The Wiyos’ new album, Twist, is appropriately titled, although perhaps in a way other than that which the musicians intended. Loosely based on The Wizard of Oz, the witch and wizard and all of the other classic characters are present in the songs — along with a few unexpected figures — but in an updated way and are written from an alternate perspective. This is most likely the actual inspiration for the title of the album, but the reason behind why I say it’s appropriate is because the musicians twist everything they touch into something truly spectacular and special — and The Wiyos have taken their creative genius to new heights with their new album.

Twist is a conceptual album, but it’s also more than that. So strong is the diversity of instruments, styles, and storytelling that each song is a journey and seems like an album onto itself. When put together, however, the songs combine to create a solid, overarching narrative that will draw you in and confuse your sense of reality. That’s okay, though, because The Wiyos conjure up an alternate reality for you, one where you might run into marching bands, derelicts, a hairy-chinned Cruella De Ville, and a headless baby. I don’t think Dorothy ever dreamt up this stuff, but The Wiyos have.

It takes an open listener to discover the magic of the band’s ever-evolving sound and the culmination that sound has reached in Twist, the band’s most fully developed album to date. Equal parts silly, contemplative, and outright crazy, the songs are made from elbow grease and imagination, simultaneously containing a dream-like quality and a healthy dose of grit. This is music that will kick you in the gut and twist it around a bit, but it’s exactly what you need — and if you do have an open ear and mind you’ll be taken on an inspiring ride. To reference another classic story, it’s easy to fall down the rabbit hole The Wiyos call Twist.

  Photo by Brian Geltner

Wearing a hot pink sequined wrap that she removed after a few songs to reveal a Betsy Johnson jumpsuit with a loud pattern, front lady Heloise of Heloise & The Savoir Faire is a fiery force both on and off the stage. Even before she and her band took Club Helsinki and its inhabitants captive this past Thursday with their drum-driving, dance-inducing music, Heloise stood out because of her big, easy smile and a personality that fills up the room and commands attention. This serves her well on-stage, and I have a feeling that even if she had been wearing a potato sack all eyes would have been on her.

Heloise’s voice is just as big as her personality, and her vocals alternate between cutesy, sultry, and edgy with an occasional scream. Of course, a leading lady is dependent on the quality of her band, and The Savoir Faire is worthy of praise as well. Consisting of James Bellizia on guitar, Rob O’Dea on bass, Katie McGreevy on lemurs and backing vocals, and Luke Hughett on drums, the band delivered two hours of non-stop high-energy retro disco pop/rock with a punk edge.

The show also featured a very sassy dancer named Joe Shepard. Not simply a backup dancer, he performed choreographed moves that were well-suited to the music and added a fantastic visual element to the show. Joe boasts circus-worthy control over his body and contortions, and he also appears to have a theatrical background — all of this serving to make him incredibly entertaining to watch. In fact, at times Joe even temporarily stole the spotlight from Heloise. Apparently inspired, towards the end of the night one attendee who had been dancing energetically for most of the show decided to go all out, diving into a forward roll before dashing to a pole supporting the structure of the building and twirling himself around it. Although he was the only person in the audience who was confident enough to behave so fearlessly, Heloise & The Savoir Faire are apt to inspire the same feelings of fun and freedom that guy was undoubtedly experiencing in most listeners — whether you act on that or not in such a physical way is up to you.

Check out the video for the band’s single, “Illusions,” below:

Ever since The Felice Brothers released their latest album, Celebration, Florida, I’ve heard grumblings from several fans about the band’s new musical direction. However, I feel that the boys have finally hit a confident stride and the band’s new music and sound is simply an extension of the old. They’re incorporating new ideas and techniques into their playing, and The Felice Brothers keep improving and building upon the body of work and style they’ve already established. They played many of their new hits at Webster Hall, like “Ponzi,” “Back in the Dancehalls,” “Honda Civic,” and “River Jordan,” but also fed the crowd some old favorites like “Whiskey in my Whiskey,”  “Frankie’s Gun,” and the stunning “St. Stephen’s End.”

The crowd got really into the show, complete with a few attempts (and subsequent failures) to start a mosh pit, jumping and screaming, and even a crowd surfer or two. The band was riled up, too: Christmas climbed amps and the drum set (and during one song attempted to climb an amp but fell down); Ian spun, kicked and jumped; James was a big presence with his accordion as usual; Farley ran manically around the stage and at one point started pounding the drums next to Dave so forcefully that Dave laughed and cringed a little; and when the band finished playing Dave fell sideways off his drum stool before all of the musicians stumbled off the stage. The Felice Brothers’ shows are always a bit wild but the Webster Hall show was especially so, and at the end of the concert I was both happy and a bit bewildered, wondering to myself, “What just happened?” Despite all the madness, however — which could have affected the band’s performance if the musicians were completely out of control, which they were not — The Felice Brothers had great energy on-stage, fell into an easy rhythm, and delivered a solid show.

The concert was truly a special experience, one that cannot be described in words, so I chose not to write about it. Beyond that, I wanted to enjoy the performance for what it was and immerse myself fully in the music. I felt an assortment of emotions throughout the performance, including peace, sorrow, and breathless joy, and at the concert’s close I was left in awe.

Photo taken from the quartet’s website

Photo taken from the pianist’s website

Hadyn’s String Quartet in E Flat Major, nicknamed “The Joke,” begins playfully with first violin cheerily dancing around and with the other instruments. The music is mostly light and effervescent, but there are moments when a shadowy undercurrent can be heard, briefly breaking the otherwise carefree attitude of the music. Those moments don’t last long, however, and the movement is quite delicate but spirited in its own right. The second movement begins as first violin leads the other instruments into staccato notes played in unison. After an introduction, first violin plays slides that are impish yet also slightly melancholy while the other instruments provide accompaniment. The four instruments then return to the opening short notes played in unison to close the second movement. The largo  third movement features simple but stunning notes and begins droopily before livening up. Despite this, however, the movement contains a cloaked, bittersweet quality. It’s interesting how sparse or full a quartet can sound depending on the piece, composer, or musicians, and the third movement of Hadyn’s quartet was breathtakingly rich and vibrant when played by the Daedalus Quartet. The fourth movement is a drastic break from the tender quality of the third, and it’s fast and exciting from the opening. First violin practically spits out notes, on to the next almost before your ears and brain can register the first. The roles of second violin, viola, and cello are largely supporting ones, but they too are vital to the movement and its progression. Towards the end of the piece the runs on first violin are broken up, separated by lengthy silences, effectively creating a sense of expectancy in the listener and leaving you on the edge of your seat. Finally, after the longest pause that seems to hang in the air forever, the final nimble run is softly played, closing the piece with a smirk.

One of the most stunning quartets there is, Schumann’s Quartet in A Minor, Op. 41, No. 1 opens incredibly lyrically and is full of soft, gentle motion. However, after a pause the music changes, becoming less dreamy and more deliberate. Viola plays runs full of staccato notes, as do first and second violins. The music swells and pulses as though itself breathing as the musicians do, and the dynamics — both the loudness and softness of the music as well as the energy and interplay between the instruments — are thrilling. The music of the first movement churns around a fixed place like a tornado, everything around it a whirlwind. The second movement begins with an immediately present driving force, the music marching onward like an army of dark spirits. This nearly ceaseless driving force is broken only by a brief interlude that temporarily calms the music. It is legato, sunny, and majestic, but just as quickly as it came so is it eaten up by the dark fury that returns to close the movement. The third movement evokes imagery of a morning full of promise slowly unfolding, the calm after the storm of the previous movement. It brings to mind slanting, golden sunlight gently warming and lighting fragrant fields and calm waters. Midway, viola and second violin alternate playing climbing arpeggios, and the music becomes denser as this pattern continues. Near the end the music loosens, however, closing in a mist of tender harmonies. The final movement begins somewhat sharply, full of drama. The music is full of accents, staccato notes, and abrupt stops and starts. The music races onward, never resting, and could quite easily cause an elevated pulse rate in the listener. Towards the end the instruments play sustained notes which drone like a bagpipe, leading into a short calm section before the music returns with more drama than before and quickens to finish.

After intermission, the Daedalus Quartet was joined by the phenomenal baritone Andrew Garland to perform Othmar Schoeck’s Notturno, Op. 47.  It isn’t commonly played, and the Daedalus Quartet actually learned it specifically for the concert at Maverick.  The piece is based mainly on poems by Nikolaus Lenau, but also one by the poet Gottfried Keller. Russell Platt, the brother of Maverick music director Alexander Platt, is actually responsible for Alexander knowing about the piece (and Andrew Garland, for that matter, who has appeared at Maverick before). Russell apparently heard the piece as a child at a summer camp when he was searching through vinyl records for a specific piece by Samuel Barber. According to Russell, the piece that he wanted to hear was at the end of the B side of a record. When he set the needle down it didn’t land on the Barber piece but the one before it, which happened to be the Notturno, and he was immediately taken with it. Later, so was his brother — and, as of Sunday, all those in the audience who had never heard the piece before (myself included). Victor Hugo once said, “Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.” I agree with this statement wholeheartedly, but there are also things music alone can’t express as words or song can — at least not with the same force or explicitness. It isn’t even always the language itself, but the emotion and power behind the  human voice. For example, I don’t speak German (the language Notturno is sung in), but simply listening to Andrew Garland was enough to draw an emotional response from me; it was emotion I followed, not words. That being said, Russell Platt explained a little bit about the poems and recited part of one before the second half of the program began. That, combined with the program notes, provided a narrative outline I could follow. Interestingly, the instruments are just as prominent as voice throughout most of the piece and there are many moods and influences found in the music. Russell said of Notturno (specifically the last movement), ”there is nothing else like it in the history of music,” and I would agree. Heartbreaking but ultimately hopeful, it’s truly a magnificent work.

Friday night Club Helsinki was one of the town hotspots with a lively swing dance upstairs, music outside in the newly open courtyard, and music in the club as well. Late that night most people could be found at the Basilica — an old industrial building turned cultural haven that was recently taken over by musician Melissa Auf der Maur — where a dance party was in full momentum, eventually dissolving around 2am.

On Saturday the shenanigans continued, with folk/soul/blues champion Zach Deputy taking the stage at Helsinki where a wild dance party ensued. If dancing isn’t your thing, the Red Dot (which has been known to host its own dance parties) featured a quiet night of conversation with actor Bruce Dern for an admission of $15. Or, if you found yourself a little further up Warren Street you could catch a listen to rock and blues under a tent sponsored by American Glory Barbeque. Then, of course, there was also music at Spotty Dog Books & Ale. As the name suggests it is both a bar and a bookstore, one which is becoming increasingly involved in supporting live music for a cover that is generally only $5. On Saturday, for that price — which, I might mention, is less than the cost of a movie ticket — you got to see not one but two bands. The first was Genghis Complex, a duo of local luminaries Jonathan Talbott on violin and Seamus Maynard on guitar. The band’s set featured startling compositions by Talbott, and the music was simultaneously complex, beautiful, and intense. The second band was Bird Fly Yellow, a hard bop-inspired instrumental jazz band. I got the chance to talk to the musicians after their set and learned that they met at the New England Conservatory of Music (the school actually has one of the oldest collegiate jazz programs), which would account for their tremendous technique and refinement while still maintaining the edginess that bop requires. Like Genghis Complex, Bird Fly Yellow also featured music composed by one of the musicians in the band, that being trumpeter Joe Moffett. His compositions were intriguing and quite sophisticated, and as a musician he had great interplay with trombonist Dan Blacksberg (who also composed one of the songs the band played). Squaring off the quartet of Bird Fly Yellow were Dave Flaherty on drums, who had an easy energy but let it rip on his solos, and Matt Engle on bass, an instrument that provided a warm background for the brass but also occasionally carried its own melody line. Late on Saturday the Basilica once again hosted a dance party, although this time it was still going strong at 2am with crowds continuing to arrive.

I wasn’t in town on Sunday, but things wound down a little with acoustic afternoon sets at several restaurants. In addition, local favorites Yassou Benedict gave an interview and acoustic set on the local radio station WGXC. Later on there was a jazz workshop at the beautiful Hudson Opera House, while elsewhere in the later part of the afternoon you could find gospel, funk, pop, rock, reggae, and a whole lot more.

The list of participating venues totaled 24, with events ranging from $0-25. The network of people and places all working together to create such a spectacular weekend was heart-warming and helped make the event a wonderful success — and the Hudson Music Fest is still in its infancy, so I only see it getting better each year.

String Quartet No. 2 in D Major
Aleksandr Porfir’yevich Borodin

Allegro Moderato
Scherzo: Allegro
Notturno: Andante
Finale: Andante – Vivace

Quintet for Bassoon and Strings
Russell Platt

I. Slow movement
II. Song
III. Still slow – fast

String Quartet No. 2 in F Major, Op. 22.
Pyotr Il’yich Tchaikovsky

Adagio – Moderato assai, quasi andantino
Scherzo: Allegro giusto
Andante ma non tanto
Finale: Allegro con moto

Dedicated to his wife Ekaterina, Borodin’s String Quartet No. 2 in D Major is a beautiful piece. Eternally graceful, the first movement is full of splendor and greatly expresses the breathless joy of love. The melody carried mostly by violin soars about the other instruments, although it is answered throughout by either second violin or viola, while cello hovers in the background. A whirlwind of notes wrapping around the listener opens the scherzo second movement, quickly giving way to longer notes. From there, both violins and viola play a call and response of sorts, first and second violin sometimes playing as one. Eventually, the second movement ends energetically but delicately plucked. Cello is prominent in the third movement, but several bars into the music violin takes the spotlight singing high in its register, drooping with legato and vibrato. After that the two violins play a short but breathtaking intertwined duet. Rather than being dependent on one another, however, each violin seems inspired by the other and the result is a tear-evoking movement that embodies the purity of the sweetest of loves. For the final movement, after a brief introduction by first and second violin, cello and viola play ominously. The four instruments then play brightly with undertones of mystique. At times the violins play with a shifty quality in response to the shadowy persistence of cello and viola, yet at times the latter two instruments are also infused with a lightness to match that of the violins. The music is highly textured, not just in regards to emotion but also technical display, and the closing of the piece is truly glorious.

Next on the program was a piece by a contemporary composer, Russell Platt, who happens to be the music editor for The New Yorker. He is also the twin brother of Alexander Platt, the aforementioned music director at Maverick. In the words of Alexander, Russell’s work is like something you would get “if Aaron Copland came back and was commissioned to write a quartet with bassoon.” First and foremost a self-proclaimed melodic composer, this shows in Russell Platt’s music. The opening movement is deeply melodic but also very complex. There are moments of disconnect between the instruments, yet the sense that there is a deep relationship between them is never entirely lost. The movement is vaguely reminiscent of post-modernity but it’s heavily romantic in sentiment, creating emotional tension and an incredibly fascinating duality. The second movement is quite literally a song, as it was originally written for piano and voice but later transcribed for bassoon and strings, and has breathtaking harmonies that are non-traditional in structure and progression. The second movement is but a brief interlude between the first and third, however, the latter of which features a solo cadenza by bassoon. Although an unusual choice as an addition to a small chamber group, the bassoon melted surprisingly elegantly with the string quartet and added a wonderful throatiness and warmth to the music. While being very romantic, the piece is also much coarser than those considered romantic in the traditional sense. The final movement is particularly agitated and exciting, and the closing notes are rapid and intense.

The final piece on the program was Tchaikovsky’s String Quartet No. 2 in F Major, Op. 22. The opening Adagio – Moderato assai, quasi andantino movement begins slowly, but persistent tremolos by first violin segway into a quicker section of the music. Mildly playful, the music is in pursuit of an elusive end. Near the end of the movement first violin climbs higher and higher before slowly descending, and to close the cello, viola, and second violin play three plucked notes accompanying a long-bowed note by first violin. In the second movement violin begins playing staccato notes broken by longer ones, dashing here and there, but midway through the music becomes legato and waltz-like. For a short time violin plays sweetly as the other instruments are plucked, but the music quickly returns to the opening’s dominantly staccato character and ends with sharp notes. The third movement has incredibly rich harmonies and a dense web of notes that are full of lyricism and splendor. In the moments when violin plays solo or during the pauses when there is no sound except for the echo of notes vibrating through the air a sense of emptiness if felt — as is a feeling of relief when the instruments play together in harmony once more. As the end of the Andante movement draws near the opening theme returns, drawing the listener in with the music’s warm tones that a darkness threatens to overtake. Drama is effectively created in these contrasts, and the silences again serve to create an anxiousness. The silences also cause you to cling desperately to the music as it continuously unfolds, finally closing without completely resolving. Contrastingly, the final movement gallops forward from its start, confident in its onward progression. The music is never hurried, however. A forward pull is felt, but at the same time the music is steady and content in its pace. There is a fugue-like section in the middle of the movement, but towards the end the pace quickens to a fantastic finish.

Opening the program was Nimrod Pfeffer to play Beethoven’s Sonata No. 30, Op. 109. The piece opens with a gentle flow of notes playing a motif which is a recurring theme throughout the first movement — although with slight variations — yet after its introduction it is quickly replaced by a series of slow, legato chords. Those then give way to a series of arpeggios and runs which lead back into the original motif. The music of the first movement is largely delicate, full of both solid and rolled chords as well as trills, arpeggios, and runs. That delicacy is retained even in the more forceful forte passages, and the tenderness of the music is never overwhelmed by passion that is nonetheless present. In the second movement the passion overtakes the gentle quality of the opening movement and it’s very serious in manner. At the same time, however, the second movement is also refined and elegant even in its tumultuous state. The final movement consists of a theme with several variations and is quite stately in each incarnation. Each variation effectively carries the movement forward and becomes an elaboration of a musical idea, all of them together combining to create a cohesive whole. In the last minute and a half of the piece the music returns to the opening of the movement and closes quietly.

Next was Brahms’ Sonata No. 1 in G major, Op. 78. Full of movement from the opening, the piece is slightly melancholy despite its lyrical tenderness. Sometimes called the “Rain Sonata,”  at times the piece in fact brings to mind warm and sunny days of joyful freedom, however fleeting it may be. Although the first movement opens gently, the ending is quite grandiose. More shifty than the first movement, the second begins with piano playing hesitantly, eventually led fully into song by violin. Despite its Adagio marking, however — which is often an indication of the movement being legato and somewhat more subdued than the other movements surrounding it — the second movement is full of pauses, accented notes, and drama. To close, though, violin and piano return to the shy moodiness of the beginning and then burst skyward before quieting once more to play a few lingering notes. Unlike either the first of second movement, the third seems beyond reach and contains a sense of mysticism. The music is simultaneously sad and hopeful, and it evokes the feeling of running after something you’ll never be able to catch up to or understand yet feel compelled to run after nonetheless.

After a brief intermission, to start the second half of the program Alex came out to play Johann Sebastian Bach’s Sonata No. 2 in A minor for Unaccompanied Violin (BWV 1003). Bach innovatively bent genres in the piece, and the results are astonishing. The composer’s works are, partly due to their time period, less impassioned than the works of Romantic era composers such as Franz Liszt, Frederick Chopin, or Robert Schumann; they are, however, just as animated. The first movement of Sonata No. 2 is exploratory within the confines of unwavering elegance and refinement. The second is particularly interesting texturally. Repeatedly, lines are played forte then immediately echoed more softly. At the same time, the music continues to evolve and never stays in one place for long. An abrupt phrase interrupts the otherwise steady flow of the music near the end of the movement, but the dance-like melody picks up again briefly to close the movement. In the third movement violin provides both the melody and accompaniment, and if I wasn’t witnessing it firsthand I would have sworn that there were two violins playing. The final movement speeds on from its opening and has a sense of being highly structured, yet at the same time it sounds highly improvisational. The freedom the music seems to possess is too effortless to actually have been effortless, however. It is the kind of clarity of expression that can in fact only be gained through genius on the part of the composer and hours upon hours of practice on the part of the musician. Such brilliance and beauty do not come easy.

The last piece on the program was another Beethoven sonata, this time Sonata No. 9 in A major, Op. 47, “Kreutzer.” The opening is quite mellow, but you can sense the music is going to break at any minute — and so it does, like a storm cloud. Actually, a storm is an excellent metaphor for the music. Violin strikes like lightning, swift and intense, while piano crashes like thunder alongside it, and together the two instruments create a very nearly physically charged environment. The intensity is broken repeatedly by passages of brightness, but the dark mood always returns to rear its raging head. In contrast, the second movement is decidedly light and charming. Violin and piano are intertwined, but they also retain distinct parts. During some passages by piano there are slight hesitations, like little hiccups, while violin plays uninterrupted lines. After the music goes through a transition, both instruments play even more airily, fluttering in circles and spiraling upward time and time again. After another transition the music becomes temporarily seeped with sadness, but it is quickly replaced by a gentle lull as the music takes on an ethereal quality. The presto final movement is dark and playful, and piano and violin are heavily interdependent, at times even playing in unison. Even when the two instruments don’t play in unison, however, the structure of the movement is one that creates a dynamic duet between violin and piano, each furthering the other and, consequently, the movement’s progression. At forty minutes in its entirety the piece is much lengthier than the Beethoven sonata that opened the concert, but the overarching theme is almost as compact. There is so much contained in Beethoven’s Sonata No. 9 that witnessing its release is exhilarating. As established earlier, however, not every musician can make the music come alive. Nimrod Pfeffer and Alex Fortes can, though, and I was deeply moved by the immense technique, spirit, and sensitivity of their playing.

Country music gets a bad rap nowadays. For every person who buys a Taylor Swift album there are three people who frown in disgust when one of her songs comes on the radio. I can’t say I blame them for the latter, but I do blame them for thinking that that’s real country. In the words of The Hunger Mountain Boys, “Nashville, don’t touch my country music” (from the band’s song of that name). Authentic country music untainted by Nashville’s current pop overtones warms hearts, wards of the blues, and soaks into your body before the symptoms start to appear. First your mouth curls into a smile. Then you notice your head is bobbing. Finally — and this is when you know you got it bad –  your feet start tapping and, in extreme cases, they take you to the dance floor. JP Harris and the Tough Choices are about as genuine country as you get, and all of this is what they accomplish.

Returning to Club Helsinki for what was the band’s third gig at the venue, JP Harris and the Tough Choices brought dancing, a few tears (they play some real heart-wrenchers), and a whole lot of laughter into the room. Dressed similarly in true romantic cowboy fashion — western shirts, jeans, leather belts with big brass buckles, and cowboy boots (JP’s beard could also quite feasibly be considered part of his ensemble) — the band members make themselves right at home wherever they play and incite a little bit of rowdiness. JP’s songs are full of captivating stories about interesting characters — some auto-biographical, some not — and the musicians are just as adept at finger-splitting, high energy two-steps and swing numbers as they are the more tender slow ballads. Although they do play slow songs, however, one of the many things to like about the band is its avoidance of the overly sentimental, choosing instead to play sweet but sometimes sarcastic slow songs.

JP Harris is a magnetic presence on-stage and his band members aren’t afraid to make fun of him if a particularly inspiring opportunity strikes. JP makes fun of himself too, though, in a confidently self-deprecating way. One example of this was the story he told to introduce a song he wrote on Thanksgiving one year when alone with a bottle of gin, which of course inspired a series of jokes about another guy stuffing his girl’s turkey… Then there was the moment when JP Harris said the next song was ironic but the audience and even his bassist thought he said “erotic,” which was further fueled by JP quipping, “Well, that could be ironic… it is called ’The Little Things’…”  You get the picture. JP Harris and the Tough Choices are funny guys, and their stage banter with each other and the audience is almost as entertaining as their music. Almost. But don’t just take my word for it, get out and see them! In the meantime, check out the videos: The Little Things and The Day You Put Me Out (And The Bottle Took Me In)