Pick Of The Week ♦ Oct. 6th

In one cruel year, the world lost both Johnny Cash and Sam Phillips. The sole consolation is that we still have the man who remains the link between their legacies—a witness to, and a maker of, history. In his jaw-dropping career, the irreplaceable Jack Clement was the recording engineer on “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” at Sun, wrote Cash’s “Ballad of a Teenage Queen” and a slew of other hits, and produced everything from Charley Pride’s ground-breaking records to Dickey Lee’s “Patches.” He also financed a horror movie, went to Bible school, manufactured ukuleles and became a lighter-than-air ballroom dancer (a fact related to me by Marianne Faithfull, who beamed and issued a luscious sigh of cigarette smoke just at the mention of his name). His great gift to Nashville, besides a generation of protégés who wound up making some of the best and biggest records of the century, is his indefatigable spirit of adventure and capacity for surprise—something that’ll likely be on full display at this headlining extravaganza. Will there be horns? Banjos? A 10-piece band? Fiercely guarded home movies? We wouldn’t dream of telling, or even asking. All you need to know is that Jack Clement is still here, still making music, still very much with us—and you can either mourn the fallen forest or celebrate the oak that stands. Country Music Hall of Fame & Museum

—Jim Ridley

Music

Thursday, 2nd

Cursive Frontman Tim Kashner rips himself open for Cursive’s latest LP, remarking on his penchant for turning romantic pain into music, while noting how his sensitivity has proven to be an effective tool for getting women into bed. To match the reflexive, self-skewering mood of the lyrics, his bandmates whip up a ferocious noise peppered with bursts of melody and orchestral interludes. The sound is jolting, and a little scary, in the vein of psychodrama post-punk like The Cure’s Pornography or Public Image Limited’s The Flowers of Romance, but nowhere near as dirge-like or monotone. These Nebraskans chop up thrash, funk, soul, folk and chamber pop, stringing together an impressive range of sounds and tones into one almost seamless suite. Exit/In

—Noel Murray

Friday, 3rd

Davey Williams “The art of improvising is about 3 percent playing, which comes only after 97 percent listening.” Such are the reflections of guitarist Williams, an Alabama native, renowned improviser, founder of the Trans Museq label and self-effacing giant in the world of six-string deconstructionists, alongside Derek Bailey, Sonny Sharrock and Fred Frith. Like many outsider musicians, Williams started inconspicuously, playing as a sideman for Delta blues great Johnny Shines. Tuscaloosa, Ala., in the mid-’70s, however, proved to be a nerve center for art-school miscreants, and Williams began turning to free improvisation. Long based in Birmingham, he has been recording and releasing projects steadily over the past two decades, modestly destroying notions of what guitar etiquette “should” be. (Several years ago, Guitar Player magazine named him the “world’s greatest improviser,” a title he deserves but would probably shrug off.) Unlike many in the stodgy world of avant-garde sound exploration, Williams has always maintained an endearing, humorous and distinctly Southern attitude about what he does, which is perhaps why he has remained so dazzling; his bag of tricks has involved attacking the strings with everything from shrapnel to toys, and his oddball solos touch on everything from freakoid blues to ear-splitting screech, often in a matter of seconds. Springwater

—William Tyler

Saturday, 4th

Clem Snide By releasing Soft Spot, an album of unironic, unapologetic and disarmingly sweet love songs to his wife and new son, Clem Snide frontman Eef Barzelay seems to have pissed off the hipsters who embraced his Brooklyn/Boston band’s snarky 2000 gem The Ghost of Fashion. Fuck ’em: This is a joyous record of wistful, wonder-struck adult pop, and on songs like the exultant, horn-powered “Happy Birthday,” Barzelay sounds sincere but never humorless. “I hope that your friends are true and funny / And your girlfriends are sweet, and wear tight pants,” he tells his young son. “And when your heart gets gently broken / I hope you get a second chance.” That anxious parent’s emphasis on “gently” will leave a lump in your throat. Exit/In

—Jim Ridley

Califone The post-Red Red Meat project of Tim Rutili, Chicago’s Califone reconstitute the old, weird essence of Harry Smith’s Anthology in new, weird ways. Quicksand/Cradlesnakes, their latest album, permits the clatter of el trains and traffic noise to participate in the music like a choir of bullfrogs and crickets on a Folkways record. Far from a field document, however, the record exists in its own time, whether on the fractured blues of “Your Golden Ass” or on the claustrophobic “Slower Twin.” It’s too bad that a larger audience remains elusive for Rutili, whose unaffected blend of avant-garde and folk influences remains melodic and inviting even at its most outside. Exit/In