Live and Unreleased
WEATHER REPORT
Columbia/Legacy

All you youngish jam-band and groove-jazz fans out there — those of you who think Charlie Hunter and the Jacob Fred Odyssey are the straight-up shit — time for a little history lesson. If Miles Davis' early '70s electric bands represent the birth of funk-based groove-jazz (you could argue otherwise, but that's my take and I'm sticking with it), then Weather Report exemplifies the refinement of the genre.

Unfortunately, the band has been inexorably linked to the fusion movement, which is often dismissed as the product of chops-addled, soulless show-offs. Weather Report, led by Miles expats Joe Zawinul and Wayne Shorter, certainly had technique to spare, but used it only in service of composition and rhythm. Zawinul once wrote this cryptic line: We always solo and we never solo. And so it was. Weather Report forged a sublime melding of group improvisation and collective groove. The music was at turns spine-tingling, pastoral, hypnotic. It was almost always extremely accessible.

(Need independent corroboration about the merits of Weather Report? I interviewed John Medeski last week. He said of Zawinul, Shorter and company: "Forget it, man, they were the heaviest.")

OK, before dismissing the class, we must discuss the requisite listening materials. They come in the form of a double-disc set of previously unissued concert material ranging from 1975 to 1983. Live and Unreleased. For Weather Report fans, this is like finding the Dead Sea Scrolls under your pillow. For the uninitiated but jam-inclined, it's absolutely essential ear food.

Contributing to Weather Report's ongoing vitality was their timely changing of personnel that sided with keyboardist Zawinul and saxophonist Shorter. On drums, Chester Thompson's in-the-pocket funk gave way to Alex Acuna's slippery finesse, which opened the door for Peter Erskine's limber precision, which bowed to Omar Hakim's swaggering muscularity. On electric bass, which was revolutionized in the Weather Report camp, Alphonso Johnson set the standard with his bright-toned lickage. Jaco Pastorius barged in, the frets on his Fender Jazz filed down, and turned the instrument topsy-turvy. Victor Bailey stepped up to replace (if not fill) those big shoes admirably. A succession of percussionists — Acuna (before taking over drums), Manolo Badrena, Robert Thomas, Joe Rossy — provided crucial rhythmic color.

Zawinul and Shorter composed most of the band's material, and they didn't go in for the head-and-solos method. The tunes unwound or morphed quickly, beats shifted. Melodies interlaced. This was hooky music, a sophisticated kind of catchy. And Weather Report's complexity never came off as arty or pretentious.

Live and Unreleased offers proof positive that the ensemble(s) could effortlessly navigate the tricky, mutating songs. The performances throughout the set are at once tight and expansive.

OK, new students are now dismissed. Aficionados, this stuff's for you:

A playful battle between Zawinul's synth and Hakim's drums leads into several gooseflesh-raising crescendos on "Where the Moon Goes." The open-ended melody of "Night Passage" is given a more forceful treatment by the Jaco/Erskine band. "Black Market" (Acuna/Jaco) is leaner and more manic than the studio version. On the set-closing "Dr. Honoris Causa" (Johnson/Thompson) you can hear a snippet of the intro to "Birdland," the full version of which is not included here. The speed of Erskine's ride cymbal work on "Fast City" (1980) defies human capacity, and Shorter's blazing tenor solo gives the lie to the notion that he had become the Incredible Shrinking Saxophonist. "Cucumber Slumber" (Johnson/Thompson) is about as gutbucket as the band ever got.

That's just a few appetizers for ya. Clearly, diehards, you deserve the whole meal. And novices, if you're still with us, you do too. —Eric Snider

Gateway
BONGZILLA
Relapse

Every sentence in the band's bio includes a handy pot reference. Very nearly every song title — certainly every one on Gateway, their second full-length — does the same. Couple that with custom van-style artwork, an unabashed willingness to be labeled "stoner rock," and, er, their name, and what does it spell? Why, "gimmick," that's what. Gateway sounds exactly like what one should think an outfit called Bongzilla, on a heavy rock label like Relapse, would: monolithic down-tuned droneage overlaid by screamy, throat-ripping vocals. They're obviously attempting to come off as a caricatured apotheosis of the genre, the stonedest, most Sabbath-copping stoners ever to cop Sabbath. What they end up with, however, is an unoriginal quasi-joke drawn out far beyond its ability to intrigue. There are no new riffs or inventive arrangements here (save the Spartan fuzz-bass workout of the title track), just the same big, tired grooves. Bongzilla's big innovation is the sporadic addition of movie/dialogue samples. Hmm, can you guess to what each and every one of them pertains? I bet you can. Insert the old joke about why they call it dope here. Sure, the quip is trite and completely predictable, but then again, so is Bongzilla. (www.relapse.com)

—Scott Harrell

Turn on the Bright Lights
INTERPOL
Matador

For many, the late-'70s and early 1980s signified flashy new wave and tacky androgyny. Often overlooked are the British bands, such as Joy Division, Bauhaus, The Cure and The Fall, that pioneered majestic, powerful and haunting tunes — the likes of which haven't really seen a parallel since. Except now. You can't mention the New York band Interpol without the obligatory Joy Division comparison, and that's a good thing. Like the famed Mancunian band of yore, Interpol weaves abstract lyrics sung deadpan-style over a vast range of textures. The result is a soundscape that's atmospheric without the attendant Goth-fetish gimmick. And they rock too. Interpol has successfully wedded the bare bones of today's No Wave revival (Strokes, Hives, etc.) with the ethereal artiness of '80s post-punk. And it's a marriage, let's hope, that will be long lasting.