I’m starting to feel my age. When devoting time to music – as I have been doing for a lifetime – additional certitudes are needed. Firstly, that time should not be squandered anymore (which is increasingly difficult to avoid, courtesy of the ever-growing amount of audio garbage saturating the inbox on a daily basis). If anything, a degree of harmonic relief and – if at all possible – a decent dose of humor are essential. To fulfill these prerequisites, I typically turn to performers whose artistic reliability is guaranteed, no ifs and buts. Among them, The Muffins have for decades been a group that can be trusted in order to enjoy recordings that are rewarding in almost every regard.
I am currently delving, shamefully late, into the magnificent Baker’s Dozen box set released by Cuneiform in 2022. But a week or so ago, while reading a newsletter sent by good old Steve Feigenbaum, my eyes fell on Natura Morta, the most recent solo release by multi-instrumentalist Dave Newhouse. That is, one of the mainstays, as well as a founding member, of The Muffins. Instinctively, I felt that I had to immediately go check it out. That, in short, there would be fun to be had. Needless to say, I wasn’t wrong.
“Natura Morta” translates (aptly and somewhat poetically) as “Still Life”. However, the literal meaning of the Latin expression is “dead nature.” If we didn’t know that Newhouse is also a painter, it would seem absurd to use this definition for music that is so lively, amusing, cleverly twisted. For sure the idea of wilting flowers and lifeless animals resides at the opposite end of the spectrum of what’s conjured up by Newhouse and his fellow adventurers (illustrious guests are featured – give the link above a click).
From the very opening “XTensions” we breathe in a fresh air of uneven tempos, Muffin-esque harmonizations and wildly refined soloism on behalf of Newhouse & Co. But the composer’s eclecticism allows for a number of equally attractive digressions, whether through a 7/8 homage to Louis Hardin (aka Moondog) or the ironic militarism of “Stinker Wink Takes A Walk”. The latter is perhaps my favorite: a challenging lesson in counterpoint, which at one juncture seems to quote – involuntarily? – Stan Kenton’s “Intermission Riff”.
And I have only mentioned the first three pieces, alone worth more than an entire album by many supposed “artists” who “grace” our ears day in, day out. Now that I have given you the initial push, do the rest yourself. For example, try the thematically (and technically) remarkable title track; and don’t be overly upset if the final duet of keyboards and steel guitar in “A Thousand Lands” sounds a tiny bit corny compared to the other tracks. It’s all part of the game Newhouse proposes: to get useful brains, possibly fried by social network bullshit and doom scrolling, back to “active mode” again. Like in the days of yore. And, in case you’re wondering, no – this old fart does not use a smartphone.
Speaking of ancient tales, of sonically gifted humans it was once said “capable of playing and composing”. Words such as “originality” and “inventiveness” were not regarded as anomalies. Crap was not treated as royalty on hip magazines. Does anyone remember when a difference existed between born musicians and blank-stare, made-in-Berklee semi-mechanical creatures with excellent connections inside the journalistic establishment? To this minute we fondly recollect how, in 1981, we managed to find a rare copy of Fred Frith’s Gravity in a small record shop in Tuscany, thanks to which we initially learned about the microcosm of instrumental brilliance created by Newhouse along with Paul Sears, Tom Scott, Billy Swann, Michael Zentner, and other temporary members I’m momentarily forgetting. As a decrepit curmudgeon, I will still be cherishing this music’s quick-witted warmth, trying to get at least some of the accents right with my foot. AmeriCanterbury is here to stay – and it will keep causing nodding smiles in yours truly.
MASSIMO RICCI. TOUCHING EXTREMES. 