Mayer Hawthorne, signee to the infallible hip-hop label Stones Throw Records, tours in promotion of his freshly pressed debut album, A Strange Arrangement. It is a collection of eleven songs written and recorded in the old-soul fashion of Motown. Hawthorne’s cries and croons throughout are backed by nostalgic doo-wop harmonies. The instruments, most of which Hawthorne plays personally, capture the vintage soul aesthetic: the distinct snappiness of snares, twang of Stratocasters, and funkiness of trumpet and bass parts. It is a nearly uncanny impression of classic Motown styles.
The album is introduced by a thirty-second prelude of impeccable harmonies a cappella; three or four overlapping tracks of Hawthorne’s vocals chime in unison, “We made a strange arrangement.” Hawthorne’s voice is untrained and inexperienced; his singing is basic, free of adlib and flourish. But he has an undeniable knack for composing harmonies, a musical intuition that is completely incomprehensible to those of us who lack the gift.
“Honestly,” he explains, “the first couple songs that I did were a total experiment on the side and I never planned on those songs ever being released to the public or people even hearing them.” Until rather recently he had no desire to record or release this soulful side-project. His primary vocation had been as DJ Haircut, a hip-hop artist. Hawthorne tells, “I grew up listening to soul music with my dad, and then as I got older I kind of found my own musical identity—I got really into hip-hop music. And then I got back into soul music from hip-hop, from digging for all the samples from all my favorite hip-hop tracks.” He experiences soul through the lens of a hip-hop-head, which is apparent at a few moments in the album. For example, the percussion underlying “Maybe So, Maybe No,” the funkiest and catchiest track on the record, calls to mind the fat and speedy high-hat commonly heard in contemporary rap.
The album’s first single, “Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out,” pre-released on a red heart-shaped 45, is supremely cool. Atop a groove of sparse keyboard, drum, and guitar parts Hawthorne apologetically breaks up with an unnamed lady friend in a falsetto that recalls Curtis Mayfield. The B-side, “When I Said Goodbye,” is a sort of antithesis to side A. Seeking to reconcile with his ex (presumably, the same one from side A) Hawthorne begs forgiveness: “I’m half the man that I was with you by my side/I didn’t mean it when I said goodbye.”
Mayer Hawthorne and his band, The County, performed last Saturday at Eugene’s WOW Hall. The crowd that met them was dinky (not more than fifty people) but most of the fans were already quite familiar, even infatuated, with Hawthorne’s material. He was preceded by three opening acts. The first was a Eugene rap group, Animal Farm, which performed an insufferably low-energy set of generic rap to the ten or so beings scattered about the floor (most of the crowd didn’t show up until later). The second act was an MC named Buff 1, who comes from Mayer Hawthorne’s hometown, Ann Arbor, Michigan. Buff 1 was animated and charismatic, his rhymes, strong. But there was nothing special, interesting, or edgy about his music.
The third opener, and the last before the anticipated headliner, was a member of the Stones Throw posse: an electro boogie DJ named James Pants. He wore narrow black jeans, a white tee, a leather jacket and dark shades. After leading the audience in a quick session of preparatory stretches set to echoey transient music, he mixed Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit” with an electronic drum sample, and then suddenly shut it off. “That was just a taste of what I might be able to do. But now I’m going to do some karaoke.” “Touch Me” by The Doors came on and he sang along in a booming voice, theatrically waving his hands. At this point, any expectation of a normal DJ set was dispelled. James Pants’ set was more of a joke than a concert. He spent only about twenty percent of his stage time actually DJing records. Ten percent was karaoke, and seventy percent he spent ranting (in his voice that sounds strikingly like Ron Burgundy’s), pacing the stage in a constant struggle with his microphone chord. He rambled at length describing his music, informed the audience of opportunities to join his fan club, and complained sarcastically about being eclipsed by Mayer Hawthorne’s increasing popularity. “I may not be a boy soul-singing sensation,” he yelled. “I may not wear sweater vests and designer glasses, but my name is James Pants and I don’t fuck around!” The music he did play was movingly funky. He blended obscure golden era funk records with contemporary electro and his own drumming on an electronic kit. He closed with the following words, “Just a quick note to the promoter, and I do believe my lawyers have contacted you about this several times and heard no response, but I had requested specifically wireless microphones so that I do not get tangled. Thank you for basically ruining the show and embarrassing me. Normally this doesn’t happen.”
Mayer Hawthorne and his four-man band took the stage and launched immediately into their hit, “Maybe So, Maybe No.” The live rendition lacked one key element of the recorded version—the buzzy trumpet line that induces spine shivers—but it was danceable and pleasing just the same. They followed with “Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out,” another popular favorite, which everyone seemed to know the words to. And so they began: a one-two punch of soul power. The audience was engrossed and remained so for the duration of the show. The band played through their short repertoire of love songs, and in between songs Mayer spoke to the audience about romance as if he were some aged veteran lover. He prefaced one song by saying, “Here’s a song about the fucked up things we do for love.” And he repeatedly asked, “Do you feel the love, Eugene?” One number that stood out among the others was “I Wish It Would Rain.” The guitarist played a descending intro melody, which wavered beautifully with the reserved movements of his wah-wah pedal. Mayer sang softly, the keyboard player pounded his keys, and the patrons swayed with eyes glued on the musicians.
Rated: Jasmine out of Disney princesses.
Modularity theme by Graph Paper Press
Subscribe to entries
Subscribe to comments
All content © 2012 by Oregon Voice
