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BOSTON HERALD
Christopher John Treacy
July 5, 2007
Expect the unexpected from Meshell Ndegeocello. And then some.
The singer/songwriter/musician/composer has been a “floater” in recent years, having cut loose from Maverick Records after 2003’s Comfort Woman. CD - but her creativity continues.
Ndegeocello’s well-attended Paradise set Tuesday was an astounding display of daring, richly textured electric funk andjazz with plenty of punked-out, skronk-rocking tangents. It definitely was not a crowd-pleasing run of fan faves - but that’s part and parcel of the lady’s unapologetic artistry.
Instead, she showcased material from a recent import-only EP, Article 3, new songs from her forthcoming full-length, The World Has Made Me the Man of My Dreams (rumored to be coming in late August on the revived Decca label), and a few unrecorded tunes. The only stroll down memory lane came during the melancholy “Free My Heart” from 1997’s Peace Beyond Passion.
Playing in an adventurous quintet, Ndegeocello switched off bass duties with Mark Kelley, plucking out the instrumental introductions herself and then letting him take over when it came time to sing.
The band performed in a semicircle, and Ndegeocello often remained in back as conductor - but you could feel her enthusiasm the most when she stood center stage to boogie, eyes closed, fingers snapping, lost in the music.
With snare-rim and high-hat-happy drummer Charlie Haynes endlessly splicing out reggae beats, keyboardist Jason Lindner creating atmospheric, space-age washes galore and recurring collaborator/guitarist Oren Bloedow’s fancy fretwork, Ndegeocello’s new band, the Grand Mission, was nothing shy of a well-oiled machine. At full tilt it cranked soul grooves as thick as tar.
She introduced what might be the first ever funk-fortified Joy Division cover, “Wilderness,” which she dedicated to the late James Brown. Other highs included the gritty, organ-fueled “White Girl”; “Evolution,” which she dedicated to Darwin; “Headline”; and “The Sloganeer,” a meditation on the madness of suicide bombing. Recurring themes of spirituality vs. creationism, harmony, dissatisfaction, love and loss waxed and waned through her new lyrics.
Like Miles Davis or Joni Mitchell, Ndegeocello challenges musical convention with an ample supply of curveballs. It’s a shame that some listeners say they don’t “get” her songs, because she’s making progress on the fringes of pop music.
JAZZ TIMES
Bill Milkowski
January 22, 2006
Bassist-singer-provocateur Meshell Ndegeocello brought the Knit marathon to a rousing climax, playing into the wee hours with her Miles-inspired funk-fusion outfit, Spirit Music Jamia, which featured J.D. Allen’s robust tenor sax work alongside Oliver Lake’s alto sax, Brandon Ross’s guitar, Michael Cain’s keyboards, Mark Kelly’s bass and the two-drum tandem of Terreon Gully and Damion Reid. While initially signed as a pop artist to Madonna’s label, Maverick, Ndegeocello has emerged as a first-rate improviser with one foot solidly in the jazz camp. It will be interesting to see if she continues to develop along this more adventurous instrumental path or if this is just a temporary detour in her career. Stay tuned.
NEW YORK AMSTERDAM NEWS
Jimmie Briggs
April 27 - May 3, 2005
Over two nights last week, soulrock musician Meshell Ndegeocello test drove her new band, The Grand Mission, at Joe's Pub in the Village. For the most part, the ride was very smooth. Since her early 90's debut release, Plantation Lullabies, Ndegeocello has successfully carved out a niche from herself, separate from the highly visible class of Black, female, neo-soul singers such as Erykah Badu, Jill Scott, Jaguar Wright or Amel Larriuex. The performer likely most inspired by her would be Res.
Ndegeocello has collaborated with rockers like John Mellencamp, the Motown record label house band in the movie "Standing in the Shadows of Motown," and contributed songs to several movie soundtracks including "Love & Basketball." She's also worked on a jazz-based record with Cassandra WiIson, Kenny Garrett and others, Her recent'shows at Joe's Pub announce another step in her musical journey since the release of her fifth album, Comfort Woman. in 2003.
The still-evolving band at Joe's Pub included Ndegeocello on vocals and bass, Mark Kelley on bass, Adam Deitch on drums, Jason Lindner on keyboard, Gilmar Gomes on percussion, Mike Severson and Herve Sambe on guitar, with Lysette Titi on vocals. The low din rumbung from the club's audience sometimes made it difficult to clearly hear all songs in the hour-plus set. It was a capacity crowd filled with Black bohos, hipsters, dreads, buppies and a remaining rainbow spectrum of fans.
Ndegeocello gave an understated, stirringly evocative show highlighting her bluesy foundation on bass guitar while debuting songs likely to appear on her next album this fall. Many of the words she sang seemed directed at lovers, past and present, as well as the search for her own freedom. There were no familiar tunes such as "If That Was Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night)," "Lilloquoi Moon," or "Fool of Me." Still, the show was tremendously satisfying and charged, with the band being called back onto stage for a short encore.
LA WEEKLY
Ernest Hardy
October 6, 2005
Sometimes, all it takes is one moment of transcendence to elevate a good concert into an unforgettable one. There were two such moments at this show. A singer-songwriter whose soulful and elastic voice is rarely done justice by the songs she pens, Laurnea was sexy, playful and earthy (at one point lifting her sheer top to wipe the sweat off her belly) during her 12-song set. Her renditions of her hits “Infatuation” and “Happy” were rousing crowd-pleasers; but the show really soared when she invited her best friend, India Arie, onstage. The two traded verses on a birthday celebration song they’d written and the energy between them crackled, making the crowd forget the club’s sweltering heat. Part of that spark, however, was also due to Meshell Ndegeocello. Wearing a thrift-store orange skirt, a battered knit cap and some granny socks rolled down to her ankles, the shy goddess of bass walked meekly onstage behind India, but Godzilla’d the spot once she strapped on her instrument. Still, that was just a warmup for when Laurnea spotted Rachelle Farrell in the crowd and handed her a mike.
Channeling some Afro-Cuban parrot, eerily mimicking every kinda horn ever made and digging deep in that emotional and technical cave where she stores her bag of tricks, Farrell drove the crowd insane during an extended jam session. She finally convinced an understandably reluctant India to join her on the mike, and after much prodding Ms. Arie provided the rock-steady bottom. Having stepped back for a moment to figure out where the hell her show went, Laurnea slowly crouched deep at the knees and belted “Get, get, get it together!” over and over until it became a head-nodding hypnotic chant. With every octave leap, Farrell pushed shit higher. Meshell conducted the whole thing with fiercely gunned bass lines that ricocheted across the room. It was an extraordinary moment of artists sharing, converging and forcing one another to bring their A+ game. They did. The audience was fed.
LOS ANGELES TIMES
Don Heckman
June 29, 2005
It's probably not surprising that Meshell Ndegeocello has been drawn to jazz for her latest project. Despite her great versatility as an instrumentalist, singer, poet and more, the density of jazz, with its century-long roots in the shifting changes in African American culture, has always been present to some degree in her music.
Her latest recording, Dance of the Infidel, features a new musical collective, Spirit Music Jamia, moving confidently through territory reminiscent of the Miles Davis bands of the '70s and Weather Report. But her performance Monday at the El Rey Theatre was more expansive, suggesting a correlation with bands of Charles Mingus.
Ndegeocello's gutsy bass lines combined with the powerful drumming of Chris Dave and Gilmar Gomes, the guitar of Oran Coltrane and the wildly eclectic keyboard work of Michael Cain to create a tsunami of rhythmic drive. Riding this turbulent wave, three saxophonists—Ron Blake, Oliver Lake and Kebbi Williams—ripped through interactive soloing and dark-textured ensemble passages.
On the down side, Ndegeocello's voice was rarely heard singing—which was disappointing to those familiar with her vocal excursions—although moments of poetry surfaced through the bottom-heavy sound mix.
Add to that the random quality of the set, in which last-minute discussions and instructions frequently occurred between numbers. But this, at least, was reminiscent of the similarly chaotic but ultimately musically productive exchanges that frequently took place in the Mingus bands.
Yes, there were moments when everything seemed on the verge of coming apart. But when it worked, Ndegeocello's Spirit Music Jamia had the feel of a band with a vital jazz future.
BOSTON GLOBE
Siddhartha Mitter
June 27, 2005
At this moment in her career, Meshell Ndegeocello is not a singer. She's an expert electric bass player whose sense of groove and sonic construction sustains an all-star ensemble she calls Spirit Music Jamia, assembled from across the jazz, Latin, and R&B scenes. Her voice, however, is limited to introducing the band. Some at the Paradise on Saturday night were clearly unprepared for this, as the audience thinned during the set.
That was a shame, because taking place onstage was a demonstration of the power of groove-based music in the tradition of the great bands of Fela Kuti, Miles Davis, Roy Ayers, and Tito Puente, a collaboration of instinctive musicians working as peers. From Afrobeat to rumba, the richness of the music of the black Atlantic was on full display along with the unmatchable synthetic power of pure funk.
Along with Michael Cain on keyboards, a saxophone triple threat of Oliver Lake on alto, Kebbi Williams on tenor, and an animated Ron Blake on baritone and soprano assured melody and warmth, aggressive without overplaying. Chris Dave on drums and Gilmar Gomes on congas kept the proceedings grounded. And the breakbeats and disembodied voices that DJ Jahi Sundance distilled from his turntables made clear that this band has no fear of the future.
Clad in a "Star Wars" shirt and a kaffiyeh wrap over close-shorn hair, Ndegeocello was a vision from some alternate reality where paradox is a way of life. She directed from a rear corner, launching thick, pungent bass grooves into the ether. While watching her in communion with the band, it became clear that her move away from center stage is a daring and successful step toward creative freedom.
ALBANY TIMES UNION
David Malachowski
June 27, 2005
An unusual pairing of artists came to The Egg on Friday for a wild night that was engaging, avant-garde and, stylistically, all over the map.
Singer/bassist Meshell Ndegeocello released her first CD on Madonna's Maverick label in 1993, but it was her collaboration with John Mellencamp on a cover of Van Morrison's "Wild Night" that brought her national attention.
At The Egg, the 36-year-old Ndegeocello had with her the seven-piece Spirit Music Jamia, featuring a horn section and DJ.
In black shorts, a white hoody and buzz cut, Ndegeocello stood back by her bass amp, seemingly just another member of the band. In fact, you could barely see her behind the percussionist.
After falling into a short jam, Ndegeocello stepped up to the mike and announced, "This is not a vocal performance."
True to her word, she did not sing a note. Not that it was a bad thing. With members of the band offering superb solos, the jams were almost spiritual compositions.
Quirky bass lines fueled one musical excursion after another, as Ndegeocello's technical depth drove the ensemble. It was more about the musicianship and interplay, such as "Heavy Spirits," a tune that fell into Ron Blake's spare "Invocation."
Musical chances were taken, but folks started to trickle out after half an hour.
WASHINGTON POST
Sarah Godfrey
June 23, 2005
Technically, Meshell Ndegeocello didn't play the 9:30 club Tuesday night. She was onstage, as bald and as beautiful as ever, but striking physical characteristics aside, the woman on the bass bore little resemblance to the beloved unconventional neo-soul/funk/R&B artist.
Ndegeocello, who appeared along with Joshua Redman, has been completely absorbed by the Spirit Music Jamia, the fusion jazz group of her latest disc, Dance of the Infidel. She shunned a grand entrance, preferring to walk on surrounded by the band, then hid behind Chris Dave's drum kit and proceeded to ignore her solo catalogue for the entire set.
There were no recollections of "Barry Farms" and no wondering "Who Is He (And What Is He to You?)." In fact, Ndegeocello refrained from singing and pretty much parted her lips only to thank the crowd for its "time and energy," and to introduce the phenomenal Jamia ensemble, which includes saxophonists Ron Blake and Oliver Lake and DJ Jahi Sundance.
But, as is the case with Ndegeocello's previous reinventions, banning old material from the playlist was a brilliant move. The Washington-area-bred musician led the group through more than an hour of rich instrumental sound—breaking into "Outside Your Door" or "Stay" would have disturbed the groove.
The Spirit Music Jamia served up everything from reverberating dub reggae and Afrobeats borrowed from Fela Kuti to the sweeping opuses "Al-Falaq 113" and "Luqman" and the gorgeous unreleased gem "Red Planetary Skywalker." And judging from her deep knee bends, squeezed-shut eyes and the occasional smile, the latest progression in Ndegeocello's career couldn't suit her any better.
NEW YORK TIMES
Ben Ratliff
June 17, 2005
Meshell Ndegeocello radiates autonomy: she has a lot to communicate about funk, identity, sex, politics, the spirit world; she has referred to her records as chapters of a memoir, and she won't recede in her work. In her role as pop star, she often acts as singer, lyricist, composer, bass player, bandleader, producer and central image.
But for the last two years, every now and then at a smaller club, she has taken the bedrock musical languages in her work—jazz and funk—and stepped back into the rhythm section, sometimes creating pure instrumental music, sometimes using guest singers. She now calls this band the Spirit Music Jamia, and its first record, Dance of the Infidel, comes out next week. On Wednesday at Birdland she and her band played without any singers at all.
Even without her smoky voice and pointed lyrics, there was still an extravagant amount of Ms. Ndegeocello in the music; the band swelled up to eight people and down to five, but what really made Wednesday's show was her electric bass playing, and her interaction with her drummer, Chris Dave.
Ms. Ndegeocello played softly and far behind the beat; the moment of articulation for each note was tiny and delicate, and she freely alternated short, blipping phrases with longer, liquidly swinging ones. Mr. Dave reconfirmed the groove with a heavy hand, but no amount of power could overrun the force coming from the bass.
The band set itself up as a rectangle, with Mr. Dave's trap drums and a DJ (Jahi Sundance Lake) facing each other on the short sides; Ms. Ndegeocello played at a right angle to the drums. With the saxophonists Kebbi Williams and Ron Blake, the conga player Gilmar Gomes, the guitarist Alex Grant, and the keyboardist Michael Cain, the band stomped out an old Fela Kuti song, later slinking through a slow dub-reggae passage, jamming over a 6/8 Latin clave rhythm, and ruminating through jazz chords and static harmony with Mr. Cain on a Fender Rhodes electric piano, a bit in the style of Miles Davis's early 70's music. For one band to associate all these styles -- Afrobeat, Cuban, reggae, jazz—isn't unheard of; Yerba Buena, for instance, does it. But Ms. Ndegeocello, directing the sound while immersed in it, provokes a fascination with individual touch, and completely validates the jamming philosophy. The set lasted an hour, but could have gone on twice as long.
CHICAGO SUN TIMES
Brian Orloff
June 7, 2005
Fans anticipating a concert by bassist and singer Meshell Ndegeocello Sunday night at the Park West got just that. Only, it wasn't in the form most were expecting.
Ndegeocello, always a musical chameleon, came to town not to perform her solo material, as many expected—especially since her name alone was on the ticket. Instead, she arrived as an ensemble member representing her latest project, the Spirit Music Jamia. The improvisational quintet offered concertgoers 75 minutes of sensual, groove-heavy music from its album Dance of the Infidel, which already has been released in Europe but will not hit shelves here until June 21.
"Sorry for the misunderstanding," Ndegeocello said, offering an apology of sorts—and her only words to the crowd—two songs into the concert. "But it's all music to feel good to. It's just music to be open to and give praise to."c
Despite the potential misrepresentation, which did not appear to be Ndegeocello's fault, patient and curious fans were rewarded with material that was constructed upon Ndegeocello's strong, frittered bass lines, textured samples of political speeches and soaring bursts of brass. The expert group, which featured saxophonists Oliver Lake and Ron Blake, keyboardist Michael Cain, DJ Jahi Sundance and drummer Quentin Baxter, locked into tight song structures, mining the shadowy, spectral tunes for all their emotional depth.
Nevertheless, some crowd members—and it was a full house—grew impatient, pleading in between songs for Ndegeocello to sing. Not only did she not respond to the impassioned requests, the diminutive, bald-headed Ndegeocello appeared resistant to any kind of spotlight at all, preferring instead to blend in as an anonymous ensemble member. She retreated to the right corner of the stage, shrouded in the darkness. At times, she was literally steps from being offstage. This strident dismissal of attention actually had an opposite affect than intended: Ndegeocello only called more attention to herself.
To fans familiar with her work, this bucking of convention is not especially out of character. Throughout her long and always creative career, Ndegeocello has invariably surprised listeners—and her record company—by recording radically different-sounding albums with each subsequent release.
Still, her behavior, and the band's generally insouciant approach, felt off-putting and definitely lodged a further distance and disconnect from the crowd.
On their own merits, the seven compositions performed (their titles were not announced, and there was no set list offered), ostensibly the entirety of the Dance of the Infidel record, were intoxicating if a bit homogenous. Trumpeter Oliver Lake's riveting solos erupted in squiggly, erratic bursts of noise that enlivened and enriched the band's sound, and drummer Baxter contributed a skittish, reggae-like beat that dovetailed with Ndegeocello's anchoring bass. It's just a shame that she seemed so opposed to really owning it.
WISCONSIN STATE JOURNAL
Michael Muckian
June 6, 2005
Headliner Ndegeocello brought a hypnotic funk groove to her instrumental set that allowed her five fellow musicians, including turntable artist Jahi Sundance, ample latitude for experimentation. Spirit Music Jamia, an ancient name for "school," replicates the mid-1970s sound of minimalist trumpeter Miles Davis during one of his richest fusion periods. The same muted trumpet is present, and the approach is almost an homage to Davis, but less discreet in its riff choices. Michael Cain's keyboards are an easy blend of the Herbie Hancock-Keith Jarrett-Chick Corea triumvirate from that same period, with some interstellar sound effects thrown in.
Ndegeocello, now with a shaved head, lays down a surprisingly strong bass, her diminutive form in front of an amplifier stack just slightly taller than she is. But the hypnotic rhythms get repetitive after a while, and the evening's most innovative aspects sometimes come from Sundance, whose turntable articulations alternate between effective and grating.
Fans may have been disappointed that the normally vocal Ndegeocello chose to leave that task to Sundance's occasional sound bites. If anything, given the artist's cross-genre pedigree, the set may not have been experimental enough. But that didn't stop dozens from leaving in between each song.
LONDON FINANCIAL TIMES
Mike Hobart
April 14, 2005
Meshell Ndegeocello's Jazz Cafe gig showcased music from her largely instrumental current CD, Dance of the Infidel. This excellent modern fusion album is a radical move away from the sharp lyrics and R&B-inflected vocals that made her reputation in 1993 and far from the hype-laden world of pop.
Subtitled "The Spirit Music Jamia", the contemplative themes are starting points for often passionate jazz improvisations and unfolding textural subtleties. Established New Yorkers including the saxophonist Kenny Garrett and the trumpeter Wallace Roney solo over the rhythm sections, with Ndegeocello herself on bass guitar. Live, with a front line pared down to two saxophones, a three-piece rhythm section and samples, the music inevitably lost some subtlety but gained in bite.
Ndegeocello is a great bassist, with a real sense of pulse and a terrific, fat thump of a tone. The overall feel of her music is reminiscent of the 1970s fusion pioneers Herbie Hancock and the Headhunters Band, updated by contemporary grooves. Her melodies are contemplative, with titles such as "Mu-Min" and "Heaven". Played by two saxophones, they float disconcertingly over the underlying pulse.
The main soloist was the saxophonist Ron Blake, on tenor and baritone, whose tone ranges from breathily bluesy to jagged and obtuse. And he combines a nice sense of tradition with an appreciation of contemporary club music.
However, this is a quintessentially collective music. The drummer Chris Dave and keyboardist Michael Cain, strong individual musicians and soloists, brilliantly sustained the inner funk pulse, whether shaded by Afrobeat or dub reggae. The samples, triggered by the DJ Jahi Sundance, unobtrusively added textural shading and, in lieu of announcements by the self-effacing Ndegeocello, indicated the socially conscious nature of the music.
EVENING STANDARD
Jack Massarik
April 8, 2005
Admirers of Meshell Ndegeocello note that she has put her vocal career on hold and currently prefers the company of jazz musicians to Madonna. Pop fans must feel betrayed, but the rest of us are delighted. Bandleading from the back brings out the best in this charismatic Fender-basswoman, and her music is beginning to blossom.
"Greetings," she drawled last night, hitching up her jeans, adjusting the rake of her chquered Andy-Capp and picking up the beats of DJ Jahi Sundance's closing number. "Relax, lay back, make love, do whatever ya want. Just be open to us, 'cos we're gonna be open to you." Sundance, the son of US saxophone star Oliver Lake, is Meshell's resident deckhand and builds his rhythms with care. This time he had set the power-bar pretty high, but thanks to Chris Dave, the live band easily sustained it. An awesome drummer previously heard in London with altoist Kenny Garrett, Dave displayed the kind of creative frenzy that nobody over 30 can maintain for a whole set. Meshell was laying down mean bass-guitar patterns, but her slim, whipcord drummer was stealing the show, powering the band through groove-based originals with phenomenal energy. His only failure was the kind of reggae-based beat that only Caribbeans can swing properly.
That artful keyboarder Michael Cain and the two sax soloists, Ron Blake (baritone and tenor) and newcomer Dahu Mumagi (soprano), kept their ideas sensibly simple while riding this rhythmic storm. Occasionally they also had to cope with ghost-voices from the speakers, including the sampled speech of three musical icons—Fela Kuti, Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix—and the taped blether of various political windbags. But there were gentler moments too, including the mellow title track of Meshell's latest album, Dance Of The Infidel, and a beautiful glimpse of Nefertiti, that classic Wayne Shorter ballad from the ESP era.
Clearly there is much more to Meshell than a hard-hitting beat. An evening with her builds up a comprehensive picture of international black culture. Beneath the sound and the fury, a fastidious musical mind is at work.
ATLANTA JOURNAL & CONSTITUTION
Sonia Murray
May 3, 2004
This act's long official name—"the Spirit of Music Sextet Featuring Meshell Ndegeocello"—puts her name at the end for a reason: Ndegeocello as her fans know her was an afterthought. There was no "If That's Your Boyfriend," no "Talk to Me," no "Bitter"—nothing from her old catalog.
What the rhythm-and-blues singer-songwriter unveiled was her jazz muse. It was an almost anticipated evolution, considering how the famously unpredictable talent has swiftly transitioned from incredible soul to strong religious and political statements to stark, beautiful atmospheric music and then to reggae.
Without question, the sextet played well. But judging from the occasional moan that arose in the crowd, Ndegeocello didn't play what many had expected.
MICHIGAN CITIZEN
Jonathan Cunningham
October 23, 2003
Ndegeocello's band opened its concert with powerful songs from the new album which mainly featured Ndegeocello foregoing vocals and playing bass to warm up the crowd.
The audience quickly grew restless awaiting her sultry voice, cheering as she un-strapped her bass guitar and rolled into hits such as “Come Smoke My Herb” and “Dead Nigga Blvd,” from previous albums.
As it put down dub and reggae grooves to compliment Ndegeocello’s slow and melodic vocal style the band was as impressive as its maestro. She broke during the concert to drink tea and crack jokes with band members, returning to the mic each time to captivate her audience with lover’s rock tempo and heavy bass lines.
Although Ndegeocello and her band played only an hour, the audience was not left disappointed.
DAILY VARIETY
Steven Mirkin
October 10, 2003
Band: Ndegeocello, Frank McComb, Jon-Jon Webb, Chris Dave, Sy Smith, K'alyn, Allen Cato.
Eyes closed, head titled slightly back so she leads with her chin, hands in loose fists about chest high, her shoulders shrugging rhythmically, Meshell Ndegeocello could have been shadowboxing on the House of Blues stage. Moving with a relaxed strut, she approaches her songs with the confidence of a good middleweight, powerful and wiry.
She also exhibits a remarkable self-possession, and her performance—especially the material from her new album, Comfort Woman—trades heavily in atmosphere. The music builds slowly, developing into a rich, dub reggae haze. Vocal lines drop in and out of the mix, clipped guitars hit a James Brown groove, an organ swells spacily, with Ndegeocello's swaggering bass occasionally muscling in. Sometimes, such as in the nimble, Sly Stone groove of "GOD.FEAR.MONEY," the elements snap together; other times, they simply dissipate, as in the flabby "Body."
The unfocused nature of the performance might be explained in the song "Come Smoke My Herb"; there is no denying the show's cannabis-scented languor.
With only two shows under their belt, the band members don't seem completely at home with the new material (which makes up more than half the one-hour set), tiptoeing around the smoky grooves of "Love Song #1" when they should be putting their bodies behind the punch. By the time Ndegeocello and the band gets to New York they should be more familiar with the songs.
NEWPORT DAILY NEWS
James J. Gillis
August 11, 2003
Meshell Ndegeocello: All over the map stylistically, the bassist/singer cranked out a steamy and hypnotic set of mostly reggae-based tunes. Hard to categorize, easy to enjoy.
PROVIDENCE JOURNAL BULLETIN
Andy Smith
August 11, 2003
In a very different groove was singer Meshell Ndegeocello, who occasionally picked up the bass to augment the bassist already in her band. Her style mixed singing, chanting and rapping over a bottom-heavy beat, with a Hammond B-3 organ and electric guitars creating a swirling, sometimes psychedelic sound around her.
ALL ABOUT JAZZ
David R. Adler
July 2003
Among JVC’s several pop-oriented bookings this year, one stands out. Ndegeocello is one of the most profound, searching singers and bandleaders of our time. She is not one to run down a song from an album without expanding it, interpreting it, allowing her band to recreate it from whole cloth. Nor does she strut out in front, playing the star.
At Me’Shell’s side were Raymond Angry on organ and keyboards, downtown scenester Oren Bloedow on guitar, Jesse Murphy (of Seamus Blake’s Bloomdaddies) on electric bass, Chris Dave (of Kenny Garrett’s Standard of Language band) on drums, K’Alyn on backing vocals and additional guitar, Sy Smith on backing vocals, and Gilmar Gomes on percussion. This compact unit delivered just under an hour of musical massage therapy: abstract grooves, informed by dub and hip-hop and jazz and pure funk. No top-40 hits, no vocal theatrics or melismatic overkill—just a purifying dose of underground R&B mysticism, ebbing and flowing like the seasons, lifted heavenward by Angry’s inspired harmonic tangents.
“Take it home, take it home,” said Me’Shell to the band, when it was time to close the set. And with a piquant written figure, they did—and she walked off, without a word, her job done.
MUSICTODAY.COM
Jim Allen
June 27, 2003
Me’Shell, who opened the show, is several years older and considerably less of a household name than India.Arie. While both performers are dedicated to an organic sound based on real-time instruments rather than loops and samples, their feel couldn’t be more dissimilar.
Ndegeocello appeared every inch the moody artiste, leading her band (speckled with downtown NYC avant-jazzers like former Lounge Lizard Oren Bloedow and bassist-about-town Jesse Murphy) through dark, moody, extremely dub-influenced soundscapes.
She worked mostly as a sort of funky conductor, occasionally delivering minimal, incantatory vocals and trading off on bass with Murphy. For a sound so groove-driven, it was remarkably ethereal, with guitars and keyboards providing layered tone clouds.
The diminutive bandleader didn’t go out of her way to endear herself to the audience, taking the auteur route instead and passing off only a few mumbled comments in between songs. Nevertheless, she drew a relatively warm response from the audience, which had just about filled the legendary Avery Fisher Hall by the end of her set.
Agence France Presse French
December 7, 2002
Vendredi soir, c’est Me’Shell Ndegeocello qui tenait la vedette au Liberté (6.000 places). La chanteuse féministe à la voix âpre, T-shirt noir à tête de mort et bonnet vissé sur son crane rasé, a offert un concert époustouflant. Quand Me’Shell chante, la soul music sert à exprimer la rage des damnés.
THE EVENING STANDARD (London)
Jack Massarik
November 20, 2002
First of all, that name. After the Michelle part, you pronounce it En-Deggy-Oh-Chello, with the accent on the final "Chell", and it's supposed to mean "free as a bird" in Swahili. Born in Berlin and raised in Washington DC, its adoptive owner could hardly fail to become a political animal, and as an artist she definitely is.
Radical songwriter, rapper and Fenderbassplaying singer with attitude, Meshell recently signed to Madonna's Maverick label and one of her dressing-room wellwishers last night was filmmaker Spike Lee. Dressed like an urban-guerrilla in black zipper-jacket, swim-cap hood and jeans, the lady muscled into tough grooves expertly supplied by synthman Federico Gonzales Peña, jockeying four keyboards, and superfunky drummer Gene Lake, son of jazz saxophonist Oliver Lake.
Meshell's father was a jazz saxman, too, and although pigeonholed under Soul in most record stores, her jazz-inflected performances are a clear link from Stevie, Marvin and Donny through to contemporary nu-soul heroines like Erykah, India, Angie and Lauryn, all of whose sharp-witted lyrics and solid beats appeal to US jazz's floating voters today.
As she faced her London fans, issues of sexism and racism gave way to happier topics like lurve, yet even here, her version of (Marvin's) "I Want You"—"Oh, you turn me on/ Let me have it just this once/ The forbidden always arouses my temptation"—was heavy with a tension more predatory than romantic.
Meshell may be moving into the mainstream, but she doesn't look like selling out.
VARIETY
Gary Jackson
October 29, 2002
There is no theatricality, save for her compelling ice queen stage persona, in Meshell Ndegeocello's show. She is about as straightforward and cool as the other side of the pillow, which has certainly seen many a love tryst.
Take, for example, the torrid "Barry Farms," a tune about a young, but highly experienced/experimental female interested in the chocolate smooth textures and contours of Ndegeocello. There's a shocking line that the audience knew well and relished its deliciously naughty implications.
In her four albums—Plantation Lullabies, Peace Before Passion, Bitter and this year's Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape—she reflects a brutally honest journal on the ways of the black-tar, beat/beatnik-oriented streets. Ndegeocello relied on songs mostly culled from Cookie, but delved into "Loyalty" and "Wasted Time," both from Bitter. Ndegeocello encored with "Pocketbook," Mixtape's first single release, a tight, in-the-pocket funk primer with affirmative lyrics on letting it all go, so long as the money flows.
The closest things to pop hits in her repertoire, 1993's "If That Was Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night)," and her attempt at breaking through to homophobic urban radio with the difficult "Leviticus: Faggot" and "Who Is He and What Is He To You" were woefully missing from her dynamic set at the Wiltern.
Ndegeocello's music—funk slathered over steamily thick grooves by Jonathan Maron and Ndegeocello over Oliver Gene Lake's sturdy beats—is reminiscent of the Grateful Dead. The band weaved effortlessly through sonic shifts between progressive rock, jazz-fusion (with a nice Miles Davis "Jack Johnson" micro-riff in mid-set) and hip-hop beats. Keyboardist Federico Gonzalez Peña, whose direction and watercolor shadings kept the proceedings steady and refreshingly innovative, was a standout.
HOUSTON CHRONICLE
Michael D. Clark
October 22, 2002
Listening to the free-spirited soul experiments of Meshell Ndegeocello is a great way to spend a cool Sunday evening. But trying to absorb her band's thick bass and keyboard funk at a smoky rock 'n' roll cathedral like Numbers reduced the enjoyment.
Focusing her decade-long career on songs about broken romance, sexual politics and racial balance, Ndegeocello is not as elegant as Erykah Badu or India.Arie. But her mix of smoky vocals and spoken-word poetry is every bit as intense. Much like Ornette Coleman or Cassandra Wilson, Ndegeocello is best heard in a low-lit dinner theater or cabaret—a place where music doesn't compete with calls for another round of beer or the beeps and blips of video games.
Ndegeocello's 90-minute performance suffered from such distractions and she appeared to be keenly aware of it.
Opening the show with unreleased song "Quentin Mack," Ndegeocello sang eyes closed all night (she battles epilepsy and flash photography has caused her to pass out). As her band hit tempo changes or she sensed sudden movements at the stagefront, she appeared to duck, as if trying to hide her smooth scalp in her shoulders, like a turtle.
Ndegeocello relaxed, moving into the groove of "The Way," but curiously, she passed electric bass duties to a bandmate.
When she emerged from the Washington, D.C., scene with her album Plantation Lullabies, the free-flowing, tightly-wrapped soul and hip-hop on that record pegged her as an up-and-coming superstar-creator like Prince.
The three albums since have moved away from that mainstream, culminating in the sociopolitical commentary of her latest release, Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape.
Ndegeocello did offer up one of those old singles, "I'm Diggin' You (Like An Old Soul Record)." Her records have always been her therapy, and she appeared most interested in exploring Cookie's themes.
"Better By the Pound" was sexual poetry, slightly marred by vocals that were too soft and bass amps that were too loud. For Pocketbook, Ndegeocello grabbed her bass and, while flicking vibrating notes off her fret, talked about the corrupt joys of having money.
It was an introduction to the very complex Ndegeocello. Next time she comes to Houston, I hope it will be to a room where she and the audience can sit down and let some real musical dialogue unfold.
VILLAGE VOICE
Rob Tannenbaum
August 7-13, 2002
Meshell Ndegeocello's head is a barometer. She plays music in time signatures even Stephen Hawking couldn't count, and when her unstable soul-jazz fusion fizzes and frays, she sets her brow into a pair of parentheses, as though concentration could call the music into focus. When her band settles into a syncopated groove, she smiles contentedly, and her shoulders bob like a bantamweight's early in a bout.
Her July 26 show at the Stephen Talkhouse, a small club in Amagansett, Long Island, began more than an hour late—another victim of Friday traffic on the L.I.E.—and felt hurried even during 10-minute jams. In jeans, a striped knit cap, and a red Black Panthers T-shirt, the bassist and her six-piece band began with "Better by the Pound," a cover of Funkadelic's 1975 lecture against the call of pleasure, and focused mostly on other songs from her latest record, Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape. Increasingly the bastard daughter of Joni Mitchell and Angela Davis, she's grown more political with each record, though also less doctrinaire.
She's not the first lefty to condemn corporate sponsorship, expensive sneakers, and media devils, but the part in "GOD.FEAR.MONEY" about the Devil hosting TRL and having a great apartment (on the Upper East Side, no less) is new, as is her thematic focus on breast-feeding in "Dead Nigga Blvd. (Pt. 1)." And in the latter song, she refuses to point the usual finger of oppression, insisting, "Niggas need to redefine what it means to be free."
For Ndegeocello, freedom comes from improvisation, which she has called the metaphorical root of the African American experience. She steers her music toward its sources, slipping Prince, the Police, and Bob Marley into jams. Of course, improvisation is also a private pleasure, not a public one, and Ndegeocello is no showman: She never acknowledged the crowd (who paid $60 for a 65-minute show), didn't play any of her few songs a casual fan might recognize, and didn't speak beyond introducing the band. Effusiveness? That she reserves for her bass solos.
BOSTON GLOBE
Ken Capobianco
July 19, 2002
Meshell Ndegeocello is all about passion. Passion for her music, for a human connection, for justice and clarity in a world of ambiguity and chaos. You get a sense of this in her recent record, the ambitious Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape, as well as in her entire catalog, which dates to 1993. But nowhere is her passion more evident than in live performances, during which the singer-song writer-bass player always burns white hot, as she did during her two-hour set at the Paradise on Tuesday night.
Ndegeocello plays an intimate brand of jazzy funk that knows no boundaries. Her music doesn't adhere to standard pop limitations that rely on three-minute singles, hooks, and catchy choruses. The songs are extended, elastic grooves that breathe and beg for reinvention. On record, as on Cookie, they can seem a bit ponderous and meandering, but when she performs, the tunes come alive as if she and her spectacular five-piece band were discovering them for the first time. For most of the night, Ndegeocello stood before the audience with her eyes closed, bobbing back and forth with her hands clenched, looking like Sugar Ray Leonard shadowboxing behind the microphone. Wearing a beaded hat pulled down to her eyebrows, she sang and rapped with subtlety, strapping on her bass only during intervals between songs. Mostly, this was Ndegeocello the vocalist allowing her band to find the groove and let it rip.
It's understandable why Ndegeocello has been embraced by the jam band audience, as her songs, most of them this night from Cookie, were extended to 10 minutes, sometimes beyond. Each musician was given ample time to show his stuff. Guitarist Allen Cato fired out spiraling leads that often leaned toward the metallic side of the map, at times conjuring the late Parliament player Eddie Hazel. You have to handle the bass with dexterity if you are playing behind Ndegeocello, and David Dyson handled the demanding duties lucidly, even going toe-to-toe with her during an extended workout of "Barry Farms." Federico Gonzalez Peña fleshed out the melodies on keyboards, adding vivid color with synthesizers.
Some jams seemed to wash over the crowd, though, and an extended encore was redundant. Sometimes performers need to know when enough is enough. But that's quibbling about an expansive night of soulful funk from a true musical maverick.
BOSTON HERALD
Sarah Rodman
July 18, 2002
Some people play music, Meshell Ndegeocello feels it.
The revolution-minded bassist-singer-songwriter and her five-man band felt their way through a two-hour set Tuesday night at the Paradise that was by turns transcendent and soporific.
Astute listeners could be forgiven if the songs from Ndegeocello' s newest album, Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape, were unrecognizable. Ndegeocello used the highly politicized tunes of black self-destruction, empowerment, love and fear only as a blueprint for her own emotional improvisation and those of her virtuosic players. They blended dirty funk, jazz fusion, hip-hop attitude and gospel-informed soul into a heady brew.
"Better By the Pound" was a mass of quivering chimes, spacey keyboard meanderings and Ndegeocello's husky proclamations about material pleasures and mysticism. An angry funk vibe permeated "GOD.FEAR.MONEY," which featured one of several piercing and eruptive guitar solos. "Earth" conjured up images of sultry nights as Ndegeocello murmured sweetly to an unseen lover.
Though the three-quarters-capacity crowd was subdued but attentive for the most part, pockets of noisy chatter arose and a trickle of patrons headed for the exits around the 80-minute mark.
It was hard to tell whether listeners grew restless with the lack of familiar tunes, the relentlessly mellow pace of the show or Ndegeocello's introverted demeanor. She kept her eyes closed in personal reverie as the band played one impeccable midtempo groove after another. Of course, her introversion could've been a reaction to the crowd's flagging enthusiasm. Either way, the atmosphere became sluggish when it should have been peaking.
The band rallied at the end, however. Ndegeocello and bassist Dave Dyson—who has come a long way from backing up the New Kids on the Block—locked into a frenetic, ecstatic bass duel, over a thunderous Zeppelin-esque groove, that had the audience hooting wildly. That duet led to an equally molten guitar solo that evoked Prince at his baddest before morphing into a jubilant chorus of his "Sign O' the Times."
L.A. JAZZ SCENE
Chris J. Walker
July 2002
Idiosyncratic funkateer, bassist/singer Meshell Ndegeocello, has been playing tunes from Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape for close to a year now at various live shows. Nevertheless, there was great anticipation among the packed Roxy crowd before she played to celebrate the CD's long awaited release.
Originally, slated for a February/March debut, the CD is now officially out and the bassist played selections that sound as fresh as ever. The street oriented funk of "Pocketbook" rocked the house as the show opener, with her five-man band in great form. Along with the aid of two backup singers, she proceeded to ake things to a much higher level of intensity with "GOD.FEAR.MONEY." The bandleader's bass playing was arresting hard funk and was profoundly augmented by scorching guitar solos. There wasn't any confusing her music that went from near X-rated sensuality of "Stay," to unrelenting rocking funk jams, with lightweight pop stuff on the radio. Additionally, Ndegeocello's resonating soulful singing, illuminating spoken word and her alternating between bass and keyboards were prominently featured.
Unquestionably, all in the audience were affected by her band's fiery playing, and what they played definitely wasn't pop/funk for the masses.
PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER
Patrick Berkery
June 15, 2002
Meshell Ndegeocello was in do-not-disturb-this-groove mode at the Theatre of Living Arts on Thursday night—off in some slow-turning galaxy filled with mystics, prophets and deep funk vibes, a place most listeners will visit only vicariously.
The petite singer-bassist stayed near her microphone, and occasionally strapped on a weathered Fender bass. Mostly, though, she juked and bobbed in place with eyes closed and fists clenched, leaning into the syncopated cadences of her raps, or swaying with the flow as she scatted and vamped through a laid-back cover of Funkadelic's "Better By the Pound."
Occasionally, she exchanged knowing glances with her seriously tight five-piece band. Judging by their furious improvisational stretches (an extended tease of Stevie Wonder's "Too High" crept into the mix like a divine gift) and immovable funk foundations ("Dead Nigga Blvd." had a groove that worked the hips and lyrics that worked the mind), they were off in the same galaxy.
If there was a bump in the road on this cosmic journey, it was the lack of give-and-take between Ndegeocello and her audience. That there was a full house seeking salvation in her words—the revolutionary, the sexual and the vulnerable—seemed merely a matter of commerce. Perhaps feeling alienated, some fans checked out before the nearly two-hour show ended after midnight.
POP MATTERS
Kandia Crazy Horse
June 12, 2002
Meshell Ndegeocello is not a mere popstar, but a woman with a mission. A sonic revolutionary, if you will. Thus the questing masses were out in force at her Manhattan date to receive the Message. Ndegeocello's current new release, Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape, displays her as not merely an enthusiast for hard-edged black poetry from various eras of the last century (spanning from the publicly closeted Harlem Renaissance master Countee Cullen—who was once wed to deified New Negro scholar W.E.B. DuBois' daughter Yolande—to prison poet and habitual junkie Etheridge Knight) but also the devotee of the best of polemical soul music as embodied by the late great Curtis Mayfield. The lugubrious and smoky stage space, in addition to intermittent sociopolitical musings, seemed to transform the Ballroom into the Bottom Line and similar rooms wherein black artists of the '70s golden era recorded live albums which are now the stuff of legend.
From the Cookie-derived opener "Pocketbook", Mama Meshell's legend continued its progression, ratified by giddy critics, comely Afro-chic lesbian couples, hip-hop heads, aging hippies, wiccans and regular working class blackfolk enlightened enough to embark on adventure with Urbanworld's own Joan of Arc. The crowd was rewarded with precious few bass popping interludes from her—my sole gripe, other than the absence of revisiting "Leviticus: Faggot"—yet hung on her every utterance and sigh nonetheless.
"I like blue," she said, constantly urging the techs to eliminate the stage lights. Ultimately, Ndegeocello was nothing but a shadow in a blue gloom, a limned being from whom flowed wisdom and Mellow. She stayed away from any up-tempo material, beyond a heartening Go-Go breakdown (for those of us DC natives in the house) and Peace Beyond Passion's great "Deuteronomy: Niggerman". The Funkadelic cover "Better By The Pound" (as on disc) was slowed down and stretched out almost beyond recognition, the famous refrain of "There's a tidal wave of mysticism surging through our space-age generation... It's all designed to take us to the sky" echoing again and again across the room like a wave, inferred as her personal mantra. Certainly, with each subsequent recorded offering, Ndegeocello's cosmic consciousness has seemed to grow by leaps and bounds, reflected in the complexity of her lyrics and arrangements.
The guiding voices of Gil Scott-Heron, Angela Davis et al so prominent on the record were absent live, one of the stray references to that cache of "primordial" wisdom being a jazzy exploration of Stevie Wonder's "Too High". Beyond the sharp "GOD.FEAR.MONEY" and the satirically scathing attack on bling-bling subculture that is "Priorities 1-6", the music expanded into one virtually amorphous suite, the intimacy and muted energy attributed to Sunday night. The focus was on the new album's sensual explorations such as "Barry Farms" and harkened back to older sultry standards such as "Stay" and "Let Me Have You". All was awash in mind-and-mood altering eroticism, the laidback band supporting the endeavor to turn everybody out and free our asses.
DAILY VARIETY
Steven Mirkin
June 7, 2002
Like her new album Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape, Meshell Ndegeocello's performance is a study in contradictions. As turbulent and unpredictable as a storm system, the music has a slow motion drama that feels like fronts clashing: simultaneously humid and airy, spacey and grounded, dreamy and funky. She doesn't so much write songs as atmospheres, with woozy textures and roiling rhythms.
A powerful bassist, on this tour, she only intermittently picks up her instrument, concentrating instead on her deep, chanted vocals that limn a minefield where the romantic and commercial both hold sway. "You sell your soul like you sell your ass," she sings at one point.
With her six-piece band she creates a seductive mood, the instruments not so much locking into rhythms as indicating them, producing a jazzy wash of sound that's less clotted than Miles Davis' early '70s work such as "Big Fun" or "On the Corner." A choked, skeletal James Brown guitar drives "GOD.FEAR.MONEY," "Pocketbook" has the chunky asymmetry of dub reggae, and the skittish rhythms of "Earth" find their fulcrum in Oliver Gene Lake's restrained drumming.
It takes a great deal of talent to make such controlled music that sounds like it is teetering on the verge of chaos. But with a Zen-like calm, Ndegeocello embraces both extremes, finding a hypnotic soulfulness in the balance.
NEW YORK TIMES
Jon Parales
June 6, 2002
Funk has its share of pragmatists who just want to make people dance. It also has mystics like Meshell Ndegeocello, who hear sex and revolution, culture and nature in the ways instruments mesh to share a groove. Her set on Sunday night at the Bowery Ballroom was a series of unhurried vamps that left room for her to sing, to rap, to talk and to moan. She was introducing songs from her new album, Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape, persuading and seducing side by side.
Ms. Ndegeocello has a lot on her mind. "God bless America," she mused. "Why just America?"
Her new single, "Pocketbook," observes a woman with money in her pocketbook, an eye on the world and the urge to "shake that thing." Other songs ponder bisexual flirtations, success and the clichés of hip-hop video; in "GOD.FEAR.MONEY," she envisions a returned Jesus thrown in jail while the Devil appears on MTV's "Total Request Live."
What her songs share is a longing for freedom of all kinds: civil, economic, sexual. She sees obstacles, but she is too hard-headed to gripe. With her deep, husky voice, Ms. Ndegeocello matter-of-factly observes the follies around her, but then she lets herself sing, dropping her defenses to melt into intimacy. In her songs, common sense and sensuality keep close company. "I ain't gonna pay your rent/ 'Cause all I got is love," she sang.
Funk is the songs' universe: their pulse, their colors, their atmosphere. Ms. Ndegeocello, who played bass every so often during her set, knows funk from the rhythm section on up, and she can make even the slowest tempos dance. She and her band look to other funk mystics—George Clinton, Marvin Gaye, Prince, latter-day Miles Davis—who used wide-open spaces and jazz harmonies, but she comes up with her own hybrids.
In the course of her set, she led the band in funk with the snapping beat of Washington's go-go music and funk that oozed like a bubbling tar pit. She led funk that twinkled with jazz chords on electric piano and funk that bristled with fuzz-tone guitar. She led funk that throbbed deep and low, funk that rolled in as smoothly as a fog bank and funk that slithered with rattlesnake cymbal accents.
Before Ms. Ndegeocello sang "Earth," which is full of vows like "let my sweet, sweet ocean caress your shore," she had her spotlight turned off, as if she wanted to disappear into the groove. Her fans were ready to join her, dancing along.
NEWSDAY
Glenn Gamboa
June 5, 2002
Still walking that big-grooved, neo-soul walk, still talking that politically charged, consciousness-raising talk. Meshell Ndegeocello has always been two steps ahead of the rest of the world. She was doing the pop-flavored brand of neo-soul that's all the rage today back when Alicia Keys was in middle school. She was helping fuel the funk revival long before Nike rediscovered the '70s for those basketball ads. She was rapping eloquently and fluidly long before "The Eminem Show" began.
On her latest album, Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape, Ndegeocello sounds like she has slowed her roll a bit, like she's come back to the pack—though that's due, in part, to a long delay in the release of the album. She hasn't been sitting idle for the past nine months, however, which becomes obvious during her impressive live show.
In fact, it sounds like she already has left Cookie behind. The original tracks, such as "Hot Night" and "GOD.FEAR.MONEY," are simply jumping-off points for Ndegeocello and her excellent band to explore the intersection of hip-hop, funk, jazz, rock and experimental sounds.
"You don't need to know my words to feel the vibe," Ndegeocello said, explaining how the entire show would likely be songs that her fans had never heard before. "It's about the vibration." Throughout the 75-minute set, the vibration was always right, a laid-back groove that was a constant. The variables were how Ndegeocello decided to twist it, with her raps or sultry low-register singing or funky bass guitar.
At one point, she asks the crowd what albums first "blew your mind" and then explains how for her it was Miles Davis' "Deep Funk" and Parliament-Funkadelic's "Flashlight." Elements of both albums then make their way into her set.
Ndegeocello closed the set with her strongest statement from Cookie, the insightful "Dead Nigga Blvd," which addresses the next phase of civil rights, with raps like "Somebody said our greatest destiny is to become white/ But white is not pure and hate is not pride/ Just cuz civil rights is law doesn't mean that we all abide."
She delivers this song as she does most of them, her eyes closed, her body dramatizing every beat with tapping feet, bent knees and a knowing smile that comes from reciting something you believe in. Ndegeocello may not be an Eminem-level seller, but she has the strength of her convictions and the power of her words.
BET.com
Jon Caramanica
June 2, 2002
It's smoky on stage, even though no one's lit up a cigarette. A Meshell Ndegeocello show is something like a back room in a red-light district—discreet in its eroticism yet somehow transgressive. Meshell the mack was on proud display during her set tonight, much to the delight of the crowd, which was clearly in the mood for a bit of drippy love potion.
Meshell opened with "Pocketbook," from her new album Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape. On the record, there's a radio-catering remix of the song that features Tweet and Redman. But she hewed close to the original tonight, demonstrating to her diehard fans that she and her vision weren't going anywhere, and then segueing into a smattering of older selections, including the sultry "Let Me Have You," "Stay" and "Deuteronomy: Niggerman."
But as a celebration of her new album, this concert drew more from the drippy, hypersensual material that makes up Cookie. She lingered over the sexual tete-a-tete that is "Barry Farms" and luxuriated in the optimistic grooves of "Priorities 1-6." She exhorted the crowd to slapping asses and swapping deep, enveloping kisses. There was the odd political rant against institutional racism, colonialism and, of course, hip-hop materialism, but Meshell's much more exciting as a passionist than a polemicist. The textures of her heart are rendered in such explicit detail that they're impossible to ignore.
Her band is honed sharply enough to back her every transition. They noodled with go-go and jazz excursions, but mostly stuck with the funk, the bass slaps impossibly loud and guitar work nimble and energizing.
For well over an hour, Meshell and her entourage held court on stage. Later in the night, they made their way to Joe's Pub, a spacious yet intimate venue slightly further uptown from the Bowery Ballroom. The previous night, she'd played a smaller show here and, at the time her last album, Bitter, was released, she turned Joe's Pub into her own personal confession station, turning in a pair of devastating stripped-down performances that perfectly complemented the raw, untamed emotion of that project.
Tonight, though, she was in jovial spirits, taking long drags on a cigarette and making nice with the crowd, most of whom had walked over from the performance. Marc Anthony Thompson, frontman of Chocolate Genius, lounged on a circular chaise and Kofi Taha, Meshell's manager, made the social rounds, accepting well wishes from the likes of cultural critic Greg Tate and star photographer Mark Seliger.
Through it all, the star herself was the picture of calm. Sauntering around the venue in her snugly-fitting Adidas track jacket, she conversed with friends old and new. Once the New York band Project Brass set up, she surreptitiously worked her way to the stage, announcing them and then sitting in on bass for a couple of tracks. After a few minutes, she stepped into the crowd, content to let the night go on without her.
HUSHBOX
Michael K. Watts
June 2, 2002
650-plus fans of Meshell Ndegeocello crammed into The Bowery Ballroom for a liberating musical experience they would never forget. People stood shoulder-to-shoulder, chests pressed to backs-a sea of unknown faces chained and bound by their collective experiences on a journey to uncertain musical domains.
As the chords from Plantation Lullabies rang through the halls of room, souls were transported out of their hot and sweaty bodies to take a closer look at themselves, each other. (For many of us, a mirror just ain't enough!) Ndegeocello humbly stepped up to the mic and calmly let loose.
From the top of the evening, fans got a preview of Ndegeocello's fourth album Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape, due in stores just two days after this sold-out show. She gave up the funk with her single "Pocketbook," shed some light on the devil's work in "GOD.FEAR.MONEY," and showed fans a tree-top view of the stars with her remake of Funkadelic's "Better By the Pound." (Think about it.)
It was evident that Ndegeocello was in control, the maestro of her 5-piece band. She took her time, making sure her messages sank in slowly but deeply. Once the conscious poet-singer had the crowd under her spell, she took them back to the time when love, not material wealth, satisfied their souls. The crowd went up when she belted out "Soul Searchin' (I Wanna Know If It's Mine)" from the Higher Learning soundtrack. (Don't nobody want me/ don't nobody kiss me/ the way you do.) "It's a magical night. I am just trying to feel the magic," she humbly responded to the roaring crowd. But that was just the beginning.
Ndegeocello ripped the place wide open with a fiery performance of 1996's "Stay," with its hypnotic harmonica solo and electric guitar finale that sent hot flashes through the crowd. Returning to her new material, she broke down what she calls "Priorities 1-6"-just a few of the urban myths and customs perpetuated by unmentionable iced-out, doped up, hood-shoutin'-out hip-hoppers. After jokingly contemplating a guest spot on MTV's "Cribs," Ndegeocello offered a musical alternative for the new hip-hop generation: Go-Go with a little extra bounce.
The former session musician took the crowd back once again-this time to her days in the epicenter of Go-Go music, her native Washington, D.C. The band cranked up the bounce-heavy "Barry Farms," a song about a girl who likes to creep behind her boyfriend's back on the DL-with another girl. Why does she creep? Ndegeocello whispered into the mic, "Can't nobody eat my pussy the way that you do." Enough said? As shouts swelled in the room and folks started high-fiving, Ndegeocello brought them back to earth: "But you should teach your boy to do that."
As the lights faded to a dim blue, Ndegeocello reminded the crowd what true love is with the ethereal "Earth," but she also warned them not to be blinded by love in "Deuteronomy: Niggerman." With the fans' attention on a musical high, Ndegeocello shared a poignant story of her experiences in New York City on September 11. As the band grooved to a Caribbean bassline, Ndegeocello let fans feel what she felt that day in a new, unreleased song entitled "Fellowship." Fans stood swaying in silence, some with their hands in the air. "God bless America-why just America? And who's god are you talking about?" Ndegeocello philosophized as the crowd cheered in agreement.
When Ndegeocello and her band made an unexpected departure, the newly-liberated crowd roared, hungrily begging the funky soul sista to come back and feed them more. Ndegeocello obliged with "Dead Nigga Blvd. (Pt. 1)," her lyrics hitting hard and the bassline sinking it all in. ("No longer do I blame white folks for the way that we be/ cuz niggas need to redefine what it means to be free.") The band then kicked in the finale, an electric "Pt. 2" reprise of the same song, as Ndegeocello gave the fans her last words. "Can't gain the world and lose your soul," she bellowed.
When it was all sung and done, souls reclaimed their bodies, enriched and rejuvenated, and headed home... reborn. In just an hour and 45 minutes, Ndegeocello gave her fans more than they ever dreamed of, and just what they needed.
If you missed Meshell Ndegeocello on tour this summer, you must own a copy of her latest album Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape.
ALL ABOUT JAZZ
David R. Adler
June 2002
One of the things that makes singer-songwriter-bassist Me’Shell Ndegeocello so compelling is her firm connection to the jazz and creative music scene. At a special Sunday night showcase at the Jazz Gallery, she made a rare appearance as a side-person, playing bass behind her monster keyboardist Federico Gonzalez Peña, with Gregoire Maret on harmonica and Me’Shell regular Gene Lake on drums—a unit known as "Astilla."
After sitting out the first tune (an atmospheric keyboard/harmonica duet), Ndegeocello hustled down the aisle (no applause), strapped on the bass, and disappeared behind a music stand. After a subdued and somewhat shaky start, the band began to rev its engines, enticing Roy Hargrove to break out his horn and contribute some devastating stuff on a thumping groove in 4+6 meter. Hargrove stuck around for the next one, a rocking, Batman-like bass line with a B section based on Me’Shell’s "Outside Your Door." Peña wrapped up with a hip, full-on funk version of "Freedom Jazz Dance," playing the first two phrases slow and the third one double-time, with a thunderclap of a hit at the end.
By this time Ndegeocello was up and dancing, and Gene Lake was unleashing chops. Peña’s a serious player, full of harmonic savvy and sonic inventiveness; his arsenal includes some frighteningly good sampled percussion.
CLEVELAND FREE TIMES
Daniel Gray-Kontar
May 29-June 4, 2002
Shortly after Me’Shell Ndegeocello’s hourlong performance, a few audience members discussed what they had just witnessed. In more than one conversation, some compared the go-go-princess-turned-neo-jazz-funkateer to jazz legend Miles Davis—a comparison that seemed absurd. How could Ndegeocello compare to Davis, the most protean musician of the last half of the 20th century? For me, comparing the two seemed the epitome of hyperbole.
But the proof, for these audience members, was in Ndegeocello’s onstage demeanor and performance style, itself a natural mixture of aloof cool with free-spirited cathartic release. Both are traits that Davis typified throughout his lengthy career as the jazz world’s most luminous figure, and for her part, Ndegeocello seemed to master the spirit—if not quite the substance—of Davis’ onstage musicianship.
When Ndegeocello was truly in her element, she caressed her bass guitar, playing with her back turned to the audience for long stretches of time. This nuance informed a conscious separation between herself and her audience, as Davis had done years before Ndegeocello was even born. For Ndegeocello, like countless jazz bandleaders before her, the swing’s the thing. And you could tell throughout the evening, as she danced through the individual rhythm of her own soul force—eyes closed, head bobbing, bass thumping. When Ndegeocello reemerged from her trancelike state, she communicated with her audience in short, raw phrases: "This is the part where you need to put your eye on whoever you’re trying to talk to this evening, so you can cut to the chase."
But beyond the mere performance aesthetic, Ndegeocello also trusted the audience’s intelligence enough to allow them to go on the spiritual musical journey along with her, and ultimately challenged them to tread musical waters unknown. When the audience wanted more, Ndegeocello offered less. When it wanted the groove to end, she ground it out. In this way, Ndegeocello’s skills as a bandleader emerge as an extension of her doggedly honest sexual politics. She says it the way she wants to say it, and fuck you if you don’t want to hear it.
Songs like the provocative "Deuteronomy: Niggerman" typify this. During it, Ndegeocello defied the original melodic structure of the record with a bass-driven version that seemed more like a jam session than what appears on record. Without warning, the groove morphed into Stevie Wonder’s classic "Too High." Those who knew their classic Wonder went nuts.
But does all this mean that Ndegeocello should be mentioned in the same breath as Miles Davis? Probably not. But the bare naked truth of Ndegeocello’s artistic integrity was enough to allot her some sort of greatness.
CHICAGO DEFENDER
Earl Calloway
May 28, 2002
Judging from the attraction's audience who packed Park West, she has certainly developed an audience.
First of all, Meshell has a dynamic personality and one of the best advantages to her audience in the manner in which she communicates.
She has a superlative gift of song and a marvelous manner of articulating her dialogue. Her rap isn't delivered in the old choppy sing-song style that is often heard from screaming and jellybean-jumping rappers usually heard. She has an impeccable style.
It stands beyond question with the highest ranks of international individuality. She fascinates her audience as she electrifies them with her ethnic recitative. She delivers her melodies with brilliance and sensitivity, however, she explodes also with varying dynamics.
CHICAGO TRIBUNE
Greg Kot
May 22, 2002
Drumbeats flickered like fireflies, keyboards swooned into murky pools of atmosphere, and bass—the ever-lovin' bass—swaggered down Sly Stone Boulevard.
Meshell Ndegeocello and her band, the Brethren, turned the Park West into a dimly lit sanctuary Sunday where secrets could be shared and messages of sex and salvation mingled. Their brand of funk welcomed poetry from the bohemian cafes, jazz from Miles Davis' early electric period, and hip-hop attitude from a Bronx streetcorner. Ndegeocello didn't perform songs so much as massage them, using the tunes from her forthcoming album, Cookie: The Anthropological Mix Tape, as blueprints for extended vocal and instrumental improvisation. These songs wrestle with imposing realities ("God, fear and money make your world go 'round") and find rapture in deep spiritual connection ("Before I touch you, learn to love you").
Ndegeocello isn't an imposing singer, and she's so tiny that she couldn't reach the tuning pegs on her bass guitar while it's strapped to her shoulders. But she commanded the stage with a personality both sensual and strident, favoring a sing-speak vocal style that suggested she was making up her lyrics on the spot. The confidence was no doubt enhanced by a band attentive to her every move, a unit schooled in spontaneity rather than lock-step replication. The band's other bassist, David Dyson, was a mighty anchor, while drummer Gene Lake danced around the beat and Federico Gonzalez Peña conjured planets of sound on his array of keyboards.
KANKAKEE DAILY JOURNAL
Andy Argyrakis
May 21, 2002
She's the bald-headed bass player most people have probably never heard of, but once they do, they'll be sold on her ability to articulately express herself across a soulful dichotomy.
A packed Park West Sunday night confirmed Meshell Ndegeocello's spot in the urban community as a notable songwriter, vocal advocate for racial rights, sexual liberation, and spiritual expression, and a bassist who can make your whole body rattle.
Ndegeocello began her career nearly a decade ago with Plantation Lullabies, a record that contained the minor hit "If That's Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night)." Other than that, the only other mainstream recognition she received came from her duet with John Mellencamp on their cover of Van Morrison's "Wild Night."
Since then, Ndegeocello's been able to pay partial tribute to the likes of Prince, Nina Simone, and Stevie Wonder, while also paving the way for relatively new soul sisters India.Arie, Alicia Keys, and Jill Scott, along with their industry brothers Maxwell, Glenn Lewis, and Craig David. Ironically, she hasn't earned quite as much commercial attention as any of the above, although she has been recognized with seven Grammy nominations and spots in many films. (Her list of soundtrack contributions include "How Stella Got Her Groove Back," "Batman & Robin," "The Hurricane," "Higher Learning," and "White Man's Burden".) Even more impressive is Ndegeocello's list of bass playing session work that's kept her occupied in-between albums and tours. Most recently, she contributed to Alanis Morissette's "Under Rug Swept" record, and has worked on recording sessions for Madonna, Lenny Kravitz, The Rolling Stones, George Clinton, Herbie Hancock, and Prince.
Speaking of Prince, Ndegeocello brought Sunday's crowd back to his Sign O' the Times period, intertwining thematic freedom and party-flavored jazz, R&B, funk, and soul. Her forthcoming album Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape also embodies such qualities, with a little bit of rap thrown in for fun. Unlike most crowds that would be somewhat skeptical of an album that is yet to be released, those at the Park West kept an open mind when it came to the cuts from Cookie. Previews of tunes including "Hot Night" and "Earth" carried just as much weight as older material such as "Mary Magdalene" and "I'm Diggin' You (Like An Old Soul Record)."
The main drawback of Ndegeocello's set was the backing band's occasional drifting from a selection and settling into a drowsy jam session. At times, their improvisations seemed more like background music than the centerpiece of the evening, and if anything, were self-indulgent. Even though some fans still stuck with them the whole night, many others rotated from the bar to the lobby.
SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
P.J. Corkery
May 16, 2002
Raspy-voiced Meshell Ndegeocello sold out Bimbo's. She knows how to get the reeds writhing right. Before her opening, she dined at Moose's with a large group of pals. Moose quizzed her musically and pronounces himself impressed. So you know she's got taste.
WWW.TATINI.NET
Mauro Tatini
April 17, 2002
The October 25, 2001 gig at the Brooklyn Arts Museum was something Meshell did without her band. They actually wanted her to do a solo 30-minute gig, and she said "I'm a bass player! I can't do a solo gig"-so she called Morgan Craft. He plays with Paul Thompson, of projectbrass. He played guitar with a lot of loops and effects. Meshell played bass and keys—she'd loop the bass live on stage and then play keys on top of it—along with all of those sampled voices she has.
She also played an excerpt of Anne Heche's interview with Barbara Walters in the middle of the whole thing, which was hilarious. Paul actually joined them at the last minute for trumpet effects—so it was the three of them, just jamming. The whole thing was amazing.
There were two other acts, and they had a party afterwards.
UPSCALE
Gilda N. Squire
December/January 2002
One of the great things about living in New York City is being able to recount sitting in on what seems like a private jam session hosted by musician and singer Meshell Ndegeocello. On a breezy Tuesday night, tucked away in downtown Manhattan is the Village Underground where fans of several races and ages, male and female, heterosexual and homosexual, sat, squatted and stood within breaths of one another to get a first listen to Ndegeocello's latest work.
Performing non-stop for nearly two hours, Ndegeocello and her intimate band of musicians gave the captivated audience a dose of a serious combination of soul, funk and a touch of jazz. Known for her provocative lyrics, Ndegeocello does not disappoint with a spirited collection of songs that she authored, including the hypnotically funky "GOD.FEAR.MONEY" and "Satisfy," as well as the laid back "Pocketbook."
Produced by longtime guitarist and friend Allen Cato, Cookie provides listeners with a much-needed and healthy serving of Ndegeocello's "soul food." It's been a little while since we heard from her (think 1999's Bitter and its single "Fool Of Me" which was featured on the Love and Basketball soundtrack), but it's good to have this die-hard musician and lyricist back on the scene—as evidenced by the sold-out crowds who eagerly awaited those Tuesday night private jam sessions at the Underground.
ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Kevin C. Johnson
December 11, 2001
While Meshell Ndegeocello is three months away from releasing her fourth CD, Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape, her St. Louis fans were lucky enough to get a preview serving of the Cookie songs.
In Sunday night's stop at The Pageant on a tour in which she is road-testing the CD, Ndegeocello promised, and warned, right off the top of "a lot of new stuff. I'm letting you know that in advance." No one seemed to mind that the CD she drew most heavily from during the concert was the unreleased one. That meant fans couldn't count on hearing her greatest hits. But with Ndegeocello, it's not about greatest hits anyway.
The diminutive singer-songwriter-bassist with oversized talent has always worked outside the mainstream with her thoughtful R&B. She has never been a radio or commercial favorite, save for some success for her "Wild Night" duet with John Mellencamp; her Bill Withers cover, "Who Is He and What Is He to You" and perhaps "If That's Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night)." None of those songs was included in the concert, although she and her tighter-than-tight band did offer earlier favorites such as "Outside Your Door," "Ecclesiastes: Free My Heart," and "Deuteronomy: Niggerman." The latter song unexpectedly dipped into Stevie Wonder's "Too High" for an extended break.
Ndegeocello, who jumped off and on the bass and also worked out the keyboards, wanted fans to leave The Pageant knowing Cookie songs such as "Pocketbook," which deservedly will be the first single on the CD.
Other funky tunes that will be on the CD are overflowing with sociopolitical themes. Those songs include "Dead Nigga Blvd.," "Earth," "Bla Bla Bla Dyba Dyba Dyba," "Barry Farms" and "GOD.FEAR.MONEY." The common thread is the strong funk vibe and bouncier beats, all hinting that Ndegeocello could be inching toward a breakthrough to the next level.
One downer: Despite a pre-show plea from Ndegeocello's manager that absolutely no flash photography was allowed because the singer suffers from epilepsy, one fan took a flash shot anyway, causing her to pass out shortly after the concert.
Singer-guitarist Chocolate Genius, another artist who works outside the mainstream, did not live up to his exaggerated, ridiculous name in his opening set. He was at least different as he mixed blues, rock and gospel influences. But that didn't always translate to engaging. One minute, he coarsely requested a sex act; the next, he was casting Jesus as a black man from New Jersey. The set did not gel until Ndegeocello joined Chocolate Genius during his final song.
WASHINGTON POST
Teresa Wiltz
November 18, 2001
One recent Saturday night at the Birchmere, the mood was mellow, even somber. Buppies and bohos sat clustered at tables, ordering fried chicken nuggets and sipping on Coronas. Onstage, D.C. native Meshell Ndegeocello, an alterna-soul singer-musician, served up humor, pathos, politics and a thumping bass line with scathing anti-war commentary.
"Express yourself," Ndegeocello said. "Soon we won't be able to. We'll all be on lockdown."
She pulled out a picture, her newly acquired "Bling-Bling Jesus," a glittery picture of Christ that she bought in sardonic obedience to what she sees as President Bush's entreaties: "God Bless America. Keep shopping; we are open for business."
For Ndegeocello, patriotism is a complicated affair. There is the pressure she believes artists feel to make another "We Are the World" record, to spend their own cash in expensive studio time and then forward the proceeds to charity.
"It's hard to love where you come from when the truth is buried so deep," she said. "You can be gung-ho patriotic... But understand, people are struggling every day."
"I pray for Brother Bush, I really do. When he says Osama bin Laden wasn't elected. Well (expletive), neither were you."
Her words were met with laughter—and a standing ovation.
HOLLYWOOD REPORTER
John Lappen
November 14, 2001
Click here to read the full review.
LAUNCH
Denise McIver
November 12, 2001
Despite the hard-driving rain and the marrow-chilling winds from the north, throngs of stalwart fans, industry types, and curiosity lookie-loos turned out to witness Meshell Ndegeocello in full artistic effect during the second of her two nights at L.A.'s Roxy. With a slightly pared-down band and one additional vocalist, Meshell once again proved that in addition to being an artist of significant merit, she is also one who steadfastly refuses to compromise her vision and whose chief pursuit is to explore and expand musical boundaries.
This has resulted in Meshell growing bolder and more confident musically. As an artist, Meshell is not given to self-pity or self-recrimination, and she's more than willing to ask of herself the hardest questions. The payoff has allowed Meshell to deepen her work and more fully hone her musical vision.
Meshell's performance was more than simply engaging. With the opener "Quentin Mack," she took immediate control. And later, when she strapped on her bass, she nimbly demonstrated why she is possibly one of the most accomplished bass players of her generation. Throughout the show, Meshell was, by turns, seductive, fierce, vulnerable, and honest.
The dazzling, 90-minute-plus set presented a balanced mixture of older material from her past three albums (Bitter, Peace Beyond Passion, and Plantation Lullabies) such as "Satisfy," "Outside Your Door," "Faithful," "Deuteronomy: Niggerman," and "Wasted Time," combined with some well-conceived and deliberately thought-provoking new material from her upcoming release Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape. Songs like "GOD.FEAR.MONEY," "Dead Nigga Blvd.," and "Better By The Pound" were steely looks at/sonic indictments of today's sorry state of our society and culture, and even our humanity.
Meshell paid homage to Jimi Hendrix via an electrifying rendition of "Power Of Love," and to Stevie Wonder with "Too High." One of the evening's many standout moments included vocalist K'Alyn's heart-wrenching solo delivery of "Wasted Time," which received hearty and extended applause from the standing-room-only crowd.
LIVE DAILY
Ben Williams
November 2, 2001
Singer-bassist Meshell Ndegeocello and her stellar seven-piece band, while playing the last of four performances at New York's Village Underground on Wednesday (10/31), stretched out, relaxed and turned songs both old and new inside-out.
The concerts were billed as a preview of Ndegeocello's fourth album, Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape, which is set to be released in February, but the band mixed in plenty of favorites from her first three albums in the course of the two-and-a-half hour show—and the singer took time out for some good-natured preaching, too.
Dressed down in sneakers and sportswear, Ndegeocello played to the crowd, discoursed on the war in Afghanistan, asked for the lights to be dimmed so she could display her "bling bling Jesus"—a picture of Christ with illuminated red lights circling his head—and critiqued the nouveau-riche gaucherie of the rappers who appear on MTV's "Cribs." The audience, effectively a home crowd of denim-and-dreadlocked soul sisters, lapped it all up.
When Ndegeocello first burst onto the musical scene amid much hype back in 1993, she presaged the "neo-soul" movement that was to sweep through black music just a few years later, and that spirit was much in evidence tonight. The band dropped into excerpts from Parliament's "Flashlight," Stevie Wonder's "Too High" and Bob Marley's "War" at various moments, emphasizing the history behind Ndegeocello's tunes. The communal atmosphere was reinforced when an unnamed singer (Stokley of Mint Condition) was invited on stage for a few minutes to drop honeyed scat vocals on "Too High."
Treating Ndegeocello's original tunes as a jump-off point for jamming, the musicians effortlessly segued from killer funk workouts to jazz-inflected improvisations to soulful vocals, changing moods and tempos at will. The approach was exemplified in the evening's highpoint, "Satisfy," a track from Ndegeocello's last album, Bitter, that was transformed into a 15-minute stylistic odyssey. After a soulful rendition of the melancholy, adult-rock guitar chords and yearning lyrics of the original recording, the band soon shifted gears and guitarist Allen Cato took over for an extended solo that finally wound up in a euphoric rendition of the chorus from Jimi Hendrix's "Power of Soul." A brief ambient interlude later, keyboardist Federico Gonzalez Peña chimed in with a bubbling synth attack reminiscent of the Who's "Baba O'Riley," drummer Oliver Gene Lake launched into a perfect imitation of drum 'n' bass breakbeats, percussionist Danny Sadownick added bongo rhythms, and the couple hundred people crammed inside the intimate venue were out of their seats, away from the bar and screaming.
It didn't take epics like that for Ndegeocello to elicit a response, however. The singer's female fans are nothing if not adoring: one repeatedly shouted a marriage proposal and jumped on stage to distribute water to the band, while another spent half the night rapt at Ndegeocello's feet, at one point leaving a necklace draped over a keyboard for the singer.
With that kind of devoted following, Cookie seems assured of a positive response. The new tunes sounded like a move away from the song-oriented, subdued Bitter and back to the badass basslines and jazz-funk orchestration of earlier material, while the lyrics, if anything, were Ndegeocello's most politically-conscious yet. On "Dead Nigga Blvd.," she spoke of the need for the black community to examine its problems internally, rather than blaming "the system"; the theme was continued on "Priorities 1-6," a critique of hip-hop's obsession with money, drugs and underworld fantasies.
There was still time for the personal—and the pleasurable—however. One unnamed tune dealt with a relationship with a woman uncertain about her sexuality, while "Better By the Pound" hearkened back to the glory days of Funkadelic and looked towards "mother Earth," rather than drugs, as a form of solace. The new music blended smoothly with older material throughout the night—but with a band as elastic as this one, it could all sound completely different on the album.
FREE LANCE STAR
Katherine Shapleigh
November 1, 2001
There was no warm-up act for Meshell Ndegeocello at Saturday night's sold-out Birchmere—and no need for one. Her music heated up the room as the show began, and her controversial politics kept it toasty as it drew to a close.
The diminutive Ndegeocello, who had worn an Afro in the past, came out with her head shaved, shared a few giggles with her band, the Conscientious Objectors, and then, with no time wasted on small talk or hellos, let loose her pin-you-to-your-chair voice.
Ndegeocello cut her musical teeth on the Washington nightclub circuit, and the hometown audience welcomed her with open arms.
She spent childhood years in Virginia in the 1970s, back when she was known as Michelle Johnson. As a teen, she adopted her new name—Ndegeocello, Swahili for "free as a bird."
She was the first female artist signed by Maverick Records, and her fourth album, Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape, is due out February 12.
She stuck with vocals at first on Saturday, but couldn't help herself from playing a fierce air guitar.
By the third song, the air guitar had been replaced by the real deal—the bass she has won widespread acclaim for mastering.
One song became the next, with little or no pauses to allow the audience's appreciation to soak in. The night was more of a basement groove session, with a band jamming for the sheer joy of it all.
Ndegeocello mingled guitar and vocals for the first time on "Satisfy," a song from 1999's Bitter.
Her voice was honey, the song haunting.
"Only you satisfy me, only you satisfy me/ I hold out my hand and touch heaven, tear out my grieving heart/ But you come and fill it with love."
Her keyboard player took it uptempo midsong, and went into a long, manic solo that soon grew tiresome and irritating.
Then the mood turned sassy, with a story and song about a lesbian relationship—complete with raw language and sexual details that could never make the airwaves.
Next was "Faithful," another incredible, soulful offering from the Bitter CD:
"No one is faithful/ I am weak/ I go astray/ Forgive me for my ways."
I was hooked. I couldn't wait to see what was next.
But what came next wasn't pretty.
Ndegeocello expressed frustration with the post-September 11 patriotic fervor that's swept the country.
"People die every day," she reminded the audience in half-song, over and over between dialogue. She spoke of people in Florida, people in New York—Americans—who die every day as a result of problems at which the country does not throw dollars.
She spoke of President Bush, of how he has said the Taliban "were not elected." But "he wasn't either," she yelled to cheers from the crowd.
She spoke of irritation with the "We're open for business" motto that's been heard so often across the country.
She complained about the flood of bumper stickers and the fervent flag-waving.
And finally, she expressed distaste for the "freedom" America prides itself on, saying, "I didn't ask to be here."
Many in the crowd jumped to their feet in a standing ovation.
Sitting there, with Americans towering all around me, clapping, the joy in the music dissipated.
Just a few miles up the road, in the darkness of that same cold night sky, was the gaping hole in the Pentagon.
There is still a gaping hole in a great many American hearts.
It's too bad that our hard-earned freedoms—freedoms Americans of all backgrounds and colors have died for over the years—were so little appreciated Saturday night.
And it's too bad that a woman blessed with such a magnificent voice and wizardry on the bass, who is free to earn a nice living and express her opinions, couldn't find it in her heart to fill the Washington air with a tribute to those who died—and are dying—to protect her freedom.
VIBe
Deborah Gregory
October 2001
The club is packed and the stage obscenely small for Meshell Ndegeocello and her seven-piece band. But the androgynous singer/bassist is known to love cozy, intimate settings like this Greenwich Village spot. Chuckling in her trademark husky voice, she asks the audience if they're ready for her, or if they're "one of those bourgeois New York crowds who want to do a lot of dancing." They roar their support, and she starts serving up jams off her menu.
Over the course of a 12-song, two-plus-hours performance, the underground icon—who carved a niche for herself eight years ago with her debut album, Plantation Lullabies, unleashes a bass-heavy set overflowing with funk, rock, jazz, dance, and even calypso. Between songs, she keeps the crowd oohing and laughing with her blunt banter about the spirtuality of her music ("I don't mean to mellow you out, but I don't give a fuck, because I like to have church as much as I can") and her sexual politics ("I love pussy. Ain't y'all glad I'm not like those other artists frontin' and singing about men you know I don't date?").
The surprise of her set? Seven new master-jammy songs, which fans who've been waiting for some new Meshell since '99's Bitter are sure to dig. Each is an ultratasty ode to black life—especially "Pocketbook," with it's catchy hook "That's my song, right there," and the show's closer, "Dead Nigga Blvd." She rocks the latter acoustic-style, continuing to sidestep comparisons to other female vocalists who shimmy their wares. But she does throw a little praise their way: "That Beyoncé sure ain't too bootylicious for me!" she jokes before closing, suggesting that her disillusioned and bitter days are behind her—at least for one electrifying evening.
Ndegeocello, a bassist, let David Dyson provide the regular groove and picked up her own instrument just for emphasis. While the idea of two bass guitars could be frightening, on this occasion the bottom only earned more depth.
ROLLING STONE
Charles Bermant
September 4, 2001
Bumbershoot, the municipal arts festival that takes over Seattle Center every Labor Day weekend, seems to be as much fun for the artists as the audience. "There is a great Seattle vibe," said Meshell Ndegeocello. "People are more open, and this is a great meeting place — maybe because of the natural beauty of the Northwest."
Ndegeocello's set was gritty and urban, but her empowered-woman message echoed Loretta Lynn's. Her set was brisk and to the point, skipping her keynote "Make Me Wanna Holler" in favor of some new selections, including the rap/sung "Dead Nigga Blvd."
The new song is from the upcoming album, Tyrone Cookie Goldberg, which she described as "Master P meets Bitches Brew."
Ndegeocello, a bassist, let David Dyson provide the regular groove and picked up her own instrument just for emphasis. While the idea of two bass guitars could be frightening, on this occasion the bottom only earned more depth.
SEATTLE GAY STANDARD
T. Morgan
September 3, 2001
There is no denying that seeing Meshell Ndegeocello live defies all sense of logic and reason. Her presence looks small against the huge backdrop of lights and equipment, but with her soul, a microphone and a guitar, the effect is almost overpowering.
And it's not just the soulful, jive and vibe of her creations echoing throughout the stadium that got this packed crowd swaying and grooving. It is the forever changing and inspiring message of Ndegeocello.
Each album she creates is innovative and unpredictable, and this day in the sun, in the open air, was no exception. Surrounded by a truly diverse, young crowd, Ndegeocello sat on a stool with no instrument and declared a truce on our troubles.
With a slow beat in the background, she took the microphone in hand and spoke to us about "the universal emotion" of "somebody doesn't love you back." She was clearly in her vibe up there and we were definitely taking off for our honeymoon.
The dykes were out in their rolled-up shirtsleeves, tighty whities and bandannas, smiling into the sun as she declared, "Now there's nothing wrong with a little funk for your day."
Set to release her new album in February 2002, tentatively titled Tyrone 'Cookie' Goldberg, Seattle was the first show featuring some of the new work.
"We're working out the kinks," she announced, and the crowd cheered louder. The spirit of Bumbershoot allows for so much experimentation and the participants as well as the ticket holders are primed to receive the spirit of creation, it seems.
Another beauty of the Bumbershoot show is the lack of fireworks and glam all around. Ndegeocello understands this very well as a musician who comes to the stage to not only play for her fans but to feel the vibe and create in the process.
She yelled out into the crowd, "Now, this ain't no Britney Spears shit—there are no costume changes." We appreciated this immensely and applauded even louder.
As the show progressed Ndegeocello talked more and more about the community of those in attendance. "Feel the spirit," she said, "make this place your church, your mosque, your synagogue, whatever and put your hands together."
The piece that followed declared "I feel alright!" and we put our hands together to celebrate being. "Gimme some church."
The Ndegeocello performance amazed with improvisation and innovation and the players, including guitar, keyboard, and drums, all connected by more than just obligation.
The groove and the vibe are not just words in the presence of her great soul. You can really see how she leads her comrades down some path that, yes, comes out of her busy mind, but also is grounded in her soul. The music speaks volumes for the journey she is on in that moment.
The show ended after only an hour with Meshell inviting the crowd to check out the new album in February, "or you could continue with the absurdity of TV." As always, it is left up to us what to explore and, thanks to Ndegeocello, the inspiratoin is revamped to continue. Thank you!
SEATTLE POST INTELLIGENCER
Gene Stout
September 3, 2001
Lamenting the segregation of popular music into "the white bin" and "the black bin" at record stores, singer and bassist Meshell Ndegeocello blurred the lines separating funk, r&b, jazz and hip-hop in her brief but powerful performance Saturday afternoon.
"All my records are very, very different," she told a mellow crowd at Memorial Stadium. "I don't fit mainstream culture. My music is for everybody."
Wearing a hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans and rugged, thick-soled boots, Ndegeocello looked as though she were prepared for a day of hard labor. She was backed by her talented four-piece band.
Ndegeocello performed music from Bitter, Plantation Lullabies and a new album due next February. From the upcoming album, she sang a provocative song about "gaining the world and losing your soul."
JAZZ TIMES
Philip Booth
May 5, 2001
Superfly's annual Superjam offered another eclectic, one-of-a-kind mix at the historic Saenger Theater, with singer-bassist Meshell Ndegeocello joined by saxophonist Joshua Redman, downtown New York guitarist Marc Ribot, and keyboardist John Medeski of Medeski Martin and Wood. Dave Matthews Band drummer Carter Beauford, he of the spaceship-sized trap kit, was a bit out of place, making grand gestures where subtlety was called for, and generally proving too inflexible for the good of the jams. Give the group an A for effort (and the sound man a D for failing to fix the overloaded, distorted bass-guitar sound), but few creative sparks were ignited, with the exception of a funk riff led by Redman. Maybe next time.
LOS ANGELES TIMES
Natalie Nichols
February 13, 2001
Meshell Ndegeocello wanted the stage lights turned down at the Conga Room on Sunday. "I'd much rather you feel me and hear me than see me," she told the capacity crowd at the first of her two sets. "Then I can see you, too."
This come-closer-so-I-can-get-in-your-face thing is a hallmark of Ndegeocello's work. Her three albums have offered intimate, pointed, sometimes controversial ruminations on African American social and political issues, religion, sexuality and human nature. Amid selections from previous works, a handful of new songs from an in-progress album continued these themes.
Despite the raw sensuality expressed in her "romantic" songs, the openly bisexual artist viewed love as just another human tragedy—sometimes with bitter humor, as when describing a female lover who only wanted her for sex and took a boyfriend because she couldn't handle being considered gay.
Her disgust and sorrow over the way self-deception and shallowness mess things up extended to her opinions on racial issues. While sympathetic about such tragedies as how African Americans' great leaders tend to get shot dead, she decried the passivity of waiting around for another leader to come. She also criticized the romanticizing of Africa and hatred of whites, and insisted blacks must actively work to "redefine what it means to be free."
On the first of her two nights at the Conga Room, the singer-bassist and her quintet, the Conscientious Objectors, delivered these messages in sprawling, watery grooves. Hints of Hendrix and Gil Scott-Heron bubbled in her trademark soul fusion, blending the improvisatory approach of jazz with R&B, hip-hop and rock.
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EAR POLLUTION
Hope Lopez
September 2000
On the Main Stage Friday night was Meshell Ndegeocello. One of my favorite musicians today, Ndegeocello despite a few sound issues (her keyboard was either too loud or too soft) remained a good sport and, in the spirit of WOMAD, continued to play. Another musician with a lot of heart and integrity, Ndegeocello made some new fans who weren't familiar with her work. How can you not be impressed with an artist who feels the music and locks in with her players? From the subtle beauty of the softer instrumentals to the funkier jams, Ndegeocello seamlessly moves from one style to another, from bass to keys. Without pause, she can easily switch gears, tug at your heart with "Faithful" and then make you want to jump out of your skin as she breaks into a heavy funk of "Deuteronomy: Niggerman."
There has been a lot of growth thematically in Ndegeocello's music over the span of three major releases. Her anger towards colonization of minds has evolved into a universal awareness of global culturalism. Her views haven't watered down; instead, she speaks of empowerment and instead of creating racial divisions, builds a conduit of understanding to humanity as a whole. In response to her record label wanting her sound to be "more black," she introduced the crowd tonight to a new song, "Dead Nigga Blvd." Ndegeocello's band with each spontaneous jam seemed to lock in with her playing, creating musical satori. Ndegeocello is a true musician's musician with a creative vision and the soul of a poet.
SEATTLE TIMES
Misha Berson
July 30, 2000
"Cute can only get you so far," stated the individualistic American singer-songwriter Meshell Ndegeocello, at a public question-and-answer session. "I don't define my beauty by (the industry's) standards. I really believe music is a spiritual process."
True to her word, the earnest, androgynous Ndegeocello dressed plainly in black pants and a loose blue shirt for her WOMAD gig in the open-air Mainstage arena. Alternating on electric bass and keyboard, she relied on extended jams with her jazz-funk fusion band, her smoky vocals, and such sensitive original tunes as "Grace," from her latest album Bitter, to connect with thronging fans: "Your love is my only saving grace/ You caress my heart/ Kiss my face..."
SEATTLE TIMES
Patrick MacDonald
July 29, 2000
Meshell Ndegeocello, the talented, bracing young American R&B singer, drew a large crowd to the main stage, although her raw, sexy show would have been better suited to late night than sundown, when a lot of kids were still present.
Ndegeocello noted that African music, which makes up most of the festival, is a lot different than African-American music. "We're here to bring you the 3/4 beat," she said, fronting her band on electric keyboards.
MANCHESTER GUARDIAN
Mel Steel
July 15, 2000
Meshell Ndegeocello isn't interested in formalities, introductions, or playing up to anyone's expectations. She walks on stage at London's Shepherd's Bush Empire like someone who would rather be anywhere else, and walks off it more than two hours later like a diva in absolute possession of herself, her band and her audience. "If you don't feel like fucking after hearing my music then I've done something wrong," she says. She does nothing wrong.
It's four years since Ndegeocello last performed in the UK, and even longer since the seat-wetting bass snaps and heavy vocal come-ons of her debut album, Plantation Lullabies, ensured her reputation as a heavyweight musician. The multi-layered weave of jazz, funk, rock and hip-hop laid down an irresistible backing for her radical political and sexual lyrics, and her second album, Peace
Beyond Passion, got equally rave reviews.
Bitter, the new album, is a more introspective and acoustic affair, but live it's as mean and spinetingling as anything she's done. The set she plays is a mix of old and new, moving effortlessly from the restrained keyboards and plaintive lyrics of "Outside Your Door" to the heavy bass and heavier lyrics of "Deuteronomy: Niggerman." "Faithful" and "Loyalty" sees Ndegeocello sitting back on
the bass while Allen Cato's carries the groove on guitar. Elsewhere she gives up the bass entirely to young and gifted Londoner Anthony Tidd.
But two new tracks from her forthcoming album steal the show. The first, "Barry Farms," about her affair with a 17-year-old girl, is about as hot as is probably legal. The second, "Dead Nigga Blvd." is a searing, bass-driven polemic on the Yankee dollar and the state of the American black psyche.
There are three things you need, she says, for the perfect seduction: a fat, low-slung bass groove; some prettifyin' atmosphere; and some sweet talk. We were wickedly, deliciously seduced.
MONTREAL GAZETTE
T'cha Dunlevy
July 8, 2000
Meshell Ndegeocello seduced an appreciative crowd at Theatre Maisonneuve of Place des Arts on June 29. "Y'all don't have to be so gentrified," she said, taunting the seated audience. Though people never made it to their feet, it wasn't for lack of trying. Ndegeocello dropped a lengthy, all-out funk jam to end her soulful set.
VILLAGE VOICE
Michelle Mercer
June 27, 2000
The audience gratification award has to go to Meshell Ndegeocello for her compensatory witching-hour set. Her earlier Battery Park show had been canceled when a windstorm struck (an efficient enough clearing of the park followed until some excitable stringer yelled, "Run for your lives!" At which point a mob scene ensued).
WASHINGTON POST
Teresa Wiltz
May 13, 2000
Yes, there is such a thing as going home again, returning to the place from whence you came. But you can't really go back to the way it was, so you take the past and hug it real tight and wrap it around this newly reconstituted musical you. And then you throw in a little hint—just a tease, really—of that rollicking go-go beat, just to let the folks know that you ain't, like, forgot about D.C.
It helps if you do this as the musical maelstrom of a poet-bassist-keyboardist-singer otherwise known as Meshell Ndegeocello, and you're cresting the wave of the neo-soul renaissance, selling out the 9:30 Club on a school night, packing 'em to the rafters with a contingent of all-girl devotees screaming your name.
So what if you're often too raw for radio? Now you get to thumb your nose at the Howard music profs who flunked you and say, "Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah."
Musically, of course.
In concerts past, she dazzled with wring-out-the-sweat funk fests of hits such as "If That's Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night)" and "Who Is He and What Is He to You," pounding the bass with an unrestrained ferocity. But this time around, Ndegeocello seduced with soothing pillow talk, sly asides and slow-mo songs of longing and loss, supple grooves in which the beat remained content to hang out in the background, slowly insinuating itself into the backbone.
"I know y'all want to hear 'Dred Loc' and 'Boyfriend,'" she said, "but I wrote that when I was 17. That's not me."
Indeed, the bald dome of the androgynous Ndegeocello is gone, replaced with a burgeoning 'fro and pink aviator glasses.
She spoke/sang in a smoked alto that invited images of a Gen-X Nina Simone; her songs were spare yet lush, pulsing with the wail of her bass and shimmering with the take-'em-to-church keyboards of Federico Gonzalez Peña. Songs that lived up to the name of her third CD, Bitter, with lyrics that evoked a wary world where hearts are shattered and jaded romantics cry out while making love, "Just don' |
