You can never go home again, or so I have read. With a slight nod in the direction of defeat, for the first time in three years I am inclined to agree. Home, my home, the hanging moss over the gravestones in the swollen, humid mist, the familiar voices over drinks and dinner, childhood a three hour trek away....it's all over, and I can't go back. I miss it in the cold nights, in winter. I miss having people who understand me, even though I'll never really think anyone does. That doesn't exist anymore and the sooner this idea is embraced, the easier it will be to move forward. Thank you New York, for showing me the cruel, harsh, traffic-ridden way. I will miss you. But not like that.

Beats Antique: Blind Threshold (originally appeared in CIDER magazine)

I'm fairly certain that when the average person hears the term "bellydance" that images of breakdancing and electronica are not the first things to come to mind. These average people have not had the pleasure of experiencing Beats Antique and the popping, locking, explosive personality of world famous tribal fusion bellydancer Zoe Jakes. In recent years, Tribal Fusion, an offshoot of American Tribal Style Bellydance (ATS) has gained enormous popularity with its sharp locking punctuations and dark earthy textures, effectively crushing the imagery one normally envisions of glitter and hot pink sequins that goes hand in hand with traditional Egyptian Cabaret style bellydance. At the helm of this movement are a dance troupe known as the Indigo, consisting of Rachel Brice, Mardi Love, and Zoe Jakes, each with their own take on the form. Jakes in particular has fused her love of bellydance with her passion for the popping and locking elements of breakdance, and has created a version of the art form that is truly one of a kind.

As this movement has evolved, so too has the music accompanying the dance. Whereas traditional middle eastern music was the standard of old, these days fusion dancers can be seen dancing to anything, from breakbeats to classical music to Tom Waits. By far the most impressive product of this evolution is Beats Antique, a melting pot of world and middle eastern music mixed with elements of electronica, trip-hop and everything in between. The three piece outfit consists of composers David Satori and Tommy Cappel, and is topped off with Zoe's accompanying live performance. Their latest offering, entitled Blind Threshold, combines a bit of their trademark sound and takes a few adventurous steps forward, including actual vocals for the first time on the song "Rising Tide," and electrified harmonica on "There Ya Go." Standout tracks and my personal favorites are the tabla-heavy 'Egyptic', the strange western-style guitar flavored "Spiderbite" and the dark, glitchy strings and pianos on "Miss Levine." To be sure, Beats Antique have continued their impressive evolution over three full length albums and an EP, and Blind Threshold is a worthy soundtrack for creative minds and bellydancers alike.

Liz Phair: FunStyle (originally appeared in CIDER magazine)

I never had an older, wiser, possibly drug-addled sister. You know, someone to bestow upon me all kinds of wisdom about life, love (or lack thereof), self-loathing, men or intergalactic star implosions as sexual metaphors. Turns out I didn't need one. Liz Phair's 1993 debut album Exile in Guyville (and subsequent follow up Whip-Smart) was all I ever needed to know about all of these topics and then some. One listen to Liz banging out her hollow, demented version of Chopsticks on her piano was all my thirteen year old self had to hear, and I was hooked. I spent much of that year devising elaborate plots to to not only buy but listen to these albums on cheap headphones every single day under a shroud of anti-parental secrecy. Liz Phair and her life lessons were strictly forbidden to me, probably for a good reason but not one that I was about to find acceptable at the time, or ever. Even now I consider these albums to be cornerstones of my adolescent worldview, these precious collections of a storyteller who can't really sing, a musician who could only marginally play. They were endearing and they were honest, almost heartbreakingly so. Her songs were rich with characters that reflect an endless measure of longing, desperation, melancholy, self-depracation and occasionally a certain sort of perforated hope, often with a healthy coating of grime and swirling guitar feedback.

So you can imagine my surprise when, in 2010, I hear that Phair has a new album out, entitled "Funstyle". And she's rapping. Over Indian dance beats. After unglueing my jaw from the floor, (and it took awhile) I listened to the entire album, beginning to end. My first thought was" What is she thinking?!" Well apparently she has been thinking, and a lot. Liz has quite a bit on her mind, and she wants you to know about it. She wants you to know exactly what she thinks about her failed 2003 bid at pop stardom, soulless suburban soccer moms at Starbucks, her record label, and her management team, and she wants to tell it all to you over some of the most fantastically bizarre, electronic beats that blend everything from sitars (on the song Bollywood) to deranged disco and hip-hop, with a little falsetto operatic drama (on the track Smoke) thrown in there for good measure. For all its' mismatched, borderline psychotic charm it is truly Ms. Phair's most brazenly honest work since the days of her voice cracking over tambourines and guitars that sounded like they were recorded in a dive bar's broom closet, and this is where her brilliance lies. She tried to fool us in the late 90's/early 2000's by insisting she was a 'serious musician,' a move that backfired horribly. Make no mistake, Liz Phair is a storyteller first, a musician only second if not third.

While many longtime fans of Phair's would dismiss this album and tell you that her wit and wisdom died when she sold her indie darling soul to the business, Funstyle resurrects the same introspective genius of the early 90s and spits it back out in a web of all-out strangeness that can only come from an artist who has truly ceased caring what the industry thinks of her. Love it or just love to hate it, it is certainly worth a listen. It is a rare glimpse into the creativity that comes to light when one has nothing left to lose and no one to impress any longer, and though it can never replace the low-fi gloom of her glory days, it is at the very least unforgettable.

Rasputina: Sister Kinderhook (originally appeared in CIDER magazine)

It's a bit hard to believe it's been fourteen years since Melora Creager, (cellist and the creative force behind all that is Rasputina) whisper-sung in in her trademark vibrato the lyrics "It don't pay to be careful, don't pay to be nice...I don't think I'll try again" on their 1996 debut Thanks for the Ether. Thankfully, seven full length albums and a decade and a half later have proven that not only will she in fact try again, she will succeed on every level, weaving her brand of wry wit, morbid humor, and twisted historical tales over an electrified cello and maybe tell you a story about the Donner Party in between.

For the uninitiated, Rasputina was begun by Ms. Creager after a stint as Nirvana's touring cellist for the In Utero tour. What began as a corseted, hoop-skirted 'no boys, no guitars' project called the Ladies' Cello Society has morphed over the last couple of decades into an utterly unique rock-influenced band that employs electrified cellos, a drummer, and yes, even boys these days. The hoop skirts have fallen by the wayside at their live shows in place of a stray Indian feather or two, but the driving force and mastermind is always front and center, fingers manipulating sounds out of a classical instrument in ways one has to see to believe.
Rasputina's seventh studio album, entitled 'Sister Kinderhook' has the unique paradox of being both a departure for the band and yet completely in keeping with what they do best. Additional quirkiness is found in Melora's addition of a harpsichord and banjo to the cello and drum sections on songs such as "My Night Sky" and "Snow-Hen of Austerlitz."

While a lot of the tracks are very reminiscent of the stripped down sound of band's early days, what stands out on this collection are the songs that depart into a more percussion-heavy territory. Songs like "Olde Dance" have a more prominent drum section that give it a very earthy, folky feel while the following track, "Humankind, As the Sailor' takes on a darker, more moody quality than if it had relied on string instruments alone, as in the past. Like all Rasputina albums, the backbone of the subject matter at hand is a type of tongue-in-cheek commentary on bizarre historical tales. A few of the themes Sister Kinderhook touches on are colonial federalism, the anti-rent wars of 1844, early American portraiture and my personal favorite, feral children. Also present are the obligatory spoken-word interludes in which Ms. Creager educates us, in character, on anything from spoiled celebrities to cannibalism. Sister Kinderhook, while it will undoubtedly fly under the radar for those not fortunate enough to stumble across its' path, is yet another wholly original piece of work from the brilliantly offbeat mind of Melora Creager. It is comforting to know that such musicianship and creativity are still alive and well in the era of autotune and paint by numbers pop songs.

Standout tracks:
Sweet Sister Temperance
The 2 Miss Leavens
Olde Dance
Humankind, As the Sailor
Kinderhook Hoopskirt Works
Meant to be Dutch

Two.

Photogravure

What is and what should never be

So strange to see you like that again. There, in front of me just as you were at the time in the light from the fountain. I've thought of you since, but I'd forgotten that particular image and I can all but taste the smoke rolling off of you. Eyes sleepily open behind a haze of black, knotted hair. I was such a child and twelve years older than me you managed likewise. So much seeking, so much destroying. Inspiration, the cracking of all my young ideals. Regret, yes, for so long. The only thing I would take back, only that isn't so true anymore. Even that which is hideous, it is still MINE. That place, that stare, your hands folded neatly in your lap...it belongs to me. You have crossed my mind a ghost, for the first time in ten years I missed you.