Music

Louis Jordan and his Tympany 5
Go Blow Your Horn
Released 1957

You might think you've been having fun, but if you haven't heard a good dose of Louis Jordan lately, you're a bore. Louis Jordan is the connection between the Big Band era of the '40s and the rise of R&B. At one point in the mid-'40s, Louis Jordan's recordings held the #1 spot on the black music charts for almost a year. Go Blow Your Horn reflects the upbeat feeling of pop culture of the '50s and puts you on the street corner in the jumping jive world of this incredible sax player.

There is a radio station in town – I won't hint as to where it resides on the FM dial – that has devoted itself to playing Christmas music around the clock. And “around the clock” is not being used figuratively here. If you wake up at 3:18am to take a leak, you can flip on your radio (if you are the type of person that has a radio in your bathroom) and get properly Mannheim Steamrollered. You can also drive to work tapping the steering wheel along to “Little Drummer Boy” and drive home tapping the same steering wheel to a different version of “Little Drummer Boy.”
So, yes, people love holiday music and it's for that reason that Aaron Meyer, one of the Northwest's most skilled violinists, has become a master of the season, even if he isn't exactly wild about “Jingle Bells.”

Erin Cole-Baker
Talon and Spur

Erin Cole-Baker has earned her stripes in Bend's local music scene. As one half of The Erins, Cole-Baker displayed strong songwriting capabilities and an ability to fit in well with different folk styles. Now, with her solo release Talon and Spur, we hear what seems like a matured songwriter whose songs are solidly structured and lyrically unique. The album proves one of the most complete folk-oriented offerings to come out of Central Oregon in recent memory. Rooted in Americana, the record also echoes the indie acoustic vibe that's been blowing up in Portland for the past few years.

After what seems like a long and relatively unremarkable year for touring acts in Bend – or more precisely touring acts not in Bend, as the case often was – 2009 draws to a close with something of a highlight. Son Volt makes a stop at The Domino Room next week, bringing one of the pioneering voices in modern alt-country to Central Oregon in the form of front man Jay Farrar. The band rolls into Bend with a new album under its belt and Farrar, a recently critically lauded collaboration with Death Cab For Cutie's Ben Gibbard.
One of two bands born out of the seminal alt-country group Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt is more a brand than a band. Farrar's muscular twang is the only constant among Son Volt's shifting membership, which Farrar sometimes seems to flip through like stations on an FM dial. Still there's a familiarity to the music that drifts between fuzz-toned Americana and straight-up lap steel tinged Appalachian country.

Here's perhaps the most rock star attribute to be deduced from a 20-minute interview with Dweezil Zappa – the dude uses an alias when checking into hotels. You just don't hear about quintessentially rock star stuff like that these days.
But even with his rock royalty lineage and '80s-'90s celebrity status, that's about where the rock staredness ends with Zappa these days. He seems more akin to a devoted musical student (or teacher) than a guitar god, or the sort of public figure he was as a “VJ” on MTV, back when MTV played music videos rather than “reality” soap operas.

On the cover of his soon-to-be released album, No Strings, Brad Jones wears black sunglasses and his emergency orange baseball cap cocked about 50 degrees off center. It's also worth noting that his shoelaces are the same DayGlo tone of his hat.
And another thing: Brad Jones is 38 years old.
But 38 isn't too old to reinvent oneself, either with an admittedly goofy stage clothing style or musically, as Jones has done with his 14-track disc of electro-pop-meets-dance-party-meets-high-tops cuts which he recorded largely on his own. It's a highly accessibly club-friendly album that might surprise some who know Jones as the keyboardist for local jam band The Mostest. As he acknowledges, there's nothing like No Strings being made in Bend, but that might not make it, or Jones as a performer, any easier to classify.