INDEX TO REVIEWS

"Electric Rosary" - Living Daylights
"Chinese Work Songs" - Little Feat
"Brand New Can" - the Anger/Marshall Band
"Bisco Lives" - the Disco Biscuits
"Naturally Preserved: Live At The Wetlands Preserve, NYC 5.21.00" - Uncle Sammy
"Ice Caps: Peaks Of Telluride" - Sam Bush
"Live At The Greek" - the Black Crowes featuring Jimmy Page
"Tone Poems III" - Mike Auldridge, Bob Brozman, David Grisman
"Hula Blues" - various artists
"Positive Friction" - Donna The Buffalo
"Alivexchange" - Ray's Music Exchange
"Home Grown 4"
"Puro Blazers" - the Blazers
"Road Less Traveled"- South Catherine Street Jug Band
"Dannemora" - the Seth Yacovone Band
"The Clearing" - Ghost Of Tom
"Experiments On A Flat Plane" - Soulhat

"Electric Rosary" is the latest album from the Seattle trio Living Daylights. In the ever expanding world of groove jazz, Living Daylights has carved out a name for itself in the past few years because of the original themes and eclectic style they bring to the table. The basic components of sax, bass, and drums, provide the majority of the music, but the unique approaches of the players themselves are what make this album interesting. Jessica Lurie plays most of the lead lines on her saxophone and flute. Though the playing on "Electric Rosary" is very well balanced, she seems to be the musical leader of the group. Well known for playing all over the West Coast, Lurie draws much of her inspiration from eastern European folk sources. Dale Fanning mans the drums and percussion. He brings a world-beat resume to the group, once playing drums on "Safarini, Music of African Immigrants," an album released by the Smithsonian Institute. Arne Livingston rounds out the lineup with his work on bass. As a sufferer of Narcolepsy, Livingston might fight fatigue at times, but his playing surely won't put you to sleep.

What's more, there are a few surprises on this album. The venerable Bill Frisell recorded with Living Daylights as a special guest, adding some rhythm guitar on many of the tracks. Well renowned throughout the jazz community for his versatility and improvisation, his playing stays mostly in the background here, as he's more than content to provide support for the three younger musicians. The album begins with a robust song entitled Pike or Pine. This provides a good representation of what lies ahead on the album, as melodic intervals build up to a powerful climax more than once. Also typical of this album, the music is at its best here when the respective sounds are layered thickly upon one another.

The title track Electric Rosary is song full of contrasting influences. Lurie blows the lead lines with her sax, creating a very Eurasian theme throughout. Fanning plays some tribal percussion on his kit at the beginning, but the whole song has a bit of a breakdown and he then creates a ticking sound (like a clock) for the rest of the track. Lurie mixed up the horn sounds up a bit by fading them in and out, using some sort of Doppler effect in the studio to bring them on and take them back out again. Mayakovsky's Smile is also chock full of eastern European influence, as the name might suggest. It's the longest track on the album, clocking in at over eight minutes. It's a slow, meandering shuffle, but contains a very thick instrumental passage due to the stacking and layering of Lurie's horn. It actually sounds as if she recorded multiple lines on top of one another to create additional harmony. Again, these points are where "Electric Rosary" is at its most potent.

There are a few other unique tracks on the album, notably Fall and Homo Volans. The first paints a colorful picture of the changing of the seasons. It very possibly contains the best collaborative harmony on the album, while the second is more of an experimentally percussive number. Fanning adds some gong and cymbal sounds to the mix, creating an almost eerie type of atmosphere. Overall, "Electric Rosary" is an album consistent with the assumed goals of Living Daylights. Each member provides his or her own unique skills and influences to create a whole greater than the sum of its parts. Especially intriguing is the mixture of aforementioned "Eurasian" folk sounds with tribal percussion beats and rhythms. This is a good album for groove jazz fans who are hungry for something a little different, but still very musically solid.

As a band that has had an extensive history in the world of JamBands, Little Feat has had one of the more colorful ones. They have enjoyed a rather cultish following on the fringes of other more mainstream bands. It is rare to find a Deadhead, or fan of The Mothers who hasn't heard of them, yet a majority of the radio-educated public don't have a clue as to who they are or what they have done. Although paradoxically, they are usually somewhat familiar with such classics as Dixie Chicken or Willin'. Since, the early 70's when Lowell George formed this ensemble after a stint with the Mothers of Invention, they have seemingly reinvented themselves countless times, all the while staying true to their roots, and their fans. Although, while many believed that Lowell's untimely death later that decade was the end to this unique sound, the band kept at it for a time under a pseudonym or two, never with much success.

However, in the late 80's Little Feat joined the ranks of many acts to resurface under their old name. The biggest difference was they didn't rest on their laurels like the others, who then earned the title of "Has-Beens". With ex-Pure Prairie League member Craig Fuller growling out his spooky imitation of George on some of the old favorites, Little Feat jumped right in with both Feat and joined the Dead for a few shows as their opening act during the summer of '88. They have then gone on to release a large number of albums, each time growing a little further away from who they were, to who they are... without Lowell George.

"Chinese Work Songs" is the latest in that long line of efforts. That original honky-tonk, down and dirty Feat's sound is there throughout, but with some major differences. Never to be outdone by themselves, the band sounds fresh yet again. This may be one of the reasons this album has seen more air play in my area than some of the their more recent attempts. The other could be some of the more unique covers on this disc. The first to present itself is no less than cut #1, Rag Mama Rag, which some may know by Hot Tuna's version. Here it is given a livelier beat, as is the rule for Little Feat, they can't seem to not grab onto something without funkin' it up somehow. This is by no means a bad thing mind you, just different. The song I have heard the most; the one that seems to be getting the single push is Phish's Sample In A Jar. It is sung by Paul Barrere, in a loping blues shuffle that lends itself to his voice and guitar style. I sometimes wonder why a band would cover a tune that is so freshly new to the world, but there are no rules here... and it seems to be working just fine for them, so I'll stay out of it. Besides, Little Feat has become part of that hippie-hybrid band known as Phil and Friends that pairs such greats as the members of Phish, with members of Little Feat... so they can do old Dead, Dylan and Pink Floyd tunes. A dream come true for some, a nightmare for others, worthy of note either way. It also gives the participating member entirely new song libraries to choose from.

The two members of Little Feat to do this band jumping, Paul Barrere and Bill Payne, are prominent through out the disc. Respectively, their guitar and keyboard playing typify the Little Feat sound, as it were. But they are by no means the whole band themselves. Personally one of my favorites has always been Sam Clayton's great conga playing and deep vocals, he is a much a part of the Little Feat roots as the shoe logo. Another artist who does deserves some serious mention, however, is the Feat's latest member: Shaun Murphy. Her percussion compliments Clayton's and the two create a groove that's hard to get away from. Murphy also seems to be making quite a showing in the front as well. Four of the songs have her handy work in their compositions, and at least that many contain her vocals. Shaun's songs are heartfelt and bluesy, a nice fit that she seems to has grown into in a relatively short amount of time. There is even a nice version of Dylan's It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry that is all Murphy as well, screaming out for mercy. As a total package "Chinese Work Songs" is a nice catch, probably not destined to go down in history and mark any monumental changes in the music industry. But for Little Feat, who are moving ever forward, it is solid piece of work. As is evident in the title track, there is only one way to forge ahead in this world: Work! Work! Work!

1999 and 2000 seem like record-breaking years for bluegrass musicians. There have been more bluegrass and bluegrass-inspired album released in the past 2 years than any others in recent memory. The saying "strike while the iron is hot" applies to bluegrass musicians across the country, as they continue to explore new terrain and fuel their creativity until all options have been exhausted. The Anger/Marshall band's recent offering, "Brand New Can," alludes to another popular cliché, the mythic can of "whup-ass." Bluegrass veterans Darol Anger and Mike Marshall lead the way here, but they have a very qualified supporting cast. The two namesake founders of the band play violin and mandolin respectively, while their band consists of Derek Jones on bass and Aaron Johnston on drums and assorted percussion. This album is of an experimental nature, owing to the assortment of styles and sounds that the players exhibit.

The first track features special guest Alison Brown on banjo, picking her way through Coal Burnin' Grease Fire with ease. In fact, her style sounds so reminiscent of Bela Fleck, that I had to check the liner notes to make sure it wasn't him. Her picking also sneaks in at the end of the album in the now obligatory nameless, trackless song after Brooksboro Terrace. The first track is one of the most energetic on the album. >From there, the band explores more jazz and folk themes throughout. Queequeg's Big Adventure is a high country fiddle tune that sounds as if it could accompany a narrative cartoon of some sort. Anger's violin soars above the fray in this folksy number. That brings me to an interesting point. Anger is listed as playing violin throughout the album, while Marshall has "fiddle" listed among the instruments he uses. I always thought the difference was in the music, but I guess there must be more to it than that.

Around Here begins what is a thematic exploration of "hillbilly jazz" as Vassar Clements once called it. The time signatures and tempo shifts are not in accordance with typical bluegrass, but that, of course, is the point. Otherwise, Around Here is a rolling pastoral tune, fitting for a drive out in the country. Both Marshall and Anger find ample room to solo here. Zakir is an appropriately named track. There is a definite percussive flavor courtesy of Johnston's quick hands (think Zakir Hussein minus the tablas). Marshall and the band also flow up and down a minor scale, lending a middle-eastern accent to the track. There's a breakdown a few minutes into the song, and all of a sudden the Anger/Marshall Band is suspended in space! For a moment I was thinking I had accidentally been bumped over to a Pink Floyd album in my changer.

Throughout the rest of the album, the Anger/Marshall band continues to delve deeper into folksy-jazz material, in many cases finding soothing, expressive songs to work with. It's by and large very appealing work. My only criticism is that a few of the songs sound somewhat alike, so there's not as much variety within the album. This is a relatively minor setback considering how different the album is from even modern bluegrass works. In a funny way, I think the Anger/Marshall band has bridged the gap between bluegrass and jazz in the same way as a band like Jazz Mandolin Project. The funny thing is that they have formed the bridge from opposite sides of the canyon. I would recommend this album to adventurous bluegrass fans and those who like expressive folk jazz.

The two and a half years since the Disco Biscuits last released an album have been almost ludicrously eventful -- they have have grown from a young band struggling for recognition to a sure-fire sellout in venues across the country, they have debuted two rock operas and over forty new songs (26 this year alone!), they have performed what the staff of Jambands.com deemed 1999's Jam of the Year, and they have parted ways with bassist Marc Brownstein only to reunite six months later. As each new chapter is penned into the already thick tome that is their history the question of how this band's accomplishments can be encapsulated on a CD grows ever harder to answer, the problem of what to do when they finally venture back into the studio ever thornier.

"Bisco Lives", a limited release available only at shows and through the band's website, was apparently thrown together in a matter of weeks to serve as a stopgap, in celebration of Marc's return. The bulk of the album consists of relatively unpolished audience recordings of three live tracks from December 31st last year -- the night they improvised their aforementioned Jammie-award winning soundtrack to the Japanese animation classic "Akira", and the last full show they played with Marc until Camp Bisco 2000: Attack of the Puppy Beast three weeks ago. And after having observed and celebrated the past, the disc offers us a glimpse of the future, The Bionic Helix, v 1.0, a tantalizing unfinished cut from their forthcoming studio album. The result is not only far and away the best of the Biscuits' three albums but an ideal introduction for someone who wants to find out what the Disco Biscuits are about.

The album opens quietly with a peaceful, almost Hendrix-esque, unaccompanied guitar part met with huge cheers from the crowd. The melody repeats once, then Brownstein and drummer Sam Altman jump in with a nimble jungle beat, as Jon Gutwillig and his Gibson ES135 keep spinning the same elegant chords. Svenghali. The Biscuits' first song to really focus on jungle rhythms, an increasingly crucial element of their sound, and also the most purely electronic, in both structure and spirit, they'd written to date. The song that more than other, perhaps save House Dog Party Favor (also included on "Bisco Lives"), exemplifies their monumental fall tour and the engaging directions Gutwillig is moving in as a composer.

This particular Svenghali, the third song of the almost 9-hour show, stretches over 20 minutes long before segueing into the middle section of their eldest techno centerpiece, Little Betty Boop. After the introduction they move into a sweet, understated composed section in the electronic idiom, Jon's guitar repeating, dancing like a fighting kite, as keyboardist Aron Magner creates swells of human voices and perfectly-placed bleeps as an oblique counterpoint, musical feng shui. The song's vocals are a triumphant chant, a description of musical bliss that leads us, after another short instrumental section, into the jam. Practically as soon as the band is free of compositional constraints the sky turns dark and the wind picks up; they are on their way. Brownstein paints a menacing, heavily-effected bottom end as Altman's drums dance overhead like a marionette on crystal meth, Gutwillig's razor-sharp guitar cutting swaths through the air. The jam builds like waves in a typhoon, slowly at first, soon growing overwhelming, threatening to swamp or capsize audience and band.

After sustaining it for longer than I would ordinarily imagine possible (were this not the Disco Biscuits), they roll back down their peak a little, into the most sinister set of breaks I've heard this side of Lake Trout's recent shows -- psychopathic music straight out of a Gotham sanitarium. They fall back together, and are racing off again; Altman's drumsticks scurry on his MIDI drum pads, Brownstein?s bass swells and recedes like the breath of a sleeping dragon. Jon tugs the jam major and soon they are building again, a pure, cool, overpowering ocean wind blowing behind them, knocking audience members on their backs, blowing the clouds away, revealing blue sky behind. The wind lifts the music from the surface of the water; at first it hovers in place, as though tied down, then it is suddenly swept away, flung high above endless expanses of ocean, completely at the mercy of the elements. The band has grown into giants, standing astride mountaintops as an orchestra of natural forces plays through them, nearly tearing its hapless channels limb from limb. It seems as though we have been freed from gravity, that the music will soar on forever. But the nose turns down, as it always must. Altitude is lost. There is ground below us; it is rushing up quickly. Trees become visible, but the exhilaration of flight does not fade. Then the horizontal momentum ceases, and for a few heart-strangling moments we're in free-fall, plummeting straight down, until

"Little Betty Boop?s been thinkin?!" The song appears like a freight train, splattering the jam on its windshield and roaring on across the desert indifferent. The band slows down for the album's first time as they bring it into the chorus, after which they hop off into a new jam, disco bass in dark shades strutting around the floor, a guitar quietly ruminating above. Sammy brings in a jungle inflection. They keep it down for awhile, and then, slowly, with almost superhuman patience, it builds. Jon's playing blues licks but repeating them with no turnaround as though they were motifs in a trance track. For the first time they're moving into a blues/funk/rock jam, the traditional territory of the jamband, and it's every bit as exquisite as that which came before. Before long it is ending, though, as they've made it to their destination, Little Betty Boop's beginning. They hit another one of their euphoric peaks, and at what seems to be the perfect moment Jon tears into the opening riff, totally naturally, as though the music could not have gone anywhere else.

The song is a respite, a chance to catch breath as Jon sings us, with a sly grin, Ms. Boop's tale of sexual liberation. Almost too soon they are jamming again; the silly organ riff that begins the jam dissolves all but immediately and they're somehow back in Svenghali territory. Marc's descending jungle lines are like a sledgehammer swung under a strobe light: spastic, hypnotic and devastating. It feels as though Sammy is drumming on you as you listen, pounding your head like a floor tom and kicking you in the gut for the bass. But then they swing up a minor third and they're headed back into Svenghali's joyous verse. The bass and drums continue to crash and collapse in time as Jon slips into the ending melody, which invokes a feeling of nostalgia: you know the music, after more than 45 minutes, is going to end and now it seems as though it were all too short. They sing the verse again, come out the other side and soon slide to a graceful halt. The track ends with Jon repeating the same solo guitar part that began it all as the crowd roars gratefully, begging for more.

There is a short pause as we jump from the show's first set to the second and one of Jon's most abstract and elaborate compositions, the angular, creepy House Dog Party Favor. This is the other side of the Disco Biscuits; whereas Svenghali > Little Betty Boop > Svenghali showed them to be wild, inspired improvisers who seemed most at home when freed of structure and left to roam wherever their imaginations take them, House Dog is a band comfortable and confident playing very complex music, adept, to borrow a phrase from Zappa, at not only playing a piece but putting the eyebrows on it.

In a matter of minutes, though, after some of the best instrumental music Gutwillig has written to date, they find themselves jamming again, in 10/4 time, Jon and Aron laying tiny bits of music on top of a obstinately repeating bass line. The pieces pile up, the jam builds quickly (it's a pretty short House Dog first jam, compared to other versions) and, after a short guitar solo, they are in the ending melody, which, after four repetitions, begins growing longer, beat by beat.

As I said earlier, House Dog and Svenghali were the fall tour's anthems, the songs the fans couldn't stop talking about, the songs that were taking the band to exciting new places. The count-up in House Dog, that guitar melody growing from 10/4 to 19/4, was perhaps the tour's signature piece of music. So how better to count down to the New Year than by playing one of the pieces that best represents the year ending, a piece that already involves counting from one up to ten?

On the first added beat Jon, Marc and Aron yell, gleefully, "Ten!", and then circle back into the beginning of the phrase. "Ten, nine!" The melody repeats again. "Ten, nine, eight!" The crowd is erupting, giving thanks that they are *here* on New Year's, that they are lucky enough to know about this fabulous band. After counting "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, onnnnnnnnnnnnnne..." the band sculpts a wall of sound, a beautiful release; the crowd roars and the sound begins to fade, replaced by the opening wash of The Bionic Helix.

The poignancy of that moment at the beginning of this year comes through on the recording. In the previous 12 months the Biscuits had evolved from a group with a rapidly growing, cultishly devoted regional fanbase into one of the country's most talked about bands, their music progressing and changing at an unbelievable rate. New Year's was a celebration of how far they'd come and how far they had yet to go, the beginning of a year of unknown music and unparalleled possibilities. Less than two weeks later Marc was out of the band, and while 2000 was still clearly a year of uncertainty, it was so in a very different, nervous, way. Many feared that that which they'd gobbled up so voraciously, the experience known as Bisco, was dead.

Well, "Bisco Lives". The band on this CD starts their fall tour in October, and if the preview we got at Camp Bisco was any indication the fantastic music here is only a beginning.

We get a taste of what is to come in the album's last track, a trance interpretation of Helicopters, one of their most reliable jam war-horses, one of the songs that ushered in the trancefusion revolution. The Bionic Helix, however, does not contain any of Helicopters' signature riffs, any of its chord changes, and only occasional fragments of its vocals. This is a full-on trance track, done Biscuits style, inspired by Helicopters but free to be whatever it wishes. There are no live drums -- Altman made the beats on a computer and Magner and Gutwillig took turns composing and improvising the music above on both the computer and live instruments. The result can be enjoyed both as a piece to be listened to and a piece to be danced to, ideally both. The track, in its six minutes, makes its way though some traditional trance territory into a chord progression that calls to mind maudlin Irish ballads, Jon's guitar blending perfectly with the electronic music below, and then into a tribal drum and bass jam that bulges and throbs frighteningly, until, with an ambient wash and Gutwillig's voice yelling "Look out belowwwwww" it suddenly ends, a maddening sample of the album they're working on (all of which will be in the same electronic style) that succeeds in its goal of making you want more, much more of this fascinating music.

It's reasonable to ask why one should buy "Bisco Lives" when you could just track down and trade for the entire New Year's show and get Svenghali > Boop > Svenghali, House Dog, Akira and lots more for the price of blanks and postage. If you have the means to do that, maybe you should. I suspect that "Bisco Lives" is intended for those who don't have access to live shows, the many people who've never heard the Disco Biscuits but have heard about them and want to check them out. At $7, "Bisco Lives" is more than worth the investment for anyone who falls into this category. And I also suspect that hundreds, if not thousands of copies of this CD will be sold on the band's fall tour, as each of the people they b'gock in every city they visit stumbles, in a daze, to the merchandise table and sees that for $7 they can get over almost 55 minutes of live Biscuits and a studio track to boot. Yes, the Disco Biscuits finally have an album worthy of them, and if a disk this good is only meant to tide people over until they complete the next one, I cannot wait until they do.

A few months ago, I had the pleasure of attending a live Uncle Sammy show at the Wetlands Preserve, the same place in which this incredible live CD was recorded a few months prior to that. Suffice it to say that Uncle Sammy is one of these bands that is talented enough to encompass a live sound that comes across on recordings as something that had been produced and perfected in a studio.

"Naturally Preserved" begins with an almost flawless, bouncy, funky tune called (appropriately) Jorge Benson's New Funk Explosion. What is most interesting about this opening selection is that it proceeds to feature each member of the band on an individual basis. Although the work by guitarist Max Delaney is the most prominent, the keyboard solos by Walter "Beau" Sasser are tight and creative, the drumming by Tom Arey is intense, and the bass solo towards the end of the selection by Brian O'Connell contains enough meat to be hooked for the rest of the CD.

This CD's lowest point comes and goes rather quickly with their second selection, Purgatory. It is a simplistic song that tends to stay in one place and not really reach a lot of creative ground. It is also here in which the listener may find that the vocals are not entirely too wonderful. It is almost as if the backing music could be perfect, but the vocals throw that all off. Interestingly enough, this is one of the most catchy tunes on the entire album. This may not be a positive thing.

However, Uncle Sammy picks it right up again with On the Level -- another fabulously jammed out and mindmelding funk groove, and the simply gorgeous Healer. Healer is the type of song that has the potential to be a signature song for this up-and-coming band. The guitar lines mix perfectly with the rest of the instrumentation, and it is mellow enough not to be considered too driving or too intense. Yet, it leaves this listener with a pounding heart and a wide smile, aching for just one more minute -- as it is the shortest song on the entire album, at about four and a half minutes.

Sociology brings back the vocals, ala Steely Dan or the likes thereof. This time, their harmonies are quite tight and seemingly back on track. If you are a fan of a more jazzy, keyboard-filled tune with exuberant lyrics and pleasant harmonies, this is certainly what you are looking for. The song almost dances with itself, creating an intricate beauty at every turn.

Although the CD's last two selections, Animal Child and Teen Town do not quite match up to the previous ones (although one must give them credit for tackling the latter, a Weather Report cover), they certainly contain some goodies. For instance, Animal Child incorporates an outerworldly keyboard solo and a quite melodic bass solo all at once. The vocals are - again - not great, but certainly fitting. All in all, this is an album that one can definitely listen to time and time again, without the possibility of growing tired of it, or for the music to be deemed out of style. This is one for the jamband ages...

In 1996, several music magazines wrote, "Sam Bush has decided to run for president again!" While I knew of Sam Bush, being a constantly practicing mandolinist, the statement seemed twisted and fantastic. Not until I purchased "Glamour and Grits" could I comprehend the journalistic intelligence backing the coy statement. After all, "Glamour and Grits" became Bush's second solo release and first in ten years, thoroughly revealing Bush's virtuoso talent on the mandolin, melting Bill Monroe's music into Bob Marley covers or honky tonk bar songs.

Therefore in 2000, another election year, "Ice Caps: Peaks of Telluride" feels like another genius release, signaling Sam Bush's re-election bid for president of bluegrass. However, unlike "Glamour and Grits" which at times felt strained or pushed, "Ice Caps: Peaks of Telluride" yields an effervescence only capable in a live release. Mixing legendary covers, mandolin skills of an extraordinary level, some of the greatest sidemen in the business and stunningly evocative vocals, "Ice Caps: Peaks of Telluride" becomes a mandatory purchase for every music listener.

After opening with Pastor Mustard's humorous festival commentary, Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas play an emotive version of Girl Of the North Country. In a duet setting, Bush begins playing rhythm guitar licks along with various other mandolin fills. Some may compare Bush's playing on Girl Of the North Country to Michael Hedges, in the way Bush plays not only the rhythm, but adds snare-like fills and multitudes of other melodic textures. By holding down so many components, not to mention vocals of an extraordinary quality, Bush gives Jerry Douglas the necessary freedom for adding inspiring dobro filigrees, usually flying off into another cosmos.

Duets continually reoccur on "Ice Caps: Peaks of Telluride," often yielding some of the album's more inspirational moments. Two gorgeous tracks Hungry For Your Love and Sailin' Shoes, reveal Bush and an energized John Cowan supplying plenty of sonic textures without the need of drums and other plausible instrumentation. Once again, Bush shines, playing the mandolin in a guitar fashion, carrying the melody and rhythm of both pieces. Cowan, throughout both tracks adds his elegant tenor, thus giving the compositions their necessary soulful flavor. All three duet pieces on "Ice Caps: Peaks of Telluride" make the album worth the price of admission.

However, the rest of the album goes beyond being merely tawdry musical pieces deserving disposal. For jamband fans, most of the compositions on the album traverse into far more danceable and exploratory dominions. Tracks like Stingray, Spooky Lane=>The Ice Caps Are Melting=>Lee Highway Blues and Same Ol' River each contain fascinating improvisational passages. Specifically jaw-dropping includes Sam Bush dueling with Bela Fleck for several minutes in the beginning of Stingray. After Fleck and Bush finish exhibiting their technical prowess, Stingray then sounds remarkably similar to the Grateful Dead's Help On the Way. Complimenting each other, Bush and his band improvise as an ensemble through the track's nine minutes, forcing comparisons to the legendary jamband.

Whether tackling zydeco (Angel to Be), dirty blues (Speak of the Devil), disco (Celebrate) or bluegrass (Big Mon) Bush and his compatriots have created music capable of swaying trees in the Telluride Mountains. Yes indeed, another Bush has decided to run for president, but this one goes beyond all societal expectations, using "Ice Caps: Peaks of Telluride" as his platform; good luck other candidates.

What happens when you throw a legendary rock guitarist onstage with one of the last real down and dirty rock bands of the 90's and beyond? In this instance, the pairing more than realizes my elevated expectations. Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin fame has tried many times to take his old classics on the road, but no attempt (not even the reunion with Robert Plant, and especially not the tour with David Coverdale) even came close to what he and the Black Crowes cook up on the TVT release "Live at the Greek." The disc is jam-packed with solid grooves from all involved and rarely even gets cramped with three guitar players (Page, Rich Robinson, and Audley Freed). Vocalist Chris Robinson does more justice to the selected Zeppelin cuts than anyone else who has ever attempted the feat, and, some say, might even put the original versions to shame.

But before you run out to your local overpriced mall record store to pick up this gem of a double disc, be warned that you will only be able to find it in small, independently owned shops. The reason for this is that "Live at the Greek" was first released over a year ago on the Internet only. As an employee of some big chain explained to me, larger record stores are unwilling to carry the disc due to its use of the Internet when it first came out. When it was decided to release the album "officially" in stores, the large chains refused to sell it because they felt they were being undermined by the Internet. So now only the small stores are carrying it, and it's a good thing too, because the only thing left for the big stores to do is shoot themselves in the foot for missing this opportunity. As Danny the Bubble Boy said, "I hope it sells millions."

The disc features songs released on the live Zeppelin album "The Song Remains the Same," such as Celebration Day and Whole Lotta Love. Only hardcore Zeppelin fans would be insistent on comparing these versions (I'll admit, I did the comparison myself), but truth be told, this album is more about a feeling of rock and roll and blues than trying to recreate the past. Jimmy Page said himself in an interview that Robinson has his own interpretations of the songs, just as Plant did. Besides, this album is not Led Zeppelin's Greatest Hits Performed by the Black Crowes. In fact, one of the most admirable things about the disc is that the group mainly performs lesser-known songs, such as Sick Again, Ten Years Gone, In My Time of Dying, and Custard Pie from "Physical Graffiti" and Hey Hey What Can I Do, which only appears on the Led Zeppelin boxed set. The only songs the average classic rock radio listener might know on this disc are Heartbreaker and Whole Lotta Love.

Beyond the Zeppelin selections, the album is also heavily layered with the blues. The band covers B.B. King's Woke Up This Morning, and the namesake of the Crowes' first album, Elmore James' Shake Your Money Maker, among others Admittedly, these are not the most exciting cuts on the album, but any guitar enthusiast would eat up Robinson's and Page's trading licks like candy. The fact of the matter is that the two can really play together, and that gelling is most immediately apparent on the blues covers.

The real secret weapon of "Live at the Greek" is Crowes' drummer Steve Gorman, who demonstrates his best performance yet on this album. His work on the tricky the Lemon Song and Nobody's Fault But Mine is superb, and his expertise may even come as a shock to some Crowes' fans. All in all, this group of musicians not only performs these songs to their fullest, but shows that they all work well together as players. The jam out of Out on The Tiles into Whole Lotta Love makes a near perfect segue, all members ready to launch into the tune. The album's strongest cuts are easily Ten Years Gone, What Is and What Should Never Be, and Nobody's Fault But Mine, all of which feature Chris Robinson's soulful vocals. He may not be able to hit all the notes Robert Plant can, but he definitely pours his heart out trying. And besides, he is not by any means trying to be Plant, or re-create the ways Plant sang these songs. As a singer who feels every word and note that comes out of his mouth, Robinson proves himself once again as a man of the blues. And with strong backing from the rest of the Crowes and of course, Jimmy Page, this album is guaranteed to come right out of your speakers and grab you by the ears.

Somewhere during the onset of last year's harsh Ohio winter - after the first Dr. Jacoby episode of "Twin Peaks" but before the first major blizzards - I was gripped with the sudden urge to listen to Hawaiian music. I wanted to hear vintage recordings of National Steel guitars overloading the primitive equipment and melting into a warm distortion. I wanted the sun to slide gently into the Pacific along with the gentle pull of a Resophonic guitar. I wanted to glance at the snow outside, laugh smugly, and unfold into the comfort of a tropical drink.

My first attempts at procuring such music failed, though not for lack of trying. Now, with two recent releases, I'm fully prepared for the oncoming winter -- short a few bottles of exotic liqueurs, which I expect the survivalists to arrive with any day now. Each disc takes a very different approach to the material. "Tone Poems III" offers pedigree and documentation -- a variety of instrumentals recorded (recently) on vintage instruments by a trio of master musicians: a fine wine with all the right credentials. "Hula Blues" presents some of the founders of the genre, caught in their prime in the 1930s and '40s: a hastily brewed concoction that sounds like it lived at the bottom of a shipwreck for the past 70 years. Both have the potential to get the listener good and drunk, but the specific buzz will be quite different.

Like Harry Smith's "Anthology Of American Folk Music", a lot of the appeal of "Hula Blues" lies in the fact that the recording equipment almost acts as another voice in the mix, providing a unity to the material -- a kind of filter over everything. This filter blurs out a lot of the specifics of the music. What's left is a lush kind of smear, a kind of proto ambient music. Put on at a low volume in the background, this music can serve the same function as any number of other ambient discs, contributing heartily to the vibe of a room. Just as ambient musicians subtly sculpt the shape of their music through the use of nearly imperceptible tones, the crackle of the recording acts in a similarly mysterious manner here. The ambience is very much human, though, and quite natural.

"Tone Poems III", by contrast, offers little by way of that mystery. The sound on the album, like all Acoustic Disc releases, is absolutely pristine. Where "Hula Blues" might be a good soundtrack for a late night couch sink, the bouncy rhythms of "Tone Poems III" would probably work better at a cocktail party. The music is refined, jazzy and precise. One can hear every shift in melody perfectly, slides gracefully transforming notes, not entirely unlike the transcendent solo banjo tuning peg arrangement of Amazing Grace that Bela Fleck has been offering in concert in recent years.

There's not much by way of low-end here, so the music moves airily. Auldridge, Brozman, and Grisman's parts all traverse the upper registers, but they somehow manage to stay surprisingly clear of each other. Each instrument maintains its identity. Each part can be clearly picked out by the ear. Likewise, in any given piece, a specific instrument is rarely the leader. One can follow any one of the instruments and still come away with a full sounding song. The melodies are connected on a molecular level to American popular music of the 1930s and 1940s, so bits and pieces will surely sound familiar, albeit with a spin not often heard.

"Positive Friction," the latest release from Donna The Buffalo, is certainly a group effort. There aren't any true solos taken by any of the players, as the record is more about harmony and a band effort to make each song whole. Musically as well as lyrically, Donna The Buffalo are coming from a nice place. The vocals are heartfelt and sweet and the music, at it's best, is breezy enough to pass a sunny day. However, some problems with "Positive Friction" do arise out of nasty word called monotony.

The best moments from "Positive Friction" come from Tara Nevins who plays acoustic guitar, fiddle, accordion, the rubboard, and sings. Her vocals on Yonder are frighteningly insightful and passionately delivered. Nevins also shines on tunes like Front Porch and Family Picture, the latter being the most rockin' of the numbers on the record. Featuring a few nifty guitar changes, Donna The Buffalo sound smoother than silk chugging out the groove on Family Picture. By contrast, Jeb Puryear's vocals are strikingly similar on every track he sings lead. In addition, while Puryear's intentions are good enough, he just doesn't shape them right. For example, a line from Riddle Of The Universe goes, "Let?s build a fortress of love, by the river with all the happiness we can find." Ahem. Nice thought but a bit too obvious and unrealistic. Meanwhile, The rhythm section of Tom Gilbert on drums and Jed Greenberg on bass resign themselves to playing basic patterns. Throughout most of the album it's a chore to even hear Greenberg, as his bass is only distinguishable when he goes up high on his fretboard.

"Positive Friction" is a good record to throw on with a copy of the New York Times Travel section and a cup of herbal tea by your side on a Sunday morning. The album is nice for anyone who likes folk-rock and the slightly gooey sentiments that often accompany the genre. I happen to be a coffee drinker though.

Let me start by off saying that it's no mystery why Ray's Music Exchange has earned success on the jamband circuit. These are all top-notch players, each one a capable soloist with a strong sense of groove, and they present an entertaining, mostly instrumental mix of funk-jazz-fusion with some Zappa-esque quirks.

This debut CD is quite well-recorded and mixed, and the fact that it was done live with no overdubs says a lot for the band's chops. There are one or two mistakes (the band gets thrown off by a couple of Jason Smart's drum breaks in Itch The Scratch, for instance), but only enough to remind you that these are humans.

My tastes are somewhat different than the typical clubgoer or clubowner, so it encourages me that they put the most intriguing tracks in the first half of the disc. The Scrambler is a memorable, dissonant theme with a skewed Big Ben quote, and Ran Over Ray deals with oddball scales and chords in an engaging way.

Towards the end of the disc, though, the band's reliance on standard funk riffs and fusion vamps grows a bit wearying. The instances of quirkiness don't help, since they're equally over-familiar : Zappa or Tom Marshall wouldn't settle for choruses like "Gronus/He's got syphilis," and the minimalist funk of Guava Girl is an idea that King Crimson (or was it Soft Machine?) introduced and long ago played into the ground.

Therein lies the rub. As I mention, these are top-notch players, with a slickness that the early Phish would have envied, and with some compositional talent. However, they aren't stretching themselves, and, for these jaded tastes, that keeps the disc from being essential.

Here's hoping keyboardist Paul Hogan's recent departure from his playing role (he will continue to write for the band) might push things in a new direction. And, as I imply above, in a club these objections won't matter to most people - probably not me, either. Like the scene in general, this band is in solid shape, but it needs to keeps evolving.

Once again, the folks at the Homegrown Music Network have pieced together a solid sampler of the scene. Taking a sample of bands from all corners of the country and all sides of the scene, "Home Grown 4" follows through on its purpose, to peak the listeners curiosity about the artists included on the compilation. While many of you could create a better mix from your own catalogues, this is a great primer for folks who may not have heard of the bands represented here.

Wise Monkey Orchestra leads off with the rich rhythms and flashy horns that have made them San Diego's finest. Feel It features saxophonist Dave Ellis of the Other Ones swapping runs with the guitar over a bed of propulsive percussion.

WMO gives way to the Jerry-fied guitar and deft melodic bass work of The Big Wu on Break of Day. Clocking in at 9:36, this live version lets the boys from Minnesota stretch their legs, and the wave-like, lead-swapping jam that ensues is the highlight of the album. Bassist Andy Miller's lightning quick melodies create and sustain the undulating groove that keeps this tune afloat and lets it swim.

Stir Fried races through Marist, which features legendary lap steel player Buddy Cage of the New Riders of the Purple Sage. Cage follows the bluesy solos of Jan London with an excellent solo of his own, but the brief tune is tainted by its mundane lyrics and the additions of Joanne Lediger on background vocals, which Donna Jean fans may well love.

Gordon Stone, follows with Sunday Driver. Stone's virtuoso outfit follows his blistering banjo down a winding hill at break neck speed, takes an excellent tempo break to look over the edge and check out the scenery, and reaccelerates to ludicrous speed to close out.

The acid folk of Dexter Grove strains to show just how much music two people can make. Charley Orlando makes the most of his acoustic guitar, and Steve Drizos? percussion work fleshes out a sound seemingly too full for a twosome. True slides between composed sections effortlessly with the two responding to each other intuitively. Charley's voice rings true and honest and makes you wonder why your friends on the back porch can't get it together.

Juggling Om, the tale of a day lost in the woods, showcases the dense and capable compositional skills of the now defunct prog-rock leaders of the jamband scene, Blind Man's Sun. Juggling Om features the percussion musicianship, compositional complexity, and whimsy that make BMS a much missed member of the community.

Space from Inasense, while full of fine blues injected riffing from "C", somehow fails to connect as a whole. The soloing is impressive, but the song itself is bland and tasteless.

Jumping to the funky side of the fence and following Maceo's Theorem of "2% jazz and 98% funky stuff", Deep Banana Blackout shines with irresistible ass-shakin' energy in this live version of their funky mission statement, Breakfast at Volo's. Clear some floor space before you throw this on and step right up to scratch your name on the Funk Constitution.

Baaba Seth, who recently lost vocalist and saxophonist Hope Clayburn to Deep Banana, grabs their own pocket of jazzy, worldly, African-inspired energy on Forward, but the Charlottesville octet pales next to the in your face funk of Deep Banana.

Heading south, Florida's Refried Confusion chimes in with One Fine Day, arguably the best track on the album. Drenched in organ and slinky guitars, the tune rolls out easily over a bed of unobtrusive percussion. The from the gut vocals and the sun-blasted harmonies tap into memories of open roads, shady front porches, and sunsets bleeding out over the horizon.

The closer, Rover from Native, is the longest cut on the disc at 11:09, but despite its emotive slide work and expressive organ fills, it fails to engage. It is the tale of a roaming rambler that suffers from misguided, impromptu lyrics like , "Rover! Come on over!"

In all, this sampler serves as a solid introduction to the Homegrown catalogue and, as a result, to the jamband scene it supports.

Last year, I finally caught up with Los Lobos, a band about whom I had heard many good things (especially regarding the recent, more experimental CDs) but whose music I had rarely encountered. Those CDs inevitably color my perspective on this all-Spanish excursion by another East L.A. band, the Blazers.

To get to the point : if the recent Lobos releases are in the vein of "Abbey Road" or "the White Album", "Puro Blazers" is closer to "Meet The Beatles". This is a set of songs with simple melodies and lyrics about either women or playing music. The Blazers themselves only had a hand in writing a few tracks, which is unfortunate since these are among the most distinctive tracks, especially Danzon de Don Blas, with a nice, attention-getting chorus.

Still, the band achieves their modest goals with no trouble. Frontmen Ruben Guaderrama and Manuel Gonzales are pleasant singers, with one of them offering an attractive ballad in Crei, and while there is little flashy playing, there are no details out of place. The band sticks to a 4-piece lineup with a dose of accordion and brief cameos for clarinet and trumpet.

Occasionally, the tracks get too generic, with a good example being Grande De Caderas, about a woman with big hips. The polished production, also, prevents this disc from conveying much of the excitement that this band could probably generate live. If you don't share the bias I mention above, though, this is some nice, solid Chicano rock.

South Catherine Street Jug Band, a seven piece outfit with a deceptive name, bounces through their first album struggling to find their sound. Juggling drums, a full percussion kit, and a saxophone with the bass, acoustic guitar and electric guitar often proves too much for them to handle as they ply their roots rock trade. While strong in bursts, the song-writing is inconsistent. Punchy electric choruses arrive without warning and fade just as quickly. Nevertheless, the strengths of the band, namely its strong harmonies and the interplay of the sax and electric guitar, find room to shine throughout the album, and several spots hint at the jams that must develop live.

Michael Bond's vocals ring earthy and true, and his harmonies with Drew Sprague, which conjure the Jayhawks, are strong throughout the album, often carrying if not saving some of the tunes. Bond's work with guest vocalist Callie Katsoundis on I Can't Shake These Blues is likewise noteworthy, as the two seem to bring out the best in each other.

The album jumps from roots rock homages like Jodie Lynn and life lessons like Road Less Traveled, with its paired guitar and saxophone, to the countrified bounce of the closer, Goin' Back (To See My Baby), and the cowboy yodel of Back On Track which has the narrator driving, "forty miles an hour below the posted speed".

The album falters when the style jumps within a single tune and shines when the songs stay true to a concept. You?re Not Hearing Me, with Bond's harmonica adding a rustic texture in spots and the harmonies soaring in others, is blemished by a growling rock and roll refrain that touches on the anger of the narrator but distracts from the tone of the song.

Stronger in its execution is Someday, a tale of longing with an ebullient and hopeful chorus buoyed by a rising saxophone. The transitions within the song seem natural and easy, without the abrupt lane changes that plague others, and the sax line of the chorus is joined by strings in one of the finest outro jams on the album.

At their best, the South Catherine Street Jug Band glides on soaring harmonies and a saxophone that adds a surprisingly rich texture to their brand of roots rock, but the album is too often prey to inconsistencies of mood. In all, this is a band struggling to find its sound, succeeding when it relaxes and stumbling when it forces the issue.

The title and first track of the Seth Yacovone Band's latest CD "Dannemora" showcases a ringing contrast in styles for the band's namesake. Yacovone's hoarse, soulful vocals are sharp enough to splinter glass, while his guitar sound is clear as a bell. Yet even his guitar playing gives the impression of a raging bull with a fresh scent of meat behind its crystal exterior. Face it, the guy was built for the blues.

The album's next tune Long Gone is built around a walking bass line by Tommy Coggio. Along with Steve Hadeka's drums, the rhythm section provides a nice backbone for Yacovone's lyrics. He's singing from the sternum and dishing out delightful surprises in guitar phrases.

One of my favorite cuts on the record is Mold I. Colored with the mouth harp of Luke Boggess, the song's pace gives the band space to grind out the blues with tenacity. Yacovone's first guitar solo is heartbreaking in its simplicity and perfect in execution. The second, which I'm sure pops eyeballs live, rails raw enough to make you smile.

Take It From Me works in the honesty of its lyrics and the unexpected groove of the jam. The band slyly motors the tune up to not only a juicy harmonica solo, but a slick progression that swings as well.

Mold II showcases one of the coolest aspects of Yacovone's voice. That being an interesting ability to reach a Fogerty-like range with his voice. Dipping in between a sharp-toothed snarl and a perfect howl, Yacovone proves himself to be a bloody impressive vocalist.

Musically, Mold II rages delightful. During the song, one of the players will start a phrase that another finishes. They each get to the same point, but take a different road in doing so. When players are playing around within a song is something I shine towards in a band. The groove comes not from a singular input, but an interplay with the players. Mold II is intoxicating enough that it doesn't matter that the band is a measure or two off in peaking the jam. Doesn't keep Yacovone from annihilating his fretboard to take the jam out. This description also encapsulates the album as well, which should appeal to anyone with a slight love of the blues

Mixing folk sensibilities, blues based piano playing and a Three Mile Pilot alternative sound, Ghost of Tom's "The Cleaning" contains a multitude of aesthetically pleasing moments. By placing Megan Wheatley's vocals front and center, the band has enormous dexterity, gently swishing between each genre and inspiration with noticeable aplomb.

After the moribund and austere sounds of the opening track Secret Room, the second composition You Need Me has a rocking folk feel, similar to Calobo's meandering. Singing of Bourbon Street, Wheatley builds a story throughout, forcing the listener into a quiet corner, ears peaked and attentive. Moving quietly, not unlike a coffee shop performer, Wheatley reclines and allows her band mates to add a plentitude of ornamentation, including searing guitar leads by Dave Hawkins.

When You Need Me closes, Megan Wheatley passes the lead vocal skills over to Dave Hawkins on El Nino. Utilizing the same rhythmic structure and textures as You Need Me, the music takes a dive into classical realms at the two minute mark. Such a change in tempo and textures give the music a stormy effect. Once Hawkins' guitar enters sounding depressed, further creates the feeling of a stormy, El Nino winter day.

Despite the Ghost of Tom's talents for effectively using crescendos and split second time changes, most of the music on "The Clearing" stays firmly planted in the blues. The first three tracks have a blues swing, but none so conspicuous as College Park Blues. Sounding like a traditional blues riff, the music creates a wonderful foundation for Megan Wheatley's crooning. College Park Blues may have the dubious distinction of being the finest track on "The Clearing."

With the blues strains quieted, the rest of "The Clearing" follows the album's opening tracks by fusing blues and folk, making Ghost of Tom a poor man's Calobo. In fact, after College Park Blues the music begins sounding repetitive, a depressing fact given the remarkable talent revealed on "The Clearing." Hopefully in the coming years, Ghost of Tom will become more eclectic and mine Megan Wheatley's remarkable lead singing talents. At the moment though, Ghost of Tom's "The Clearing" merely exhibits the possibilities for the future, not the ascension into genius.

The first full-length release from Austin's Soulhat in six years bristles with the full-bodied grooves, wry lyrical witticisms, and irresistible hooks that made the band a favorite throughout the South in the early 90's. The band, again fronted by chief songwriter Kevin McKinney, relies on the road-tested chops of B.E. "Frosty" Smith behind the kit, John Vogelsang on bass, and Mac McNabb on guitars and Hofner bass to concoct its distinctive Texas shuffle and churn.

"Experiments On A Flat Plane" returns to the more acoustic sounds of 1992's "Outdebox" rather than the weightier, metallic crunch of 1994's "Good to Be Gone" -- but by acoustic, we don't necessarily mean quiet. Everything you've come to expect from this band is there, including some nice electric solo work and those bluesy, syncopated riffs, but the emphasis has decidedly returned to songwriting. The arrangements, in turn, vary from understated to sublime and feature heaps of acoustic guitar and harmonies.

The album opens with the dreamy Loading before launching into Plastic, a groove-based rocker typical of the "old school" SHAT Records shuffle with it's Jon Spencer-inspired, distorted guitar lead and quirky lyrical outlook on the state of the world ("bottles and cans are holding hands, credit cards come in any size"). The rolling underbelly of Flat Plane is all Frosty, whose nimble, quick-fire stick work has backed Sly, P-Funk, Rare Earth, and innumerable others throughout his career. Frosty is, as always, the backbone to the beast, slapping down irresistible, head-boppin' beats throughout the disc.

The re-worked Mailbox, a Soulhat staple since 1990, adds punch to this reggae-flavored stalker confessional. McNabb's slippery electric snarl sets the creepy but innocuous tone for this tale of harmless obsession.

Despite driving rockers like Gone and Cash, acoustic guitars still fuel the ship, and never more so than on WNBA, the heart-breaking, country flavored, double-count lament of a man who has lost his "girl" to professional basketball. Gender politics aside, WNBA is an exercise in rhymed hilarity and shameless pun as the narrator waits out a, "jump ball for my poor heart," and wonders aloud, "How will I rebound from misery?"

The well-crafted slink of City bounces from shimmering riff to riff, riding its harmonies like swelling waves. It gives way to the slither of Skin, another wistful story of failing romance whose spare instrumentation and simple harmonies leave the focus on the melody, which will creep right "under your skin" and nest for days.

All things considered, there is not a single throwaway on the 12-tune outing. Sure, short tunes bookend it, but even if you tossed out those nice little ditties, you'd still have an album that proves Soulhat's weight and muscle is still all about turning-out songs you just can't stop singing to yourself. The only complaint is that, at a mere 40 minutes, there just isn't enough of it.