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I Will (Live at Glenwood Canyon)

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Music Travel Love

by   ANG-LETRA

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I Don't Want To Miss A Thing

Guitar chords left-handed.

បុប្ផាឈៀងមៃ

ស៊ីន ស៊ីសាមុត

មនុស្សបែកគ្នា ជួបគ្នាវិញទេ?

ស្នាមបេះដូង

ពេជ្រ សូលីកា

ប្រយោគស្នេហ៍

ដួង វីរៈសិទ្ធ

ថេណា (Tena)

អនអើយស្រីអន

និយមន័យស្នេហ៍

សាពូន មីដាដា

រៀនលេងហ្គីតារ៍ខដ

រៀនព្យាណូនិងអកកាដង់

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វេចនានុក្រមព្យាណូខដ

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Black Crowes at full throttle at MGM Music Hall

They say that critics are just frustrated musicians, but there’s a lot to be said about the inverse as well. No band shows up in 1990 — amid a pop landscape of Madonna, George Michael, and New Kids on the Block, where the most dominant forms of guitar-based music were the glam metal stylings of Bon Jovi and Poison — playing a raucous Rolling Stones/Faces/Joe Cocker throwback and taking Otis Redding to the Top 40 for the first time since the Johnson administration if it’s not commenting on the state of popular music as the ‘80s draw to a close.

So when Black Crowes singer Chris Robinson kicked off Sunday’s sold-out MGM Music Hall at Fenway show by declaring “Alright, Boston, let’s have a [expletive] rock and roll show!,” that was criticism, directed at the past as well as the present. And the band backed up its arguments with decades-old material that still ripped and cuts from last month’s “Happiness Bastards” that fit snugly next to the classics. If the new songs didn’t hit the same resonances as ones that have had 30-plus years to embed themselves in the audience’s DNA, the immediate dopamine rush they triggered was awfully similar.

The band came out charging with the new “Bedside Manners,” Stonesy swagger set to a “Dance to the Music” beat, and “Rats and Clowns” sat at the midway point between AC/DC inertia and the high-tension drone of Cheap Trick. Cully Symington’s drums lightly pulled the laid-back “Wanting and Waiting” forward, while the band was more slippery than usual on “Dirty Cold Sun,” even with Erik Deutsch’s bouncy clavinet spiking up the bridge.

The mix of band-member vintages notwithstanding, the Black Crowes came across not as young and hungry but as mature and in control. They could be patient; the smeary slide guitar opening of “Twice as Hard” led to the band playing with space, letting some chords hang in the air, waiting to resolve. And “Thorn in My Pride” built masterfully from gentle “Let It Bleed” funk to the interplay between Nico Bereciartua’s piercing guitar solo and Rich Robinson’s tight, chunky filigrees to Chris’s vocal ad libs and Symington’s insistent cymbal work. None of it was indulgent. All of it moved.

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Chris’s raspy tenor made every lyric sound like it came from a place of urgency, if not desperation, and songs like the sweaty “Sting Me” made it hard to picture him putting more into his vocal as a young man. After throwing themselves into the cockeyed lurch of “Remedy” (including maracas and güiro from the backing vocalists that were essential to the groove), the Black Crowes returned for an encore with “God’s Got It,” swampy gospel blues with a heavy shuffle played with fire, music and music criticism bound together.

Boston trio GA-20 opened with amiable but ambling blues-rock that could have used a sharper focus or attack.

Marc Hirsh can be reached at [email protected] or on Bluesky @spacecitymarc.bsky.social.

THE BLACK CROWES

With GA-20. At MGM Music Hall at Fenway, Sunday

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David Crowell: Point/Cloud review – minimalism that sparkles with joy

(Better Company Records) The New York multi-instrumentalist, who has played with Philip Glass and Steve Reich, shows great flair for making minimalism rich and harmonically complex

C rowell has been an in-demand musician around New York for more than a decade – playing saxophone, flute and guitars with the likes of the Philip Glass Ensemble, the Bang on a Can All-Stars, Steve Reich and in his own outfits Empyrean Atlas, Spirit Stout and Eco-Tonal – but Point/Cloud foregrounds his work as a composer. Here he delegates performance duties to several very different ensembles – other guitarists, a percussion troupe, a singer and cellist – to create a diverse suite unified by a singular vision.

Minimalism is often robotic, repetitive and melodically stunted, but Crowell’s minimalism is wonderfully rich and harmonically complex: busy arpeggios sketch out dense, extended chords that constantly mutate and move in unexpected directions. The three-part title track, like Pacific Coast Highway, is a piece of baroque flamenco with Daniel Lippel multitracking multiple electric and nylon-strung guitars: it’s apparently inspired by Steve Reich’s Electric Counterpoint, but also nods to Vini Reilly and John Fahey.

In a completely different vein is the 15-minute opener, Verses For a Liminal Space, a piece of junkyard minimalism performed by the New York quartet the Sandbox Percussion. It starts as a clattering symphony of arrhythmic percussion, like a drummer falling down an endless staircase, and slowly foregrounds the serene, hypnotic harmonies of the marimbas and vibraphones, resolving as a piece of Eno-esque ambience. In yet another wildly different style is the closer 2 Hours In Zadar, a haunting duet that sets the woozy vocals and sketchy cello of Iva Casián-Lakoš alongside Crowell’s electronic drones. Throughout, Crowell constructs geometric structures that have a rare sense of kinetic energy: this is music that glistens, sparkles and dances with joy.

Also out this month

Grammy-winning LA-based drummer Amy Aileen Wood is best known for her work with the likes of Fiona Apple and her score for the Netflix documentary White Hot. Her solo debut, The Heartening (released 3 May, Colorfield Records), recalls the scrapheap jazz of Tom Waits’s Swordfishtrombones mixed with early Aphex Twin, with Apple among some intriguing guests. MMM (out now on Hallow Ground), by the Japanese composer and sound artist who goes by the name FUJI||||||||||TA , is an odd and disconcerting mix of slow, throbbing, gradually mutating solo pipe organ compositions and growling scat-singing. SSRI are Polish duo Sandra Mikolajczyk and Igor Gadomski. They describe their music as “the darker fringes of dub”, but their self-titled debut LP (released 29 April on Pointless Geometry) is a lot weirder than that: a series of subaquatic funereal dirges, using reverb effects, slowed-down drums, eerie vocals and distorted drones. Whale reggae, if you will.

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Review: Gustavo Dudamel Saves the Day at the Philharmonic

Dudamel, the New York Philharmonic’s incoming music and artistic director, stepped in after a guest conductor fell ill.

By Oussama Zahr

It was lucky that Gustavo Dudamel was in town.

On April 20, the New York Philharmonic announced that Juanjo Mena, who was scheduled to conduct the orchestra in three sold-out concerts starting on Thursday, had fallen ill. Dudamel, the ensemble’s incoming music and artistic director , was already expecting to be around to lead the spring gala on Wednesday.

And so he saved the day. Stepping in for Mena, Dudamel, who assumes his Philharmonic post in 2026, led, in his only subscription concert appearances this season, a dichotomous program of dazzling crowd-pleasers and a thorny modernist work with utmost finesse. Pieces by Ravel and Pablo de Sarasate shone as they should, and the evening’s unlikely centerpiece, Ginastera’s Violin Concerto, was a 30-minute fever dream of serialist fancies and ferocities. (“Ibéria,” from Debussy’s “Images for Orchestra,” was cut after Mena bowed out.)

An evening built from Spanish-tinged French pieces could have slipped into fiery and fragrant clichés, but instead it demonstrated the musical values that the Philharmonic’s audience can expect from Dudamel, including snappy rhythms, neatly managed transitions and fortes so punchy, they could leave a mark on your cheek. Orchestral tuttis had clarity and body from top to bottom.

Dudamel used Ravel’s exquisite interplay of instrumental timbres to enliven the moods of “Rapsodie Espagnole,” which opened the concert. Sharply vivid rather than suggestively chimerical, the scenes and dances had a trim, finely honed character. Dudamel’s clockwork sophistication was better suited to the concert’s closer, Ravel’s beloved “Boléro,” in which he methodically developed tonal richness, sculpted the sound and dialed up the intensity over the piece’s 15-minute span. The sudden, layered climax had the effect of a tsunami: hitting and washing over the auditorium at the same time.

The Philharmonic, which Dudamel will lead more frequently next season before officially undertaking his duties, is already showing signs of his influence. And he collaborated seamlessly with the evening’s soloist, the violinist Hilary Hahn, the orchestra’s artist in residence.

A musician of poise and rounded tone, Hahn proved in the Ginastera that she can make just about anything sound beautiful. In her interpretation, the piece shed its acrid angularity. She folded trills, stops and sweet harmonics into unbroken lines, and when she harmonized with herself, she utilized the plushness and patience familiar from her Bach recordings.

The first movement’s six études were a showcase for Hahn’s taste, as well as for her technical skill. She demonstrated ease in fistfuls of chords, silky thirds, gently seesawing arpeggios and glowing harmonics. Her Adagio was warmly spacious, and she dashed off the fiendish Perpetuum Mobile with a touch of rawness that sounded like an interpretive choice rather than an effect of the breakneck speed.

For his part, Dudamel summoned hectoring drama and elemental power in the Ginastera, but also subtlety. The harmonics étude, which exploits the ethereality of celesta, harp and glockenspiel, had an eerie ambivalence that hovered between fairy magic and something more sinister. The study of quarter tones occupied a haunting, liminal state.

The composure that made Hahn’s Ginastera a fascinating exercise in finding beauty in unlikely places shortchanged the flair of Sarasate’s “Carmen” Fantasy, in which elaborations on the sultry melodies of Bizet’s beloved opera invite showmanship. More rhythmic alacrity would have propelled lines forward. In melodic passages like the Habanera, Hahn turned a little singsongy, but the “Tra la la” section, with its languorous flirtations, suited the way she sits back and luxuriates in her sound. Her encore, the Loure from Bach’s Partita No. 3, likewise had a lovely, long-limbed quality.

Sarasate’s piece reduces the orchestra to an accompanying role, and with a conductor as charismatic as Dudamel, the force of his focus was palpable as he studied Hahn to time the Philharmonic’s entrances. There was a genuine engagement and responsiveness among the soloist, the ensemble and the maestro. If this is the rapport Dudamel can generate with the players on a moment’s notice, it’s exciting to think of what will happen in 2026 when they have more of his attention.

New York Philharmonic

Performed on Friday at David Geffen Hall, Manhattan.

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