Music

The Chicago musician made his mark with Minnie Riperton and Earth, Wind & Fire at Chess Records. A new collection explores his previously unreleased solo work.Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Gratitude.” Terry Callier’s “Occasional Rain.” Minnie Riperton’s “Come to My Garden.” All three albums featured ornate sounds that fused elements of classical, psychedelic music and soul. All three nudged their creators in fresh creative directions. All three bore the hallmarks of a vibraphonist who turned into one of the most underappreciated producers of his era: Charles Stepney.Stepney is best known from his in-house production and arrangements for Chess Records, the Chicago label that highlighted blues musicians and paved early inroads to rock ’n’ roll. Working mostly behind the scenes in the 1960s and ’70s, with artists including Muddy Waters, Ramsey Lewis, Deniece Williams and the Dells, he wasn’t necessarily a household name. But those who knew, knew.“It was a sensitivity and creativity behind what he did,” Williams said in an interview. “He was very special in his sound and his deliverance. It wasn’t like anybody else.”Stepney’s career, however, was short: He died in 1976 at age 45, and while his music has lived on — and spread via samples by artists including A Tribe Called Quest, Kanye West and Solange — he hasn’t been the focus of a deep dive release, until now. Last Friday, the Chicago-based label International Anthem released “Step on Step,” a compilation of demos and experimental music Stepney crafted for himself. The set features anecdotes from his three daughters — Eibur, Charlene and Chanté — alongside sporadic studio chatter, offering a rare behind-the-scenes look into Stepney’s meticulous recording process.“When people are like, ‘Did your dad write that?’ We were like, ‘Yeah, he wrote it,’” Charlene said with a laugh in a recent video call. “Because we heard it about 50 times a day.”The Stepney sisters described their father as hard-working and stern yet fair, with a restless creative mind that never stopped taking in stimuli. They remembered the jokes he’d tell, and how — even though he was busy in the studio — they could come and hang out among the instruments in the basement, as long as they were quiet. “He didn’t always labor over one song,” Charlene said. “If he got stuck, he would put it up, label it, let it breathe, and then he’d come back to it later.”These tracks that Stepney worked on alone differ from the collaborations that helped make his name. “Gimme Some Sugar,” “Daddy’s Diddies” and “Gotta Dig It to Dig It” lean heavily into electronic funk, while “Imagination,” “That’s the Way of the World” and “On Your Face” — early versions of the noted Earth, Wind & Fire songs — feature spacey synths and canned drums, far removed from the band’s immense, brassy resonance. The six-minute “Look B4U Leap” blends rhythmic percussion and bright electric keys, and “Denim Groove” — a melodic mix of jazz and samba — sounds dialed in from the not-so-distant future, the beginnings of hip-hop culture in the early 1980s.Stepney got his start studying music theory at Wilson Junior College in Chicago and began his career playing piano and vibraphone in the mid-1950s. He almost quit the business when, flat broke and frustrated that the city’s North Side clubs were white and not booking jazz and the South Side venues weren’t paying decent wages, he nearly sold his vibraphone and got a regular job. “I was broke and convinced I would never make it in this field,” he told Downbeat in 1970. “Maybe I ought to try being a shoe salesman or bookkeeper or something.”On the day Stepney was going to drop off his large instrument to a potential buyer, Phil Wright, an arranger at Chess, called and asked him to play a recording session at the label’s studio. Stepney impressed them so much, he kept getting called back to work, and eventually became the label’s lead sheet writer. In 1967, Marshall Chess, the son of the label’s founder, tasked him with an ambitious project: helping to create the psychedelic soul group Rotary Connection, taking the bones of a white rock band and adding voices like the upstart Riperton (who had first joined the label as its receptionist) and the singer and songwriter Sidney Barnes.The group was an experiment, and Stepney its gleeful chemist, mixing gospel, strings and soulful grooves with unexpected, even jarring sounds and wordless, atmospheric interludes. Riperton, with her four-and-a-half-octave range, was the clear-cut star of the outfit, and three years later, Stepney produced and arranged her lush debut album.Williams was introduced to Stepney through Rotary Connection’s ambitious sound. “I was 16 and my neighbor rushed in with this LP,” she said, “and I saw his name in the credits. There was a feeling you got from his arrangements. You not only heard it, but you felt it.” She recalled how “Charles lifted the head of the piano and started strumming the strings with a guitar pick,” while working on “If You Don’t Believe,” from her 1976 debut. “I was there with my mouth open like, ‘Who else would think to do that?’”Stepney’s schedule was demanding, and his health suffered. He learned he was diabetic, then suffered a heart attack at the home of the record executive Clarence Avant. Eibur, his eldest daughter, said he had told her, “‘I’ve done everything I’ve ever wanted to do and accomplished, but what I really want to do is my own album.’” He was finishing Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Spirit” — completing charts while he was hospitalized, Charlene said — shortly before a second, fatal heart attack.Stepney left behind 90 reels of unreleased solo material, which sat with the sisters for decades before they finally got it transcribed, with help from the International Anthem co-founder Scottie McNiece. “Stepney’s story is so uniquely Chicagoan,” he wrote in an email. “He was an incredibly gifted artist who was more focused on the music than any sort of lifestyle or celebrity. He was just a true, craft-focused, working artist.”“Step on Step” traverses the vast scope of Stepney’s creative affinities in a 78-minute set. “It’s a legacy of love; it’s a legacy of passion,” his youngest daughter, Chanté, said. “He was underrated, under-known, but he was magnificent.” More

His 1965 recording of “The ‘In’ Crowd” brought him to a place few jazz musicians reached in that era: the Top 10.Ramsey Lewis, a jazz pianist who unexpectedly became a pop star when his recording of “The ‘In’ Crowd” reached the Top 10 in 1965 — and who remained musically active for more than a half century after that — died on Monday at his home in Chicago. He was 87.His death was announced on his website. No cause was given.Mr. Lewis, who had been leading his own group since 1956, had recorded with the revered drummer Max Roach and was well known in jazz circles but little known elsewhere when he and his trio (Eldee Young on bass and Redd Holt on drums) recorded a live album at the Bohemian Caverns in Washington in May 1965. The album included a version of “The ‘In’ Crowd,” which had been a hit for the R&B singer Dobie Gray just a few months earlier, and which was released as a single.Instrumental records were a rarity on the pop charts at the time, jazz records even more so. But its infectious groove, Mr. Lewis’s bluesy piano work and the ecstatic crowd reaction helped make the Ramsey Lewis Trio’s rendition of “The ‘In’ Crowd” a staple on radio stations and jukeboxes across the country. It reached No. 5 on the Billboard Hot 100 — eight points higher than the Dobie Gray original had reached.Two more singles in a similar vein quickly followed: covers of “Hang On Sloopy,” which had been a No. 1 hit for the McCoys in 1965, and the Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night.” “The ‘In’ Crowd” won Mr. Lewis the first of his three Grammy Awards. (The others were for the 1966 album track “Hold It Right There” and a 1973 rerecording of “Hang On Sloopy.”)Mr. Young and Mr. Holt left in 1966 to form their own group and had hit singles of their own. Mr. Lewis carried on with Cleveland Eaton on bass and Maurice White, later a founder of Earth, Wind & Fire, on drums. That trio had a Top 40 hit in 1966 with a version of the spiritual “Wade in the Water.”That record proved to be the end of Mr. Lewis’s career as a purveyor of Top 40 singles, but it was far from the end of his career as a jazz musician. Over the years he would record scores of albums, in contexts ranging from trios to orchestras to collaborations with his fellow pianist Billy Taylor and the singer Nancy Wilson, and he was a constant presence on the Billboard jazz chart.There was always more to Mr. Lewis than his soulful hits suggested; he was a virtuoso with a thorough grasp of the harmonic complexity of modern jazz and a smooth touch reminiscent of earlier jazz pianists like Art Tatum and Teddy Wilson. But his success on the pop and R&B charts — where he returned in 1974 with “Sun Goddess,” an album partly written and produced by Mr. White and featuring members of Earth, Wind & Fire, on which Mr. Lewis played electric keyboards — led some jazz purists to view him with skepticism.That skepticism was long gone by 2007, when the National Endowment for the Arts named him a Jazz Master, the nation’s highest honor for a jazz musician.Mr. Lewis in an undated photo. He once said he had “always had a broad outlook. If it was good music, I could dig it.” Michael Ochs Archives/Getty ImagesCommenting on the perceived conflict between “jazz as entertainment and jazz as art” in a 2007 interview with DownBeat magazine, Mr. Lewis noted, “Count Basie and Duke Ellington’s playing was for dancers, but something happened where jazz entertainment came to be looked down upon by musicians.” He himself, he said in another interview, had “always had a broad outlook. If it was good music, I could dig it.”In announcing his Jazz Master honor, the N.E.A. pointed to Mr. Lewis’s eclecticism, praising him for a style “that springs from his early gospel experience, his classical training and a deep love of jazz.” It also acknowledged him as “an ambassador for jazz,” citing his work both in academia (he had taught jazz studies at Roosevelt University in Chicago) and in the media: In the 1990s he began hosting a syndicated weekly radio program, “Legends of Jazz With Ramsey Lewis,” and in 2006 he hosted a public television series of the same name, which featured live performances by Dave Brubeck, Chick Corea, Pat Metheny, Tony Bennett and many others.At around this time he also began composing large-scale orchestral works. His “Proclamation of Hope,” written to commemorate the 200th anniversary of Abraham Lincoln’s birth, was commissioned by the Ravinia Festival in Illinois, where he was artistic director of the jazz series, and performed there by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in 2009.Mr. Lewis found the challenge of composing that work daunting, he told The Associated Press, until he “threw away the thought of Tchaikovsky and others and sat at the piano and started improvising.” As a result, he said, “I was able to compose from my spirit rather than from my intellect.”In 1995, Mr. Lewis formed Urban Knights, an all-star ensemble with an ever-changing lineup of musicians who, as he himself had long done, straddled the worlds of jazz and R&B. The group, whose lineup at various times included the saxophonists Grover Washington Jr., Gerald Albright and Dave Koz, released seven albums, the most recent in 2019.Ramsey Emmanuel Lewis Jr. was born on May 27, 1935, in Chicago, one of three children of Pauline and Ramsey Lewis. His father worked as a maintenance man.Ramsey began taking piano lessons when he was 4 — he recalled his teacher telling him, “Listen with your inner ear” and “Make the piano sing” — and was soon playing piano at the church where his father, who encouraged his interest in jazz, was choir director.He attended DePaul University in Chicago but did not graduate; his career as a professional musician had already begun before he enrolled. While still a student at Wells High School, he had joined a local seven-piece jazz band, the Clefs. When four members of the band were drafted, Mr. Lewis, Mr. Holt and Mr. Young became the Ramsey Lewis Trio.The trio signed with Argo Records, a subsidiary of the Chicago-based blues label Chess, and released their first album, “Ramsey Lewis and His Gentle-Men of Swing,” in 1956. The trio became a fixture on the Chicago nightclub scene, and many other albums followed, as did engagements at Birdland and the Village Vanguard in New York City and at the Newport Jazz Festival in Rhode Island. But the group remained relatively unheralded beyond Chicago.That changed with “The ‘In’ Crowd.”Mr. Lewis is survived by his wife, Janet; his daughters, Denise Jeffries and Dawn Allain; his sons, Kendall, Frayne and Bobby Lewis; 17 grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren. His sons Ramsey Lewis III and Kevyn Lewis died before him.During the pandemic, Mr. Lewis presented a monthly series of livestream performances. An album drawn from those performances, “The Beatles Songbook,” is slated for release in November.While in lockdown he also wrote a memoir, “Gentleman of Jazz,” in collaboration with Aaron Cohen. It is scheduled for publication next year. More

For centuries, the format of British royal funerals has largely stayed the same, with a history that tells the story of both the monarchy and music.What is the sound of a monarch’s death — the music and noise that commemorates the end of one regal life in preparation for the one to come?Music plays an enormous role in British royal ceremonies, particularly funerals, like Queen Elizabeth II’s on Sept. 19, which function as both state and religious rituals. Because the British monarch is also head of the Church of England, the sounds of these events are often tied to the Anglican musical tradition, springing out of the post-English Reformation Church.Since 1603, much of the royal funeral’s format has stayed the same, while some aspects shift to reflect the time and the monarch. The result is a striking combination of diverse works that tell both the story of the British monarchy and British music.The rites performed in the Church of England service come from the Order of the Burial of the Dead from the Book of Common Prayer. First published in 1549, it provided services and ways of daily worship in Anglican churches. The musical portions of the liturgy offered the text that has been set by composers for funerals — royal and otherwise.Those texts are called Funeral Sentences, collectively called the Burial Service, and are broken up into three parts: Opening Sentences, sung when the priests meet the body at the church; Graveside Sentences, for when the body is buried or interred; and the Last Sentence, sung after the priest throws earth onto the body.During the funeral, Sentences are separated by psalms, which are read or sung, and anthems (choral works accompanied by instruments, another musical element of the Book of Common Prayer’s liturgy). In addition, royal funerals have featured outdoor processions, including wind, brass and percussion instruments in the 17th century and, in the 20th, imperial military bands.Here is an overview of significant moments in the history of such music, from Elizabeth I to Princess Diana and the present.Elton John played a version of his song “Candle in the Wind” at Princess Diana’s funeral in 1997.Paul Hackett/Associated PressElizabeth I, 1603Elizabeth I’s funeral, at Westminster Abbey, began the tradition of grand royal services. It was the first such ceremony to use the Anglican rites and feature its associated musical liturgy. While we do not know conclusively what was performed, illustrations and surviving accounts from musicians mention the outdoor procession featuring trumpeters and the combined choirs of the Chapel Royal and Westminster Abbey. The setting most likely used for the burial service is by Thomas Morley (1557-1602), possibly written in anticipation of the occasion and often considered the first of its kind. Morley’s setting reflects the solemnity of both the text and the occasion, and it became standard for royal funerals until the 18th century.Mary II, 1695Musical innovations made to the royal funeral began with Mary II and the inclusion of new music by Henry Purcell (1659-95), including one Graveside Sentence: “Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts.” Referred to as “Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary” (Z. 860), including the march and canzona also performed, Purcell’s setting of “Thou knowest, Lord” might have been composed to match Morley’s Sentences, accompanied by “flatt, mournful Trumpets” mirroring the vocal parts. Purcell’s “Funeral March” was a new, thunderous addition, opening with deep, heavy drums before the trumpets enter, both mournful and heraldic.Anne, 1714Anne’s funeral, at Westminster Abbey, showcases the royal funeral integrating new music into already existing settings of the Burial Service. Alongside Morley’s Opening Sentences were Funeral Sentences from the Chapel Royal organist William Croft (1678-1727). Croft’s Burial Service became the choice for royal funerals to come, and though it was written for Anne’s funeral, it was most likely not completed until 1722. He would use Purcell’s “Thou knowest, Lord” as one of the Sentences within his Burial Service, writing in his “Musica Sacra” (1724) that he “endeavoured, as near as possibly I could, to imitate that great Master and celebrated Composer.” Anne’s funeral also included a new anthem by Croft, “The Souls of the Righteous.”Caroline, 1737The death of Caroline, the wife of George II, brought about a musical addition to the royal funeral befitting the Hanoverian queen. George commissioned a funeral anthem from George Frideric Handel (1685-1759) who had known Caroline as a child. Handel’s anthem, “The Ways of Zion Do Mourn” (HWV 264), is a monumental work that at the Westminster Abbey funeral “took up three quarter of an hour of the time,” The Grub-Street Journal described, and employed almost 200 performers. While an anthem, the various parts of the work recall the Lutheranism of Caroline and Handel, featuring quotations of that faith’s music. Notably, Mozart would use the melody of the anthem’s first chorus for his Requiem (1791).Victoria, 1901Like so much about Victoria’s reign, her funeral was exceptionally different from that of her predecessors. Unlike previous monarchs, she requested a royal public funeral at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, and a private burial next to Prince Albert at Frogmore House, near Windsor. Because the public service prioritized the funeral as state function over the utility of burial, Croft’s Burial Service here is more an appeal to tradition rather than a liturgical and religious need. Accordingly, Purcell’s “Thou knowest, Lord” and “Man that is born of woman,” by S.S. Wesley (1810-1876), are referred to as anthems instead of Funeral Sentences, rationalizing their inclusion in the service. The end of the ceremony featured music by Gounod, Tchaikovsky, Spohr and Beethoven, wresting the funeral music from the hands of British composers.RECENT ROYAL FUNERALS may offer insight into this tradition’s future. Princess Diana’s funeral, in 1997, featured Croft, but the anthem and procession choices embodied Diana the person: John Tavener’s “Song for Athene,” Elton John’s “Candle in the Wind,” and the second half of the “Libera me, Domine” from Verdi’s Requiem. With Tavener and Verdi, non-Protestant music and liturgy were included for the first time in a royal or state funeral; and all three works evoke a solemnity and majesty both timely and timeless.Similarly, Prince Philip’s participation in his own funeral’s planning shows through in his choice of musical selections. Along with Croft were the hymn “Eternal Father, Strong to Save,” a nod to his naval roots, and two pieces commissioned by him: Benjamin Britten’s “Jubilate Deo,” written for St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, and a setting of Psalm 104 by William Lovelady, arranged for four voices and organ. This musical flexibility shows another shift in the royal funeral tradition as it continues into the 21st century.So, what can we expect for Elizabeth II? It has been 70 years since Britain has witnessed the sovereign’s funeral, and so much has changed in that time. Britain has entered a new era, post-Brexit, in which there may be a call to return to the music of old. But many composers have thrived in the second Elizabethan Age — as wide-ranging as Britten and Errollyn Wallen — with her coronation as a testament to musical innovation similar to Elizabeth I.Britain’s future is unknown, and the end of Elizabeth II’s reign may be a turning point. Her funeral will sound like so many that came before. But it may also sound like the music of a new age.Imani Danielle Mosley is an assistant professor of musicology at the University of Florida. She specializes in the music and culture of postwar Britain, Benjamin Britten, English modernism and 20th-century opera. More

Preparing to release a new EP in Weezer’s “Sznz” series, the band’s leader explained how he keeps himself on track — and how he learned to say “Are you ready to rock?” in any language.The Weezer frontman Rivers Cuomo knows how people think about Weezer. The veteran rock band has dedicated much of 2022 to promoting “Sznz,” a four-part series of EPs that ostensibly correspond to the different seasons, but also stand in for eras in the band’s history. “‘Spring’ was the easy-breezy side of Weezer, nobody’s really going to object to that,” he said. “‘Summer’ was more like ’90s alt-rock Weezer, which lots of people will be relieved to hear.”The trick now was “Autumn,” due Sept. 22, which was still being written when we talked in mid-July. “‘Autumn’ is dance rock, which is not something we’ve traditionally been able to get away with,” he admitted. “It’s really hard to make it both dance and rock and Weezer. It’s very easy for that to turn into something that nobody likes.”Weezer certainly enjoys multitasking. Earlier this year, the band concluded the Hella Mega Tour, a joint bill with Green Day and Fall Out Boy that wrapped in Europe, where Cuomo said he experienced “the big dream when you were 12 years old lying in bed at night — 50,000 fans in stadiums, feeling the power of rock.” The band released two full-length records in 2021 and planned a Broadway residency for this fall that was ultimately canceled because of production costs and lagging ticket sales. And Cuomo is heavily involved in running his own Discord, a private chat server where Weezer fans are invited to talk with him, weigh in on new music and even act as de facto creative assistants.At home in Los Angeles during a rare moment of downtime, Cuomo spoke via phone about 10 of his beloved cultural products. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.1. “Mr. Rivers’ Neighborhood” The core musical values of my Discord are probably quite similar to the people who were posting on Weezer message boards in 2001, and maybe similar to people who were writing fan letters to [the Weezer superfans] Mykel and Carli in 1996. There’s maybe six or seven thousand people who have joined the server, and often the results of what I’m working on turn out better if I have lots of smart people helping out.2. Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas The thing I’ve found most fulfilling in my life in the last year or two is that every night, I go on my Discord and I livestream myself playing Beethoven’s sonatas in order. I play anywhere from 45 to 75 minutes, and it’s just so deeply satisfying to me. It’s like going on this tour of the most sublime emotional landscape — from the most tender moments to the most head-banging moments, tragic moments, frightening moments. It doesn’t matter what happened that day or what kind of mood I’m in — by the end of that hour, I’m good.3. Mouth Taping Sleep has historically been a little challenging for me — I’ll often wake up in the middle of the night, wide-awake, and my body and mind have no interest in going back to sleep. But somebody told me if you tape your mouth shut with athletic tape, you’ll get much deeper sleep. I tried it, and it works great. At night, I say good night to my wife and then keep my mouth shut. The first night I was a little panicky, and gasping for breath through my nostrils, but then my body calmed down and I got a great night’s sleep.4. TikTok As a consumer, TikTok is obviously amazing; it’s freakishly good at knowing what I’m actually interested in. As a creator, it’s a real game changer because now songs that would otherwise have zero chance of reaching an audience can become gigantic without the help or approval of any gatekeepers. The song “I Just Threw Out the Love of My Dreams” was a B-side from “Pinkerton,” and now it’s getting 100,000 streams a day. Another example is “The Good Life” — that’s a song we tried to release as a radio single, but nobody would play it. I just made a TikTok of me doing a stupid dance, and within 24 hours it had a half a million views.5. Coding The process of building and writing the script that would solve the problem — I realized I enjoy that more than whatever work I was supposed to be doing with the results. It satisfies a very deep part of my brain to work on making the systems around it more efficient, more automated; I’d be happy to spend 10 hours working to make something that would save 10 seconds of mindless labor. For decades, I’ve had boxes of cassettes and Dropbox folders of MP3 of demos, thousands of them. It didn’t seem right to put out vinyl or CDs, or even iTunes or Spotify. Building Weezify seemed like a cool solution to that longstanding problem of what to do.6. Asana Work Management Platform My life is quite complex now, and I have all these complicated projects like building apps, or building the four-part “Sznz” tetralogy. There’s all these ideas, so it’s great to have them in Asana; it’s like my long-term memory storage. When you move a task from the to-do column to the in-progress column, and click it, this rainbow-colored unicorn flies across the screen. It’s all very rewarding.7. Audible Semi-famously, we have a song called “The Grapes of Wrath,” which is all about my love for Audible and listening to it in the middle of the night. I’m listening to “The Corrections” now, and I’m not sure why, but there’s moments that strike me as so funny I burst out laughing at 2 o’clock in the morning, and I wake up my wife. It’s definitely a corrective against any sense of romanticization you might have about life before the hyper-internet era — and for me, life back in Connecticut, because I grew up in Connecticut. It’s like, [shocked voice] Oh, yeah! That was super bleak. That’s why I moved to L.A., and that’s why I’m doing what I do, and that’s why we invented the internet.8. Farm Tourism At the end of the tour, we spent a few days in the Cotswolds, in the English countryside. We would do things like go to a farm and feed the cows, or do some falconry. My daughter’s 15, so she wanted something a little more thrilling. There’s this giant, ancient castle called Warwick, with a dungeon you can go through. It’s one of those horrifying experiences where you have to participate. I had to go up there in front of everyone and go through this torture routine where they humiliate me; they’re not actually touching me, but they make me bend over in front of the whole crowd and basically castrate me. It was just horrifying, but I guess that’s the kind of tourism we’re into these days.9. Vipassana Meditation In May of next year, it will mark my 20th year of meditating two hours every day. It’s kind of the foundation on which everything else I do is placed. In 2003, I was kind of stuck after our fourth album; I started working with Rick Rubin, and he suggested meditation. When I first started, it was specifically like, “I’m doing this so that I can write better songs.” Now, it’s a little broader — I just want a better life, whatever that means. At the deepest level, it’s strengthening my equanimity so that whatever’s happening outside — good news, bad news — I can stay calm and be happy. And if I’m calm and happy, then I tend to treat other people better, and I tend to make decisions that are better for my own future and the people around me. Less shooting myself in the foot.10. Foreign Language Banter I’ve taken language classes before, but to do it systematically is new. This is me looking for ways to make touring fun, and it’s also helpful because it improves my stage banter, which is always the part of the show I’m most stressed about. I’m saying pretty basic stuff, but because it’s in their native tongue, it’s automatically amazing. I worked really hard at it, and then I was also able to write a script that accesses a Google spreadsheet. I have 100 common phrases in there, and then each column is a different language — all these different places we went, including Gaelic and Celtic and Basque. The script will look up the translation automatically and auto-populate any empty cell in the spreadsheet, so I can just look through that and know how to say “Are you ready to rock?” in any language. More

Loops open a dimension where, although time is ticking forward at its usual pace, I’m moving at my own speed, appreciating my body and the world around me.There once was a basement club in Minneapolis called Honey. I would go solo, taking the bus across the river and, descending the basement stairs, hear the music get louder with each step. I was mostly there on weeknights, when the club hosted touring D.J.s who were in between gigs in larger cities. I was nervous to go up to anyone, so instead I made myself comfortable by a column in the middle of the room. Being alone didn’t matter much once I closed my eyes. I would dance softly as techno or house tracks blared through the room. The music, much of it composed of looping, recurrent elements, went on for hours. Eventually, I opened my eyes and figured it was time to go home.Music made from loops — fragments of sound repeated over and over — has given me the freedom to explore who I am: a lanky Chilean who sweats too easily and thinks life shouldn’t be so serious. Though I often feel physically awkward at work or in social interactions — again, too sweaty and easily intimidated — on the dance floor everything moves as one. Loops open a dimension where, although time is ticking forward at its usual pace, I’m moving at my own speed, appreciating my body and the world around me. Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt, creators of the Oblique Strategies advice cards, put it simply: “Repetition is a form of change.”Growing up in the 2000s meant loops were omnipresent. Artists like Kanye West and Daft Punk created masterpieces by looping samples of older songs and even their own recordings. Take the latter’s seminal 2000 hit “One More Time.” The track still sounds alive to me more than 20 years later, its grainy synth sample, elastic bass line and titular refrain repeating throughout its run time. The looping creates an illusion that the record doesn’t have a beginning or an end, just the moment you happen upon it and the moment you exit the room. It’s inside this space where I discover my physicality and emotions — all it takes is some time.In miniature, loops help us become comfortable with endings, appreciative of the journey traveled.Not everyone is as patient. When I was young, my mom teased me about the repetitive music coming from my bedroom. “Que bonita,” she heckled. Other times she would beg me to change the song, irritated that, according to her, it was headed nowhere. The loops didn’t change, of course, but I would focus on everything else that did. I became more keenly attuned to my physical environment. I noticed new rhythms: conversations would start and end, people came and went, traffic picked up and died down. Becoming aware of these intricacies in everyday life is the closest I feel to being in the present, instead of picking over the past or constantly preparing for the future.In a conversation for his podcast, “Hanging Out With Audiophiles,” the musician Jamie Lidell compared the act of capturing a musical loop to catching the perfect wave. “When you have that loop and it gives you access, in a way, to something kind of sublime,” Lidell tells Four Tet, a fellow British musician, “you’re in the presence of something that to you, kind of does connect you to … maybe … some … unexplainable energy.” As you can probably gather by now, it’s hard to talk about loops without sounding like a shaman or a stoner. I reckon Lidell is neither and is getting at what makes loop-based music so transcendent. Loops condense all parts of the listening experience — sound, space, time and emotion — into one concise package.Few have captured the fleeting intensity of loops better than J Dilla, the Detroit producer whose raw, elliptical instrumentals paved a path forward for hip-hop. In his 2006 song “One Eleven,” he swirls a Smokey Robinson sample round and round, blending weeping strings and vocals together to create something entirely new. “Lord have mercy,” Robinson begs, before the strings take over again. The pain in his pitched-up voice brings me close to tears. Why is he pleading for mercy? For whom is he crying? There are no answers, only a drifting call for help. I can understand why Dilla kept many of his creations under two minutes. At some point, it’s time to let go, to literally and figuratively change your tune. If not, you can get stuck.No matter how many times a loop repeats, the song to which it belongs eventually stops, modeling a way to move on. In miniature, loops help us become comfortable with endings, appreciative of the journey traveled. This can be its own kind of buzz, too. It’s the D.J. fading out the last song of the night, the lights coming on in a movie theater, your partner tapping you on the knee and saying it’s time to go home. What happens after is anyone’s guess. At least you can feel proud knowing you went to the party.Honey closed its doors for good at the beginning of the pandemic. It was one of several endings that would follow. I quit my job, left Minneapolis, said goodbye to my parents as they moved out of the country, saw millions abruptly lose their loved ones. I miss dancing with my eyes closed inside that basement, guided by the music as it looped over and over. But I’m still here. Even now, I listen to loops to find a bit of bliss. Then I open my eyes, and the moment’s over.Miguel Otárola is a music writer and audio journalist based in Denver. Born in Chile and raised in Tucson, Ariz., he now covers climate and environment issues in Colorado. More

The country singer was rebuked by the music industry after using a racial slur. Still, “Dangerous: The Double Album” has logged 86 weeks in the Top 10 of Billboard’s 200 chart.Nineteen months ago, it seemed that the music career of Morgan Wallen — primed as Nashville’s next crossover star — might be dead. Instead, he is now playing to sold-out arenas and has broken chart records set by the likes of Adele and Bruce Springsteen, in a success story that highlights the power of fan loyalty and the challenges of cancel culture.“Dangerous: The Double Album,” Wallen’s second LP, came out at the beginning of 2021 and shot to No. 1 on Billboard’s album chart, with big streaming numbers that demonstrated his power among a new generation of country performers. The album was in its third week at the top when TMZ published a video of Wallen using a racial slur. The rebuke was immediate and strong, with Wallen’s songs removed from radio and streaming playlists, and Wallen’s label, Big Loud, saying it would “suspend” his recording contract “indefinitely.”Yet “Dangerous” would hold at No. 1 for a further seven weeks, and since then it has become an unusually enduring hit. The album has now spent 86 weeks in the Top 10 of Billboard’s chart — dipping to No. 12 only once, when it was pushed out by holiday albums last December — and has been in the Top 5 for 65 of those times.“Dangerous” stands at No. 2 on the latest chart, beaten only by the Puerto Rican superstar Bad Bunny’s “Un Verano Sin Ti,” another streaming blockbuster that came out in May and has just matched Wallen’s 10-week run at No. 1.Wallen has now beaten the 1964 record set by the folk trio Peter, Paul and Mary for the longest Top 10 run for an album by a single artist. (In the 66 years of the Billboard 200 album chart, seven other titles have had longer stretches in the Top 10, but those are all movie soundtracks or Broadway cast albums; the longest run of all albums is 173 weeks for the cast album of “My Fair Lady,” which came out in 1956.)In the wake of the controversy last year, Wallen issued multiple apologies, but was otherwise largely unseen in the mainstream media — a rare test of the commercial appeal of an artist without the benefit of supportive TV interviews or magazine covers. But for many in Nashville, he remains a symbol of a pervasive racism that exists just below the surface of the country music business.To hear it from executives at Big Loud, which functions as Wallen’s label, management company and music publisher, the success of “Dangerous” is proof of Wallen’s broad cultural appeal and the quality of his music, which blends beer-soaked bro-countryisms with mellow melodies that at times recall classic rock like Eagles.“We’re having our Garth Brooks moment, our Taylor Swift emergent moment,” Seth England, the chief executive of Big Loud, said in an interview, “of just an artist so big, everyone is getting used to it. Pop is short for popular culture, and he just is popular culture.”When asked how “Dangerous” has managed such extraordinary success, Greg Thompson, the president of Big Loud Management, added simply: “There’s only one explanation. The music is that good.” (Wallen’s suspension from Big Loud, which continued to sell his music, was temporary. Through a representative, Wallen declined to answer questions for this article.)Yet from the beginning, Big Loud — and Republic Records, the division of the giant Universal Music Group that has a deal with Big Loud to promote its artists — has pursued smart strategies to make “Dangerous” a success in the streaming era. Most obvious is the album’s length; taking a page from hip-hop albums that have been exploiting this aspect of the streaming economy for years, “Dangerous” has 30 songs on its standard edition, each of which contributes to the album’s overall numbers each week.Second, Wallen stoked his fans by releasing batches of new songs ahead of the album’s release, sometimes a few at a time, which helped foster the fan loyalty that sustained him in his fallow months of promotion.With Republic’s help, Wallen has also had some success as a pop crossover act, though that process has been slow. Two of his songs, “7 Summers” and “You Proof,” his latest single, have gone as high as No. 6 on Billboard’s Hot 100 singles chart. According to data from the tracking service Luminate, a little more than half of Wallen’s radio airplay has been on country stations, with pop stations a distant second.In the wake of Wallen’s use of the slur, musicians and journalists debated the role of racism in country music. Wallen gave an interview to “Good Morning America” in which he characterized the incident as a mistake among close friends who “say dumb stuff together.” He added: “In our minds it’s playful. That sounds ignorant, but that’s really where it came from.”Gradually, the Nashville world, and beyond, has largely welcomed him back. In an interview with The New York Times published this month, the country singer Kane Brown, who is Black, said: “I texted him that day. I told him he shouldn’t have said it, but also knowing Morgan, I knew that he didn’t mean it in the way that the world thought that he meant it.” Late last year, Wallen appeared on Lil Durk’s track “Broadway Girls,” a hit on the rapper’s No. 1 album “7220.”Despite the intensity of the criticism levied against Wallen, fans remained loyal. According to Chartmetric, a company that tracks data from streaming and social media, Wallen’s followers on Facebook and Spotify increased at the height of his controversy.Within months, his songs were back in force on the official playlists of major streaming platforms. And according to Luminate, radio stations are now playing Wallen more than at any point since “Dangerous” was released, with his songs being played about 19,000 times a week this summer.Also on this week’s Billboard album chart, the veteran metal band Megadeth opens at No. 3 with its first studio release in six years, “The Sick, the Dying … and the Dead!” DJ Khaled’s “God Did,” last week’s top seller, falls to No. 4, and Harry Styles’s “Harry’s House” is in fifth place. More

Back on the road after more than a decade, emo’s most theatrical outfit let its songs and fans provide the drama as it revisited its anthems about fearlessness and individuality.In 2006, My Chemical Romance — by then, an edgy screamo band turned ostentatious pop-punk dramatists — released “The Black Parade,” a flashy and theatrical opus that established the group as art-house emo sophisticates. It maintained some of the scabrousness of its earlier albums, and smeared big-tent pop ambition atop it: “The Wall” for the “TRL” era.On Saturday night at Barclays Center in Brooklyn, while performing “Welcome to the Black Parade,” a caffeinated march that’s one of that album’s signature songs, the band’s frontman Gerard Way saw the crowd pumping fists in the air, and encouraged it to go even harder.“C’mon, I’m 45 doing this,” he said — a little tart, a little bemused, maybe a little fatigued.The passage of time is an inevitable subtext of all reunion tours. This show, the first of four arena shows in the New York area, was part of the group’s first proper tour in a decade. (Its last studio album, “Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys,” came out in 2010.) In that time, emo has gone through its second or third revival, Way’s comic book The Umbrella Academy has become a Netflix hit and something about the My Chemical Romance mythos has deepened and hardened — it is now a misfit beacon.Mikey Way, left, the frontman’s brother and the band’s bassist, celebrated his 42nd birthday onstage.Nina Westervelt for The New York TimesEveryone is older now, and reality sometimes weighs down memory. At this show, that played out as a tug of war between been-there-done-that fatigue and we-survived-this-together triumph, with triumph ultimately triumphing.The band started tentatively, lading the show’s first half with late career singles that felt much like conventional rock songs — “The Only Hope for Me Is You,” “Boy Division.” It was almost as if this rigorously flamboyant band was somehow shy about its own hits.“Let me put on my sunglasses so I can look like an authority figure,” Way said, after a dry half-hour of bits and bobs. What followed was exuberant, rowdy, winningly messy: the chipper swing of the wry “Teenagers” giving way to the frenzy of “Welcome to the Black Parade.” “Mama” brought the Nutcracker to the mosh pit. “Helena,” perhaps the band’s most memorable song, was part victory march, part plea.These epic anthems about fearlessness, rebellion and individuality were bracing. But the tension between the show’s two halves exposed a light quirk about this band, which is that often what set it apart from its peers was its sense of performance and its willingness to be ambitious while its actual music remained more conventional.That accessibility is what allowed My Chemical Romance — Way; his brother, Mikey, who plays bass; the guitarists Ray Toro and Frank Iero — to survive long enough to thrive once more. They play with confidence, if not always warmth. (It was Mikey’s 42nd birthday, and some speakers onstage were adorned with drawings made by his children; most of the band wore T-shirts celebrating him.)In front of trompe l’oeil installations of demolished buildings, the group was musically robust — Toro delivered taut chaos, and the touring drummer Jarrod Alexander was blistering, closing out the heart-rending anthem “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” with sensitive aggression and then shifting right into the punchier intro of “House of Wolves.” There were occasional flickers of rockabilly, ska, even death metal. Way is a lauded wailer, but his growl is just as potent.Nina Westervelt for The New York TimesAt times throughout the show, Way appeared lightly cautious, never quite oversinging, even on the songs that demand abandon. He wore a camouflage jacket and a T-shirt featuring a smiley face with a bullet hole in its head, blood dripping down the cheerful yellow visage, and toward the end of the night, he put on a tight clear mask that had echoes of Patrick Bateman.It was a manque version of the hypertheatricality that elevated the band out of scene notoriety to pop ubiquity. Late in the show, Way described a conversation he’d had about how to navigate a comeback tour after so many years, and the tension between performing for oneself and performing for the crowd.“Maybe for a time it was for me,” he conceded.But not now. “It’s not about the ego,” he said.And yet. “Sometimes it’s about that,” he continued. “That’s a really delicate way of telling you I’m going to control you right now.” Everyone pumped their fists in unison.My Chemical Romance performs at Barclays Center in Brooklyn Sunday night, and at Prudential Center in Newark on Sept. 20 and 21. The tour continues in North America through Oct. 29. More

This composer’s latest stage work, at San Francisco Opera, is his most straightforward, but also his least inspired.SAN FRANCISCO — John Adams’s operas have never been ordinary.His first two, “Nixon in China” and “The Death of Klinghoffer,” broke ground by treating events from recent history with enigmatic new poetry. The stage works that followed over the next 30 years included a reflection on the 1994 earthquake in Los Angeles, an adaptation of an Indian folk tale, and, since 2000, four pieces with patchwork librettos drawn from a broad assortment of sources: ancient and modern, poetic and prose.Adams infused the eclecticism — and the sometimes anti-dramatic artificiality — of these texts with music of fast-shifting colors and energy, of tenderness and unexpected, haunting effects. If the works varied in impact, none were like any other composer’s.But with “Antony and Cleopatra,” which premiered on Saturday at the start of San Francisco Opera’s centennial season, Adams, 75, has finally become conventional.He has done the same thing as many composers before him for his first opera created without the collaboration of the director and writer Peter Sellars, who for better and worse pressed him toward that quiltlike method of libretto-writing. Adams has chosen a great, eminently sturdy play from the past — in this case, Shakespeare’s tragedy of love and war — and trimmed it to a more manageable size, adding just a scattering of interpolations from other sources.The result is the clearest, most dramatically straightforward opera of his career — and the dullest. “Antony and Cleopatra” has the least idiosyncrasy of his nine stage works so far, and the least inspiration.With almost three hours of music, it slumps to a subdued finish. It could be described in a line from the play that was cut for the opera: “She shows a body rather than a life, a statue than a breather.”That sense of not quite coming to life, of not fully inhabiting the play through music, begins at the start. With the two lovers and their attendants crowded into Cleopatra’s bedroom, we are unceremoniously shoved into frenetic activity both onstage and in the orchestra — as if to prove that the work is, as Adams writes wishfully in a program essay, his “most actively dramatic.”But with the pace so breathless from the opening bars, and with the focus seemingly on getting as much text out of the singers’s mouths as possible, we are never able to really sit with the two main characters and feel the depth of their bond.Paul Appleby, center left, as Caesar, shaking hands with Finley. From left: Hadleigh Adams (Agrippa), Elizabeth DeShong (Octavia) and Philip Skinner (Lepidus) look on.Cory Weaver/San Francisco OperaAnd without the strength of their relationship being convincingly depicted, the precipitous ups and downs of that relationship lose their stakes, despite the baritone Gerald Finley’s weathered authority and the soprano Amina Edris’s focused vigor. (Edris deserves special credit for stepping in when Julia Bullock, for whom the role of Cleopatra was written, withdrew because of her pregnancy.)Largely eschewing arias, duets and other ensembles — its source is a play with notably few soul-baring soliloquies — “Antony and Cleopatra” skates along the emotional surface as it tries to keep up with the fast-moving story, lacking the expansive dives into thoughts and feelings that are the glory of Adams’s best work.So we never really feel we know these characters, though we see a lot of them: Despite the condensed form, this is a sprawling plot. Antony’s passion for Cleopatra, the queen of Egypt, has upset the fragile balance of power in the Mediterranean world, with Caesar — his younger partner in ruling Rome — using it as a pretext to make war against him. Shakespeare’s genius was to make the lovers’ pairing, a union of two seen-it-all cynics, bracingly yet realistically volatile, with jealousy, betrayal and reconciliation from both sides.It is an unwieldy piece to wrangle into musical shape. An “Antony and Cleopatra” by Samuel Barber opened the new Metropolitan Opera House at Lincoln Center in 1966. Burdened by an extravagant Franco Zeffirelli staging, it was a notorious fiasco, but a revision — recorded, if infrequently performed — revealed a lushly perfumed, viably dramatic score.In that revised form, Barber’s “Antony” is nearly an hour shorter than Adams’s. Perhaps the main trouble with this new opera is simply the amount of text still in it — especially given the problems inherent in setting Shakespeare’s verse, which is so virtuosic that it’s barely legible when sung. If you catch it in the supertitles, a line like “Gentle Octavia, let your best love draw to that which seeks best to preserve it” is a challenge to grasp at a glance.Adams has long rightly been regarded as a master of intriguing orchestration, but his work here is surprisingly bland. Wisps of cimbalom, a hammered dulcimer with a tinny yet silky sound, would have more interest if that instrument hadn’t become something of his go-to evocation of the ancient Mediterranean: It is also a central feature of the passion oratorio “The Gospel According to the Other Mary” (2012) and the violin concerto “Scheherazade.2” (2015). Interludes bridge many of the scene changes, but even if these are generally bustling, they tend to feel like vamping, oddly characterless.There are some effective touches, particularly in more shadowy passages that the conductor, Eun Sun Kim, revels in without losing the pulse. Octavia — Caesar’s sister, who has been married to Antony in a last-ditch effort to cool the hostilities — replies to Antony after their wedding in vocal lines surrounded by an instrumental halo of hovering prayer, mysterious and alluring. The opening of the second act aptly depicts the stunned aftermath of Antony’s military disaster, with the mellow music for Cleopatra’s entrance having a dreamlike, distant suggestion of a foxtrot.Appleby’s Caesar rallies the crowd in a hectoring empire-building monologue.Cory Weaver/San Francisco OperaBut the tenor Paul Appleby’s bright stamina can’t keep his big speech late in the work — an empire-building monologue whose text is taken from John Dryden’s translation of “The Aeneid” — from being hectoring. And while Alfred Walker and Hadleigh Adams are both firm as aides to the Roman rulers, the bass-baritone Philip Skinner, as Lepidus, is alone in the cast in his ability to sing both richly and with perfectly intelligible diction.The inoffensive staging, by Elkhanah Pulitzer (who also consulted with Adams on the libretto alongside Lucia Scheckner), sets the opera not in ancient times but in the 1930s or so, with Art Deco elements and slinky gowns (by Constance Hoffman) winking at the glamorous Hollywood adaptations of the Cleopatra story.Mimi Lien’s spare set, starkly lit by David Finn, hides and reveals playing spaces as it opens and closes like an aperture, with some large structures looming in the back that recall the pyramids. Bill Morrison has contributed lyrically grainy black-and-white film projections of scenes including a sail on the Nile and a crowd ready to be whipped into frenzy by a dictator.This loose association of Caesar with later authoritarian leaders is pretty much the opera’s only contemporary resonance. After decades of pointedly political work with Sellars, in which those resonances could sometimes feel suffocating, Adams seems more than happy to make an opera that’s not “about” anything other than its plot.The outcome of that experiment is thin. But hopefully this is a transitional work for Adams, away from those patchwork pieces with Sellars and toward other styles of libretto, adapted or original, more compelling than this.“When you get to be my age, you’re not compared to other composers,” he said in a recent interview. “You’re compared to your earlier works.”Unfortunately, compared with those earlier works — among them true glories of opera history — “Antony and Cleopatra” is a dreary disappointment.Antony and CleopatraThrough Oct. 5 at the War Memorial Opera House, San Francisco; sfopera.com. More