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The eMusic Dozen: Brass Bands

Brass Bands by James Sullivan

"New Orleans is the hippest city on the planet," wrote a DJ for the city's hippest radio station, WWOZ, a decade ago in the liner notes to a compilation of new-wave brass bands called "Kickin' Some Brass." After decades of neglect, the second line -- the brass-and-percussion tradition of flamboyant Mardi Gras parades and cathartic funeral marches -- was in the midst of a full-scale comeback. Brass bands, rooted in John Philip Sousa-style ceremonial pomp, were suddenly hip, owing to the bon temps of the city's Jazz & Heritage Festival and the funk and hip-hop affinities of the new breed of trumpeters, trombonists and tuba players.

If the Rebirth Brass Band was as popular as Tupac on the streets of New Orleans, DJ Davis wondered, why couldn't it be the same across the country? The answer, he felt, was obvious: we can't expect the rest of the country to keep up with New Orleans, hipness-wise. "A brass band has got to be ready to play a society party in a mansion or a block party in the projects, to play a raucous funeral for a crack dealer or a solemn procession for an elder statesman of jazz," he noted.

That sounds an awful lot like a description of democracy in action. More than most styles of music, brass bands deserve to be heard live, in the presence of other human beings. Nothing feels quite like the rumble of a tuba in your solar plexus, and the delirium of the interlocking soloists can approach transcendence. (Which, when you're marching for a dead man, is sort of the goal.) Yet the best brass bands, like the preeminent Dirty Dozen, are master technicians in the studio, and acolytes such as Madison, Wisconsin's Youngblood Brass Band have taken the music to new levels of complexity.

The formal earliest brass bands undoubtedly influenced jazz's Dixieland origins, which have been mothballed, museum-quality, at the French Quarter's venerable Preservation Hall for nearly a half-century now. That enduring institution opened in the early 1960s, when local musicians were leaving the city in droves. They blamed DA Jim Garrison (yes, that Jim Garrison) and his crackdown on vice, which left the musicians with nowhere to earn a living. In the wake of Katrina, the death knell sounded once again for music in New Orleans. Somehow, however, the city doesn't stay dead for long.

If you shake one tail feather in New Orleans, you're bound to brush up against musical royalty. This excellent streetwise brass band was formed in the '90s by James Andrews, grandson of the late Jessie ("Ooh Poo Pah Doo") Hill and brother of Trombone Shorty. Originally an offshoot of the Young Olympia Brass Band, the group mixed it up on its 1997 debut, waxing traditional ("Li'l Liza Jane") and theoretically inspiring the rapper Mystikal ("Shakin' That Ass") with their more, well, contemporary stuff. After recording in 2005 with Meters bassist George Porter Jr. at the helm, this latest incarnation of the New Birth keeps the party rolling with a raucous opener, "Who Dat Called Da Police," and a unique interpretation of hip hop's "national anthem," "Apache."

The first of the modern mashup brass bands, bringing the funk for more than 30 years now, the Dirty Dozen were featured on Elvis Costello's "Spike" and have toured and/or guested with Widespread Panic, Modest Mouse and many others. "What's Going On?" is the group's inspired response to the Katrina disaster -- a track-by-track remake of the Marvin Gaye classic. Bettye LaVette, Chuck D and Guru lead an all-star guest list, but it might be the appropriately dirgelike instrumental version of "Wholy Holy" that best captures the somber resolve the band no doubt intended to convey. In a sense, they've come full circle: born out of the creative atmosphere of the late, great Danny Barker's youth-oriented Fairview Baptist Church Marching Band in the early 1970s, the Dirty Dozen's first incarnation was known as the Hurricane Brass Band.

Dissent is a natural component of brass band music; veering off-script is part of the job description. This nine-piece from Madison, Wisconsin, takes its politics seriously: the title of their latest album is no accident. (They fancy their brand of brass "riot jazz.") Born out of their public school system, the membership is devoted to music education and, increasingly, political activism. Their most recent release ricochets from dead-serious spoken word ("Will") to emphatic samba-style rumble ("Sell Me More"). As strong as much of this is, some Youngblood devotees still swear by their earlier records. Their second album (self-released, like their debut) featured a silky version of Stevie Wonder's "Pastime Paradise" and guest appearances from Mike Ladd, Talib Kweli and Frank Zappa vocalist Ike Willis.

Technically speaking, it's actually Drums, Tuba & Guitar (though the group did start as a duo, on the streets of Austin). On more recent releases they've even begun to emphasize electronics. Still, any group rooted in tuba bass lines can't help but refer, at least sideways, to brass band tradition. Whatever horn man Brian Wolff, percussionist Tony Nozero and guitarist Neal McKeeby were implying with the title of "Prince and the Phantom," one of several standouts on their 2001 debut for Ani DiFranco's Righteous Babe Records, they certainly do bring the funk as well as the intrigue. Even when they're making like Tortoise, as they do here on the atmospheric "Topolino," Drums & Tuba never lose sight of the levee. In fact, after living in scattered cities for years, they're now calling NOLA their home.

Though just across Rampart Street from the French Quarter, the Treme neighborhood is a thousand miles away. "The Wire"'s David Simon is reportedly working on a pilot about the ‘hood's musicians in the wake of Katrina, which should be good news for this bunch. When this album was recorded in the mid-1990s, the group featured some of the original Dirty Dozen and two veterans of Fats Domino's band; ex-Rebirth Kermit Ruffins and New Birth founder James Andrews were also part of the fold. (Also sitting in were two uncredited Japanese tourists on banjo and piano, which should give you some sense of the group's free-for-all attitude.) Gospel tradition abounds ("Just a Closer Walk with Thee," "The Old Rugged Cross"), but so does the secular religion ("Gimme My Money Back"). The tunes, most in the eight- and nine-minute range, typically build to the sort of giddy commotion that makes the best brass music a direct link to euphoria.

There's a similar kind of culture shock on this release from the French label La Boutique Productions, as these heavily mustached Eastern Europeans work the "Mission: Impossible" theme into a playful version of the Ellington classic "Caravan." Several songs are "coceks," the traditional Balkan style that started with Ottoman military bands and gave rise to classic Gypsy belly dancing. Part klezmer, part Salvation Army band and all mischief ("Encore Une Fanfare" starts with some multivoice scat singing that sounds like a prodigious drinker I once knew who had Tourette's syndrome), they'd be right at home at the Maple Leaf.

So commonplace as to be unremarkable in the Crescent City, full-on Mardi Gras regalia stands out a lot more starkly in Boston, where this party band makes its home. Founded by saxophonist Ken Field, a longstanding member of the experimental Birdsongs of the Mesozoic, the Revolutionary Snake Ensemble opened its debut album with a frantic version of "Parade," which many parents might recognize from its regular rotation in a counting segment on "Sesame Street." The band takes on the heavy funk (James Brown, Manu Dibango) and heady jazz (Sun Ra's "A Call for All Demons"). Their new album picks up where the debut left off, alternating several N'Awlins standbys with a flouncy version of "Que Sera Sera" and a well-liquored take on Billy Idol's "White Wedding."

One of the most joyous musical experiences I've ever had was an after-hours set by the Soul Rebels at Donna's on Rampart Street during Jazz Fest several years ago. Very much to the contrary of the Big Easy's reputation, the people in attendance were multi-tasking furiously -- drinking, smiling, sweating and dancing. The Soul Rebels, once managed by Donna herself and supposedly christened by Cyril Neville, are probably the most gangsta of the younger brass bands. With roots in the marching bands at Grambling and Texas Southern University, the group was years ahead of Kanye and his marching-band extravaganzas.

Olympia is so old-school, its original band preceded both jazz and popular recording. Revived in the 1950s by Harold Dejan, a member of the historic Eureka Brass Band, the Olympians' biggest international recognition probably came when the band appeared in the funeral scene in "Live and Let Die," at a time when the brass band tradition itself was gasping for air. Going out in style is the focus of this live collection, with spirituals and second-line standards leading to the overwrought emotion and haunted-house wails of the magnificent seven-minute "Westlawn Dirge." Fittingly, when longtime Olympia leader Milton Batiste died in 2001, they gave him one of the all-time sendoffs.

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