hands, “I’m locked in tight and I’m way out of range” took on as many meanings as its author possibly could have intended. Later in the set, the syncopated tension of The Times They Are A-Changin’ underscored the sudden relevance that song’s taken on since the fateful 2016 Presidential election. LaVette also mined new depths in a defiantly strutting version of Ain’t Talkin, a surreal travelogue in a world that grows ever more “mysterious and vague.”

The rest of the set followed a dynamic, up-and-down arc, from Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight – reinvented as Lou Reed soul by way of Karla Rose, maybe – to the Rhodesy, bluesy Seeing the Real You At Last, with a resolute backbeat drive as Steve Wynn could have done it.

Lucas and Simonson joined forces with suspenseful downward chromatic riffage to punctuate Do Right To Me Baby (Do Unto Others) as LaVette channeled distant venom, yet held back from fullscale drama: she knows to always leave you wanting more. She explained that it had taken her a couple of bottles of champagne to get a handle on how to sing Emotionally Yours – but also that the song had made her cry. She encored with her one original of the night,  Before the Money Came, a brisk career retrospective that was surprisingly much more sweet than bitter, the band giving it a summery Memphis groove.

LaVette’s current tour continues; lucky Oregonians can see her on April 22 at 7:30 at the Aladdin Theatre, 3017 SE Milwaukie Ave. in Portland for $35, cheaper than any other recent show of hers. If soul or gospel music is your thing, don’t miss the Resistance Revival Chorus, who came out of the first Women’s March on Washington and whose allstar all-female cast sing lavish, brand-new gospel-flavored protest songs. They’re at City Winery on April 12 at 8 PM for $15.

Video Satire of the Day – LMAO

If twee overkill has pushed you past the boiling point, you’ll feel deliciously avenged by Passive Aggressives Anonymous’ new video, (Let’s Have a Nice White) Middle Class Male Cry (via Youtube). If NPR doesn’t pick this deadpan, venomous faux bossa pop tune for a Tiny Desk Concert, there’s something wrong. Frontguy John Valenti’s outfit and haircut are just as spot-on sick as the song. Weird Al Yankovic meets Tredici Bacci with a Morrissey wannabe out front – it’s funny just to think about.

A Rare, Shattering All-Mieczyslaw Weinberg Program at Baruch College

Wednesday night at Baruch College , the strings of the Attacca Quartet circled in, awash in a lethal mist of overtones as pianist Jeanne Golan played a low lefthand barroom riff.  As the swirl grew more menacing, there was no doubt that violinists Amy Schroeder and Keiko Tokunaga, violist Nathan Schram and cellist Andrew Yee were going to snuff the life out of any and all possible revelry from the keys. Was that moment, from the third movement of  Mieczyslaw Weinberg’s Quintet for Piano and String Quartet, meant as sweet revenge over the lockstep conformity that had driven the composer from one frying pan into another, from the Nazis to the Soviets? Or was it a depiction of the Nazis ruining the party for everyone?

Weinberg lived across the street from Dmitri Shostakovich for a time, and the two were great friends, so it’s tempting to choose the former answer. That’s bolstered by the fact that the influence of this piece is strongly felt in Shostakovich’s immortal String Quartet No. 7 – the one where he’s hunted down by the gestapo. And beyond playing together, four hands on the piano, and championing each others’ work, each composer’s repertoire bristles with irony and satire.

Or maybe Weinberg was being entirely straightforward. When he wrote this masterpiece in 1944, did he know that his entire family would be murdered at Auschwitz? Did have any inkling that a few years later, he’d be on death row in the Soviet gulag? It  took the death of Stalin to facilitate Weinberg’s release.

If there’s ever been a composer who came face to face with evil, it was Weinberg. Golan told the crowd that she couldn’t have imagined a more apt choice to celebrate this Passover Week, “Recognizing exile and persecution, wherever it happens,” as she put it. And this was the piece de resistance on the bill. She and the quartet reveled in its epic dynamics and vast series of thematic shifts, capturing all of its raw angst, simmering anger and the muted horror that eventually closes it, subdued pizzicato and funereal piano fading as the graveyard looms ahead.

The ride there was almost as harrowing. Golan shifted as seamlessly as could be done, between woundedly glittering Rachmanonvian passages, icy nocturnal interludes, enigmatically jaunty boogie-inflected romps and circling pedalpoint that drew a straight line back to medieval Hasidic ngunim. The quartet had similarly vast terrain to cover, from icepick pizzicato, to distantly savage Bartokian acidity, to brooding, doomed conversational fragments, and clearly, they got it. It seemed as breathtaking for them to play as it was to witness.

Golan and Yee opened the night with Weinberg’s Sonata No. 2 for Cello and Piano, a 1958 piece that came across as a mashup of Ravel and Mompou, an enigmatic blend of astringent 20th century tonalities and eerie, circling belltone phrases, in addition to variations alluding to ancient Jewish liturgical melodies. The interplay and exchanges between Yee and Golan made for a grave conversation and numerous desolate/intricate contrasts.

Midway through, Golan treated the crowd to Weinberg’s 1951 Sonatine For Piano,  a similar blend of modernist melodicism and classical gestures, with Jewish mysticism as a backdrop. Golan and the quartet have recorded these pieces for a forthcoming album; it comes as no surprise that Golan has also recorded works by another great Jewish composer of Weinberg’s era, Viktor Ullmann, who was even unluckier, but whose similarly dynamic body of work survived his murder in the Holocaust.

The Attacca Quartet’s next concert is a program TBA, on April 22 at 3 PM at the Presbyterian Church of Chatham Township, 240 Southern Blvd in Chatham Township, New Jersey.

Slinky Female-Fronted Funk and Soul From Shelley Nicole’s BlaKbüshe at Lincoln Center

“It is going to be an amazing, amazing night,” enthused Lincoln Center’s Jordana Leigh as politically fearless singer Shelley Nicole took the stage there last night with her shapeshifting eight-piece band blaKbüshe. This was the latest of a long series of Lincoln Center performances for the veteran member of kaleidoscopic New York avant funk institution Burnt Sugar.

Dressed in a natty grey suit with gold sleeves and vest, sporting a short mohawk and smacking a tambourine, she and her nine-piece band kicked off the party with BlaK Girls, a slinky latin-flavored funk tune that took a turn into classic 70s disco and then back. Keyboardist Leon Gruenbaum wound it up with a bubbly Rhodes solo. He teamed up with bassist Ganessa James for a thunderstorm low end as the band pounced into Box – as in “You’re not gonna box me!” – a heavy, cinematic funk tune driven by drummer Hiroyuki Matsuura and percusionist Shawn Banks.’

As the show went on, members of the Burnt Sugar family pitched in. One intoned a heartfelt, elegaic poem, For Marjory over a spaciously twinkly Isaac Hayes psych-soul backdrop. From there the group segued into the Harlem River Drive boudoir soul ballad Give It to Me, the bandleader’s impassioned vocals in tandem with harmony singer Ki Ki Hawkins, handing off to T. Jeffrey Smith’s smoky tenor sax and then a moody trumpet solo from Lewis Barnes before a big horn raveup.

Burnt Sugar guitarist Ben Tyree materialized at the back of the stage as Jerome Jordan switched out during that band’s Somebody to Love You, a slow-jam salute to motherhood punctuated by resonant, wee-hours muted trumpet and some snazzy, flickering tremolo-picking. Meanwhile, videos played on the screen overhead – one particularly strong image was a woman being embraced from behind, “Our love is militant” lipsticked on her chest.

A Doobie Brothers cover by any other band would have cleared the room, but you have to give this crew credit for having the chutzpah to do Long Train Running, reinventing it as a brisk soul-clap tune with a growling Jeff Jeudy metal guitar solo midway through.  A poetic tribute to Nina Simone was a big hit, followed by the catchy, determined hard-funk anthem I Am American, inspired by the promise of Obama’s first campaign.

“Puerto Rico is not in the news cycle. Let us not forget,” Nicole reminded, explaining that she’d welcome any contributions for a family with two little girls there that she’s helping through hard times. Then she launched into her new pro-choice single Punnany Politixxx – but before she did that she made sure everybody knew what punanny is. Images from recent womens’ marches played overhead as the group built momentum up to a rapidfire dancehall reggae coda featuring Jua Kali. 

The night’s best song was the defiantly undulating, organ-fueled latin soul anthem In Your View. They closed with Power on the Floor, its latin-funk message of empowerment inspired by the character Trinity in The Matrix. Fans of this band should also check out the free show on April 13 at 7:30 PM at the Lincoln Center atrium space just south of 63rd St. where singer Martha Redbone will collaborate with the similarly eclectic Brooklyn Raga Massive for a mashup of Indian and African-American sounds. Get there early if you’re going.

The Irrepressibly Fun Klazz-Ma-Tazz Radically Reinvent Classic Yiddish Vaudeville Themes

Klazz-Ma-Tazz’s lusciously Lynchian 2016 album Tangibility was one of the half-dozen best releases of the year. Violinist Ben Sutin’s group bring fearless jazz adventurousness to an individualistic, darkly electric sound that draws equally on classic klezmer, Balkan and Middle Eastern sounds. Interestingly, their forthcoming album Meshugenah – streaming at Bandcamp  – is mostly reinventions of iconic Yiddish vaudeville tunes. Sutin’s objective here is to do with that repertoire what Charlie Parker and John Coltrane did with Broadway songs, in other words, establish a new Great American Songbook for future generations of jazz players. To say that the new record is as astonishingly original and irresistibly fun as the last one isn’t an overstatement. They’re playing the klezmer brunch at around 11 AM this Sunday, April 8 at City Winery; cover is $10, kids under 12 get in free and there’s no minimum. You better believe that this blog will be in the house.

Ben Rosenblum’s dark washes of accordion underscore Alec Goldfarb’s flickering guitar as the enigmatically tropical take of Alexander Olshantesky’s Mein Shtetele Belz gets underway; violin and guitar solos keeps the edgy bounce going, the latter edging toward Django Reinhardt territory. Elijah Shiffer’s clarinet veers from a party in the Pale to dixieland and then back. A Hawk and a Hacksaw and 3 Leg Torso come to mind.

Sutin’s arrangement of Svalava Kozatshok has a suspenseful trip-hop pulse anchored by Shifffer’s baritone sax, up to a shreddy fireball solo from Goldfarb; Sutin adds devious hints of bluegrass, then the band make Hava Nagila metal out of it. Are we having fun yet?

Drummer Tim Rachbach kicks into thumping techno mode in Cyberbalkanization, a suspensefully pulsing Turkish-flavored metal tune by bassist Mat Muntz, bristling with high-voltage tradeoffs and intertwining solos. They take it out with Beninghove’s Hangmen-style metal and then a psychedelic accordion outro

Sutin’s remake of the traditional tune Tumbalalaika has a desolate, glimmering poignancy, Rosenblum’s starry piano against Goldfarb’s languid Romany-tinged phrases, Sutin takes the energy up between a forlornly dancing Muntz solo and Rosenblum’s graceful, elegaic conclusion.

Astrid Kuljanic sings the first of two Joseph Rumshinsky numbers, Sheyn Vi Di Levone, a sardonic noir Vegas tango of sorts: her jazz kazoo solo has to be heard to be believed. Then they make Balkan metal out of Im Odessa – but with Rosenblum’s accordion, Shiffer’s airy alto sax and Sutin’s wild spirals interspersed up to a punchline that’s too good to spoil.

Sunrise, Sunset gets reinvented as a slinky, distantly lurid Twin Peaks Red Room theme, lit up with Rosenblum’s cascades, Shiffer’s summery alto trading off with Sutin’s knifes-edge violin before things get really crazy,

Pretty much every klezmer band does Rumshinsky’s Builgar; Klazz-Ma-Tazz’s epic version blends Hendrix, hints of an Appalachian dance and Balkan metal into a colorful salute to the song’s theatrical origins. And the take of Bei Mir Bist Du Schon is surreal to the extreme, balmy Rachelle Garniez-esque balladry bookending hard swing with Sutin at the center; Zhenya Lopatnik sings

Sutin’s only original here, the diptych Letting Go, is the album’s most cinematic track. A lushly vamping, edgy Middle Eastern groove gives way to a rippling Rosenblum piano solo, then Sutin gives the music in a brighter, more latin pulse, Golfarb’s icepicking signaling a return to an insistent attack. This band has a huge ceiling: fans of jazz, metal, Jewish folk, David Lynch soundtracks and all other things noir will not be disappointed. You’ll see this on the best albums of 2018 page if we make it that far.

Tantalizing Original Surf Rock from the Jagaloons in the East Village Friday Night

Unsteady Freddie is sort of the Alan Lomax of East Coast surf music. Practically every month since the early zeros, he’s made the shlep in from out of town to Otto’s Shrunken Head, where he hosts what can often be a marathon night of surf rock. The crowds have thinned out over the years, but he’s still at it. His youtube channel has thousands of videos from over ten years worth of shows by bands who otherwise probably never would have played here.

This month’s lineup – on Friday the 6th – is pretty characteristic of what you can find there these days. There are cover bands at 9 and 10 PM, then the Jagaloons – who draw on spaghetti western and hotrod music as well as surf – play at 11. Jangly New York original surf rock cult heroes the Supertones headline sometime around midnight, revisiting their glory days when they used to pack the old Luna Lounge on Saturday nights.

If you’re into twang and clang and tons of reverb, you should grab both the Jagaloons’ ep and single, which are up at Bandcamp as name-your-price downloads. The first one, Knife Bumps, kicks off with the title track, built around a catchy descending fuzztone guitar riff, in s Peter Gunne Theme vein.

They do a haphazard cover of the Ventures’ Journey to the Stars and follow it with the wry border rock theme Sexo en la Playa. Then they pull out the repeaterbox and all the fuzz and whiplash volleys of drums for Creature From the Jagaloon Lagoon. After a skittish take of another Ventures classic, Penetration, they end with Deadeye, which has a long, dramatic buildup and then careens all over the place through a catchy bunch of changes before modulating.

The single is titled All Surfed Up and includes Kanagawal, a sort of twin-guitar update on Pipeline, and the spaghetti western-tinged Rancho Relaxo, their best song so far. Considering how imaginative, and also how purist their songwriting is, it’s a good bet that the band have tightened up their sound since throwing these recordings together.