You can download Quinn Raymond's new album "The Last Village" on Amiestreet or click here to download for free. The official release will be available on itunes, amazon, rhapsody, napster, etc... on 12/12/08.
I've been playing music for 15 years, but this is my first album. I have recorded much work in the past-- there have been a few great live recordings, and collaborations with artists well above my ability, but none of those really count. For (and perhaps because of) its many flaws, "The Last Village" serves as a clear, concise summary of my sound in 2008.
The material on this album comes out of my experiences growing up on the Lower East Side during an era of shocking change. The squatters, artists, and thugs of my childhood have largely been replaced by bankers, students, and hipsters (both then and now, the groups are not mutually exclusive). As the battle to protect our community has largely been lost, many have turned their efforts to the preservation of its history.
History and location play prominently into these tracks, which were recorded in two places-- our living room on 9th street, and a small sun room facing Lodhi Gardens in New Delhi, India. Lodhi Gardens is kind of the Central Park of New Delhi, if Central Park were filled with the ancient tombs of Mughal rulers. And our block on 9th street has its own share of history-- Jimi Hendrix lived here briefly, and the Beastie Boys recorded one of their first albums in a basement a few buildings down.
The geography involved seeps into the record on many levels. First, the actual sounds of the street bled onto many of the tracks during takes-- if you listen carefully you will hear the car alarms, birds and trees of New Delhi on tracks like "Lodhi Gardens" and "Christmas in New Delhi".
Second, on a compositional level, the influence of location is there too. Many of the sounds I was introduced to by live musicians in the 6th street Bangladeshi restaurants can be heard. Those guys are great, under-appreciated musicians. Their tone is also much more raw than typical Indian Classical. I remember once hearing a sitar player whose electric pick-up was over-driving the sound system-- producing the kind of saturated
harmonic distortion that is such a signature of rock and roll. I've heard similar results from African Cora players in the subway. IT'S RAW!!!
Speaking of raw, there are a few punkish songs on the record too. Sonic Youth dominated my psyche as a teenager (still do, actually). But earlier than that, my mother recalls back in '81 some French Punks in Paris giving me a pin that said "Dieu Benisse Rock 'N Roll". One of those guys probably works for Sarkozy now, booking Carla Bruni's gigs or figuring out how to suppress those pesky suburban rioters. Crazy French!
So what is the Last Village? Well, if you kind of squint your eyes, it reads "East Village". The idea actually came to me early this January. We were in Rajasthan, visiting a theme park/cultural center that attempts to replicate a traditional Indian village. On that chilly night we shot bows and arrows, drank hot spiced milk, and saw artists performing the traditional songs and dances of their community.
It was pretty surreal, and in an odd way it reminded me a lot of home. More and more our neighborhood is just a theme park where rich out-of-towners can sate their thirst at "authentic" dive bars ("here we are now, entertain us!" they seem to holler as they stagger down our block at 4 AM, wasted).
Many doomsayers think this may be the last iteration of the neighborhood as we know it. Truthfully, we go through this every 50 years or so. It's OK. We're going to lose a lot. That's the way the Universe works. But for now, there are no riots. And yeah, it's a pretty dull place these days. Could be worse.
But it would be nice if the people who dedicated their lives to building our community were allowed to stick around and see it through. Most won't be allowed to stay. They'll have to give up their places for the wealthy gentry, who will one day grow tired of our fifth floor walk-ups and railroad floor-plans. Then they'll move on to a more suitable habitat (Staten Island?), and we'll be left with the same crazy knife-wielding maniacs who used to chase me down the street. Hey, maybe I'll be one of those maniacs. That's how O. Henry would have played it.
In truth, when I say "the Last Village" I mean "last" as in "previous". As in "the one that just happened, but is gone now." Don't worry, if you can't fit into this train, there will be another right along behind it that's empty. Stop pushing so hard.
Quinn Raymond
NYC, NY
October, 2008 PS- Thanks to Adam Chimera for mixing this into something coherent, and giving me a great deal. :) Thanks to Karl Ward for drums on the title track "The Last Village". Thanks to my wife Namrata for playing percussion on "Marty's Cool Stuff" and for putting up with me. Thanks to my kind in-laws for letting me abuse their Indian instruments. And thanks to my folks for having the courage to raise me somewhere with some flavor.
Second, on a compositional level, the influence of location is there too. Many of the sounds I was introduced to by live musicians in the 6th street Bangladeshi restaurants can be heard. Those guys are great, under-appreciated musicians. Their tone is also much more raw than typical Indian Classical. I remember once hearing a sitar player whose electric pick-up was over-driving the sound system-- producing the kind of saturated
harmonic distortion that is such a signature of rock and roll. I've heard similar results from African Cora players in the subway. IT'S RAW!!!
Speaking of raw, there are a few punkish songs on the record too. Sonic Youth dominated my psyche as a teenager (still do, actually). But earlier than that, my mother recalls back in '81 some French Punks in Paris giving me a pin that said "Dieu Benisse Rock 'N Roll". One of those guys probably works for Sarkozy now, booking Carla Bruni's gigs or figuring out how to suppress those pesky suburban rioters. Crazy French!
So what is the Last Village? Well, if you kind of squint your eyes, it reads "East Village". The idea actually came to me early this January. We were in Rajasthan, visiting a theme park/cultural center that attempts to replicate a traditional Indian village. On that chilly night we shot bows and arrows, drank hot spiced milk, and saw artists performing the traditional songs and dances of their community.
It was pretty surreal, and in an odd way it reminded me a lot of home. More and more our neighborhood is just a theme park where rich out-of-towners can sate their thirst at "authentic" dive bars ("here we are now, entertain us!" they seem to holler as they stagger down our block at 4 AM, wasted).
Many doomsayers think this may be the last iteration of the neighborhood as we know it. Truthfully, we go through this every 50 years or so. It's OK. We're going to lose a lot. That's the way the Universe works. But for now, there are no riots. And yeah, it's a pretty dull place these days. Could be worse.
But it would be nice if the people who dedicated their lives to building our community were allowed to stick around and see it through. Most won't be allowed to stay. They'll have to give up their places for the wealthy gentry, who will one day grow tired of our fifth floor walk-ups and railroad floor-plans. Then they'll move on to a more suitable habitat (Staten Island?), and we'll be left with the same crazy knife-wielding maniacs who used to chase me down the street. Hey, maybe I'll be one of those maniacs. That's how O. Henry would have played it.
In truth, when I say "the Last Village" I mean "last" as in "previous". As in "the one that just happened, but is gone now." Don't worry, if you can't fit into this train, there will be another right along behind it that's empty. Stop pushing so hard.
Quinn RaymondNYC, NY
October, 2008 PS- Thanks to Adam Chimera for mixing this into something coherent, and giving me a great deal. :) Thanks to Karl Ward for drums on the title track "The Last Village". Thanks to my wife Namrata for playing percussion on "Marty's Cool Stuff" and for putting up with me. Thanks to my kind in-laws for letting me abuse their Indian instruments. And thanks to my folks for having the courage to raise me somewhere with some flavor.