Honus Honus (aka Ryan Kattner) has devoted his career to exploring the uncertainty between life’s extremes: beauty and ugliness, order and chaos. The songs on Dream Hunting in the Valley of the In-Between, Man Man’s first album in over six years and his Sub Pop debut, are as intimate, soulful, and timeless as they are audaciously inventive and daring.
NEFERTITI represents the final "straight-ahead" offering by Miles Davis' legendary '60s quintet, the culmination of a creative arc which began with E.S.P.. On four subsequent albums–MILES IN THE SKY, FILLES DE KILIMANJARO, IN A SILENT WAY and BITCHES BREW–Davis forged a fresh creative arc in which he allowed elements of electronics, blues, funk and rock to intermingle with his own post-modernist sensibility to launch the jazz-rock fusion era.
NEFERTITI was the fruition of all Davis' experiments in free form, bebop, cool and modal jazz. Davis's signature as an improviser and musical editor is writ large on each composition, particularly in the provocative use of space. On Shorter's famous title tune, the trumpet and tenor saxophone shadow each other's line in a deliberately inexact manner, almost like a form of silkscreening, as Hancock's piano tolls away suggestively and Tony Williams drops percussive grenades all over the canvas–as if the drums were the lead voice (and don't think they aren't).
Bootsy Collins has rightfully received accolades as funk's second officer (after George Clinton – and it should be third after James Brown and Clinton). For decades he has been sampled by every rapper from Snoop Dogg to OutKast, and virtually created the bass sound that made the Red Hot Chili Peppers a household name and that created a career for Les Claypool. Yet, his most influential sound emanated not from his tenure with James Brown or P-Funk, but his own Rubber Band, and until now that wooly, wild, and surreal unit has never been properly anthologized. Rhino, in their usual thorough, crazy fashion, have directed the folks at the Warner archives and have created a massive, drop-the-bomb two-disc set that sets the record straight.
Bootsy Collins' debut solo album, Stretchin' Out in Bootsy's Rubber Band, was an extremely tough act to follow, but thankfully, there are no signs of a sophomore slump (either creatively or commercially) on his second album, Ahh … The Name Is Bootsy, Baby! Most P-funk addicts consider this 1977 LP essential listening, and it isn't hard to see why they feel that way. Everything on the album is excellent; …
William "Bootsy" Collins cut his teeth playing bass with the James Brown band in 1970, but when he landed in George Clinton's Parliament/Funkadelic crew in the mid-70s, he quickly became a figurehead of Clinton's messier, trippier cartoon funk. Throughout the 1976-82 period condensed into this two-disc set, Bootsy and his Rubber Band were essentially P-Funk for kids. His records had all the stage-crowding chaos of the Mothership, with the politics and priapism replaced by goofy spiels about the excellence of, well, Bootsy, plus squelchy, googly sounds and his infamous star-shaped shades. The tone he got out of his star-shaped bass, like huge bubbles surfacing from the bottom of a lake, was heavy enough that he could slow things way, way down–"Jam Fan (Hot)" crawls like no other hard-funk record. That, in turn, let him be the half-serious love-man Clinton couldn't risk being (check out the wacky, spacey slow jam "Munchies for Your Love"). Glory B mostly collects unedited album tracks, though it also throws in 1980's lost demi-hit "Freak to Freak" (credited to Sweat Band) and the 1982 single "Body Slam!".