Word: deviled
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...Hall. It is an image he cultivates, showing up at meets in leather motorcycle pants and cruising around in a customized 1962 purple microbus. When the Dead's Jerry Garcia died, Hall swam his next meet with a black band traced on his arm in felt-tip pen. His devil-may-care attitude, however, masks a troubled past. As an adolescent, Hall was an indifferent student who clashed with his parents and took refuge at friends' homes. But Hall idolized his maternal grandfather, Charles Keating Jr., a one-time NCAA swimming champion with whom he would shoot prairie dogs...
...heard the reports. Villagers who did learn of the Kremlin intrigue seemed to find it less gripping than the Brazilian soap opera they had watched the night before. Igor Dudinsky shrugged off the radio reports as he tucked into a breakfast of cream cheese and fish soup. "The devil knows what that all means," he said...
Still, Tigrett seems to revel in being the bad boy of the blues, the Dennis Rodman of an authentic American musical form. "I came to the Blues Foundation symposium last year, and one of the lectures was titled: 'Isaac Tigrett, House of Blues: Devil or Angel?' " says Tigrett with a laugh. "And I went down there, and I said, 'I am the devil.' I said, 'I'm going to take this music and take it away from small-minded people who want to keep it in dirty little clubs. And I'm going to do what I do best...
Still, authenticity is served. All the numbers are built on the era's vintage tunes and formats--the loose, buoyant ensembles (Moten Swing and a hypnotically undulating Pagin' the Devil), the "cutting sessions" (Yeah, Man, a fiery face-off between the tenor saxes of Redman and Craig Handy), the crescendoing call-and-response riff patterns (I Left My Baby, whipped to a fervent pitch by Curtis Fowlkes' swaggering trombone), the galloping flag wavers (Lafayette, a raucous vehicle for trumpet soloists Nicholas Payton, James Zollar and Olu Dara) and the rococo after-hours ballads (I Surrender Dear, in which James Carter...
REALLY GREAT GOSPEL SOMEtimes sounds like the devil. There are howls, whoops, shrieks, stomping feet, menacing bass licks and orgasmic musical undulations that would be downright sinful if they weren't being done in the name of the Lord. All this is no accident--gospel by its very form has the power to take worldly emotions and transform them into something sacred, something uplifting. Unfortunately, much of what passes for gospel today is too slick, too processed, too angelically artificial to tap into the essential emotions and sublime passions that are provoked by the genre's original, rootsier form. There...