Chalee's Musical Meanderings

A Grande richiesta here comes a post answering a question that seems to greatly preoccupy my everloyal readership; what musical endeavours are Chalee and his trusty Fender Jazz up to?

I guess it should be common knowledge by now that I am engaged as full-time E-string pumper with the geriatric rock band Fire. The local Jazz snobs may regard this as some sort of come-down; they are evidently unaware of the infinite amounts of fun to be had in the company of middle aged long haired rockers. Repeated exposures to the conversations of cock-rock gurus Pejxa and R.Longo have resulted in several 70's catchphrases being inculcated into my everyday speech, so that should you engage yours truly in conversation you're bound to be referred to as 'ras', urged to 'keep it pumpin' or told that I've been 'ego trippin' yeah'.

I've also been putting my fingers to the test with the funk/insanity crossover 'Zizza Ensemble'. We hastily recorded a new number gratis courtesy of the excellent fellows down at The Alley Studio, who did a very decent job of our tongue in cheek 'Funky Licks (for lonely chicks)' track, considering that they had less than two hours and one measly take to work with. Kudos. The Ensemble's wacky cartoon funk jazz insanity worked its magic over the St.James cavalier crowd a while back and hopefully our rather idiosynchratic style will gain acceptance with the local gig-granting aristocracy.

You will also be displeased to hear that I'm palying, on an on and off basis, with that most anal of critics and musicians, Mattazzo, with whom I have a whale of a time conjuring incomprehensibly sophistaced chords progressions (I vividly recall exploding in giddy laughter when we hit upon, what was it? C#H.Dim/F# ?)

I hope that this post has sated my everloyal readership's thirst. I will be back soonish with a blog addressing that other pressing issue; what is Chalee listening to? Au revoir.

Exorcising the Song for Europe Demons

Every person with a modicum of musical nous accepts the fact that the annual Song for Europe is a celebration of gloss over substance. There is among the musically minded a certain fatalism about the whole affair; we dream of the day when contestants send populism to the blazes, and regale us with a cornucopia of clever song structures, biting lyrics and, why not, minblowing harmonica solos played over enio morricono inflected jazz vamps, but we know it won't happen. The earth rotates, eurovision stinks.

Still, I find it incredibly hard to accept that Fabrizio Faniello's inane 'I Do' could be voted 'best song' by the Maltese public, or any other conglomeration of sentient beings for that matter. It is not that I am a geek who finds solace only in 60's space jazz (I can groove to 'Rasputin' with the best), it's just that Faniello's number, even by the standards of bubble-gum pop, does not pass muster. Quite how the popster managed to manufacture a song that grows tiresome in the space of one hundred and eighty seconds is beyond me. I understand Ellingtonian harmonic sophistication and fusion-style virtuosity is not necessary in order to craft a pop-tune, but, for god's sake, even the most fecal of pop jingles needs an effective hook somewhere!

Of course the rest of the fare on show was not extraordinarily engaging either. Yet again the contest was replete with disco ditties and faceless ballads that excited the musical imagination as much as boiled water excites the taste buds. It is depressing to know that for the greater part of the population this dross represents the pinnacle of musical achievement.

Perhaps the Maltese listenership does not deserve any better than Fabrizio's inane ditty. The people were, after all, ruthless in their castigation of any song that made the slightest attempt at being any good. Pamela's outstanding, Enya inflected number was ignored, while Nadine Axisa's Waves was left to linger in the darkness of the lower reaches of the standings (proof if any was ever needed, that the Maltese public does not just scorn harmonic and melodic sophistication of any sort, but that it actually despises it). The shame.