Sound Stories & Interviews

Before last week, I was not familiar with the term “Janxta Funk.”
After talking to Brian J, the front man of The Pimps of Joytime, however, I find it to be an aptly descriptive phrase that makes perfect sense, especially when used to describe the sound of this Brooklyn-based band.
First, some background. To understand Janxta Funk you need to have a basic understanding of the types of funk music out there. According to Brian J, there are two primary types of funk: the polished, crisp sound of bands like Kool and the Gang and the more raw sound exhibited by bands like Sly and Family Stone.
You also need to have a handle on the term, “janky,” a word used to describe something that’s kinda half-put together, wrapped in duct tape and is always in danger of rattling apart. An amalgamation of janky and gangster, Janxta Funk is a term coined by Brian J to describe the vibe of his band, which has been churning out dance-worthy cuts.

Tony Smiley has always wanted to play rock music, but he doesn't want to be in a band. He's been there, done that and the rock band dynamic just isn't for him. This would be the end of the line for most aspiring rock musicians. Time to clip on the Guitar Center nametag or start giving guitar lessons to Nirvana-loving junior high kids, right?
Smiley is indeed still playing rock music and he still doesn't have a band. The 37-year-old Hood River-native now based outside of Vancouver, Wash., is making the best music of his career and he's doing it all on his own with the help of a few loop pedals and an arsenal of instruments ranging from keyboards to drums. His appeal here in Central Oregon has boomed in the past year and he plays one of his most notable shows in the region on Thursday night at McMenamins Old St. Francis School. At this show – and all his shows, for that matter – Smiley is surrounded by a tangle of wires, guitars and, of course, effects pedals, and takes his audiences' initial confusion and molds it into an all-out raging dance party when he sees fit.

1. Youth Lagoon, The Year Of Hibernation: Ambient lo-fi backdrops with flowing pop drum beats and honest storytelling fill out the debut album from this Boise band.
2. Fleet Foxes, Helplessness Blues: Still soul searching, this Portland/Seattle act offers up another folk opus with echoing vocals that beg for
self-discovery.
3. Shabazz Palaces, Black Up: Dark experimental hip-hop from Seattle, dipped in electro-beats and wicked flowing verse.
4. The Cave Singers, No Witch: Rousing simplicity and deep harmonies ride crisp violin and guitar strings with occasional blues tributes on this open road soundtrack.

1. Sleeper Agent, Celebrasion: On riffy rockers like “Proper Taste” or “Force a Smile,” Sleeper Agent sounds like The Who on speed. But just when you think you have a fix on the band's sound, out comes a sweet pure pop tune like the ballad “That's My Baby” or a Strokes-ish rocker like “Get Burned.”
2. Centro-Matic, Candidate Waltz: Though its music falls under the roots rock/Americana umbrella, Centro-Matic is more sonically adventurous and creative than most such acts. There's crunchy rock (“All the Takers”), lovely but sturdy balladry “Shadow, Follow Me” and ghostly, grainy, yet pretty pop-rock (“Estimate x 3”). No newcomers, (the band dates back to 1995 and its frontman, Will Johnson, is a member of Monsters Of Folk), Centro-Matic should be vastly better known than it is.

There should be a law, or at least one of those don't-wear-white-after-Labor-Day social dictums that prevents any human, no matter how merry he or she happens to be, from publicly playing Christmas music until… how about, December 15? Yeah, that sounds about right, giving those who love jingling and/or belling 10 full days of sugary music before the actual holiday.
The current acceptable practice is to begin pumping these glittery sounds through the speakers of stores, restaurants and car stereos about 15 minutes after Thanksgiving dinner has been completed. This is akin to playing “The Monster Mash” beginning in late September until the last mini-Snickers bar has been handed out.

Two members of our local music community, both of them named Andy and both of them insanely accomplished and talented, teamed up to released a Christmas album this year. Andy Stokes (vocals) and Andy Warr (Saxophone) recorded 'Zat You Santa over the summer of this year and managed to create a crafty, jazz-influenced take on a number of classic holiday tunes and one show tune (“My Favorite Things”).
With a sexy, jazzy feel, Warr and Stokes employ an early '90s R&B milieu to songs like “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and “This Christmas” while maintaining the ability to create more subdued sounds when they slow things down for “Silent Night.” Stokes, a longtime veteran of the Oregon music scene and member of the Oregon Music Hall of Fame, has a strong voice that blends nicely with Warr's saxophone riffs that makes these two an excellent pairing.

Rarely does one make it late in life without a positive attitude. Even rarer is not just “making it,” but flourishing as the member of a 72-year-old gospel band that remains a mainstay of its genre.
In 1939 at the Alabama Institute for the Negro Blind, a young Jimmy Carter (no, not that Jimmy Carter) befriended a few of his fellow students who were similarly passionate about music. They soon created The Blind Boys of Alabama, which has become an internationally renowned gospel group that's played with everyone from Curtis Mayfield to Tom Waits and even Ben Harper.
When I talked to Carter from his home in Birmingham, Ala., last week, he was enjoying a quiet day at the house, a rare treat for the founding member who's got to be near his 80s (he politely declined to answer when I said, “Mr. Carter, may I ask how old you are?”).
Age has affected neither Carter's love of music nor his desire to continue touring. But just how does he do it?

Outside Lone Pine Coffee Roasters, two grown men are playing with a bullwhip. After every crack of the leather echoes through the chalked-up bricks of Tin Pan Alley, the guys laugh. I figure these bearded guys are living out a late-in-life Indiana Jones fixation, and I have no problem with this. But it turns out these two guys are James Adams and Bernie Diveley, the songwriter and drummer, respectively, of one of Bend's most intriguing new bands, The Rural Demons.
We head inside where guitarist Casey Corcoran is waiting on a cup of coffee and backup singer Moss (no last name – “It's just Moss,” she insists) is knitting a “took,” which is what she calls a beanie because she's Canadian. Back behind the counter of the shop, Kaycee Anseth, also a singer in the band, prepares said coffee. But all talk quickly turns to the bullwhip. There are plenty of questions – namely: why the hell would two grown men and members of an act that's tough to describe, but the band calls “roots music with an apocalyptic spin,” be so fixated on this whip?