Of Note: CD Reviews

What qualifies a blues band to be categorized as 'deluxe'? Let's consider this question with a checklist and see how the 145th Street Deluxe Blues Band's self-titled CD stacks up.

With more than a dozen albums to her credit since her 1979 debut, you might expect Eliza Gilkyson to have mellowed a little over the decades, but as her latest disc Paradise Hotel ably shows, that couldn't be further from the truth. Generally labeled as either a singer- songwriter or Americana artist, her music certainly contains elements of both but is much harder to pin down. Minor key ballads adjoin Hammond-drenched swamp blues, next to Spanish-language laments and more. It's an excellent mix that shows Gilkyson to be adept at numerous musical styles, all of which showcase her strongpoint: lyrics.

Paradise Hotel's ten tracks are imbued with a world-weary sense of melancholy. Dylan-esque in parts, Gilkyson does tackle traditional song subjects such as relationships but also isn't afraid to take on politics and religion, with couplets such as

Gang of goons and his big war chest

Fortunate son doubly blessed

Corporate cronies and chiefs of staff

Bowing to the image of the Golden Calf

from the intense 'Man of God,' leaving little question to its author's feelings about the world today. Also strong are her story songs such as 'Jebediah 1777' based on correspondence from a Connecticut family circa 1771-89 and sounding not unlike 'Love and Kisses' era Sam Phillips.

Where Gilkyson surpasses many other socially conscious performers, it is in the balance she strikes between politically charged observation and romantic musings, never letting one side or the other dominate the listening experience. Other points of interest include vocal cameos from Shawn Colvin and Marcia Ball, and the album's one cover tune, a nice rendition of World Party's 'Is It Like Today.' Good as it is, it's dwarfed by Gilkyson's originals. Whether you've followed Gilkyson's career for the last few decades or are just curious about her sound, you'll find Paradise Hotel a worthy, and thought provoking, addition to your music collection.

In most states, it's illegal to yell 'fire' in a public building. It's equally dangerous to blurt out the words 'nineteen-eighty-five' in front of strangers.

It's 1985. No more Hippies. No more New Wavers. A new voice led a new generation down the path to College Rock, exploring the melancholy of suburbia and helping young people cope in the moral wasteland of consumer society. Remember, this was before Prozac.

The messiah-REM's Michael Stipe- spread his gospel with many disciples, breakaway sects, and lost tribes.

Enter Jeff Caudill, 2005. He actually broke outta da O.C. ten years ago with his Emo band, Gameface. But, hey, since College Rock, or now Alt Rock, is in its second decade, we need a veteran to usher in the second coming of Stipe.

The Alt Rock recipe calls for jingling riffs, quirky lyrics, ironic emptiness. Add some acoustic folk to taste.

Caudill's pop sensibilities are honed precisely for those who toe the Baby Boomers/Gen X line. The intro to 'Favorite Version of Your Life' promises something between Tom Petty and the Romantics. The acoustic soul of 'Nite Life' echoes Sarah McLachlan or a kinder, gentler Metallica. 'Never Been High' throws out some guitar punches, transporting us back even before REM. Try Robin Trower, 1976.

Pop hooks in place, Caudill dips into all the themes of a post-REM world: greener grasses somewhere else (not that this place totally sucks, mind you), relationships that don't click (not that we hate each other, mind you), the inability to fully know our fellow human beings (but we can still be friends, mind you). 'Favorite Version of Your Life' entertains the idea that we all are stars in our own fictional dramas. 'Worn Out Welcome' provides the best glimpse of Stipian irony: 'The band was cool but the club was lame.'

Caudill's world, like Michael Stipe's, is not a world of major political questions. However, 'shiny, happy people' are equally suspect. Think of Caudill as Orange County's Joseph Conrad: Colonel Kertz stares out at the soulless chain of strip malls connecting Dana Point to Fullerton. Grasping just enough moral strength, he mutters, 'The horror, the horror.'

Picassos are lacking in American popular music. Miles Davis, maybe. Brian Wilson, probably not. Even if the Brits compete, I'm not sure we'd strike cubist gold. John Lennon didn't live long enough. Sorry. And Clapton? Well, God is just not good enough. To go Picasso hunting, we'll need to stray into the unknowns, which defeats the standards of Picassodom since that Spaniard enjoyed fame for six decades.

But, let's try. Enter Mark O'Conner, an American fiddler who's been hovering just outside the margins of pop music for 30 years. If anyone deserves the Pablo Statue, it's this Grammy winner and favorite within country, bluegrass, folk and jazz circles. He's performed with Dave Grisman, Stephane Grappelli, Chet Atkins, Wynton Marsalis, Yo-Yo Ma, Garrison Keillor, Lee Ritenour, Jane Monheit, Howard Alden, and Frank Vignola. His music has led him to Nashville and Appalachia, to the New York City Ballet and the Gypsy Jazz of 1930's Paris, to Juilliard and many musical niches in between.

Double Violin Concerto is partly a cooperative effort involving the great violinist Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg, the Colorado Symphony Orchestra, and a number of small group musicians. Salerno-Sonnenberg is even given double-billing. But, this really is an O'Conner opus; the personnel come and go while the maestro is fixed at center stage.

The genre is Americana cum European classical. Think 'Peter in the Wolf,' with each instrument representing a different covered wagon, smoking hearth, and prairie dog. The title piece excepted, the compositions take names like 'Dixieland,' 'Johnny Appleseed Waltz,' and 'Marching Along the Ohio Frontier.' A haunting 'Amazing Grace' rounds out the set.

These songs breathe of tilled earth, whisking scarecrows, field mice, lazy rivers, slinging streams, even smoke and violence. They are American songs that stretch out like wide plains, turning one ear back for guidance from the Old World. At center is O'Conner's fiddle, prodding, stunning, seducing,

screeching.

Perhaps a bit verbose, this album may not click with O'Conner's more folksy following. It's a little like the quantum physicist who shows up at your Super Bowl party insisting on talking shop. The music is sublime. But, it also lacks the popular hooks that appeal to those who look to O'Conner for some 'aw, shucks' Texas fiddlin' or for a revamped version of Django Reinhardt's 'Minor Swing.'

With a 30-year career already under his belt, one might wonder whether O'Conner is near retirement. Forget it! He's only 43 and has many decades to 'pull a Picasso' or, at least, a musical Einstein. Quantum fiddle, anyone?

While Bell Records is today remembered as a record label that hit its mid-seventies peak with acts ranging from Barry Manilow to the Bay City Rollers, in actuality things started out much differently. Founded in the early fifties, the imprint was one of many that first made a name for itself releasing 'budget' recordings of rock ?n' roll era hits. Banking on the premise that listeners would forego star names to get a reasonable facsimile of the song at a lower price, producers would check the charts for soon-to-be hit records, then rush release a version to compete with the original. Charging as much as a third less for their discs, the label cashed in on the majors' success, selling tens of thousands of their replica productions. Ironically, this paved the way for Bell itself to become a major, eventually being absorbed into Arista Records and then BMG.

Gathering up more than two dozen of the labels' early releases, it's evident on first listen to Rock ?n' Roll Bell Ringers that despite the budget tag, there's nothing cut rate about the music. An excellent group of musicians were drafted to tackle the day's hits, with generally excellent results. Collectors are sure to gravitate to Tom and Jerry's 1959 cover of Jan and Dean's 'Baby Talk' as the pair would go on to greater success six years later with a subtle name change to Simon and Garfunkel. However, there are plenty of other gems to unearth here, whether you're familiar with the original or not.

Among the better known tunes, Artie Malvin turns in a credible take of Elvis' 'Hound Dog,' the Studio B Seven's version of Bill Doggett's 'Honky Tonk' could certainly hold its own in any roadhouse along Route 66, and Tony Wilson's rendition of the Diamonds' 'The Stroll' actually interjects a bit of grit and menace into the overplayed classic. Certainly there are also a few misfires among the gems. Despite excellent guitar and sax work, Sam Cee's 'Johnny B. Goode' fails due to his insistence at crooning the rocker, and Barry Franks arrangement of Frankie Lymon's immortal 'Why Do Fools Fall in Love?' is just a little too different to work. But these are minor quibbles. Complete with superb liners notes, fans of the early days of rock ?n' roll will find this to be an absolutely essential listen, with the bonus of being a fascinating look at a little known chapter in the early days of rock.