“Multi-Instrumentalist
Chad Jasmine pushes his sonic and philosophical boundaries to
the limit – both on record and on stage. Whether caressing
a pop ballad or screaming out frenetic diatribes, Jasmine is
always sincere, and always entertaining.”
“A tunesmith ala Tim Buckley or a laconic Ray Davies.”
Chad Jasmine: It’s obvious we really like Chad Jasmine.
And why not? The bastard is damn talented. Whether working with
his band, solo on acoustic guitar, in his at-home studio producing
electronic music or with his latest project, The Flow Ensemble,
he never ceases to create something new. From his bizarre electro-funk
record “The Christ Brothers” and the non-stop “Music
for F*cking” CD to his soon-to-be-released live, full-band
recordings, Jasmine’s musical diary is always interesting.
And his stage show, well, just go check it out. You have our
word.
JAZZ,MAN Fans of CHAD JASMINE and his band know that the guys
are talented. Jasmine is a songwriter in traditional sense,
taking largely from personal experience, writing it down, then
twisting it around to make it entertaining, humorous and surreal.
His concerts are dramatic, silly, strange and nutritious. The
same might be said for his new record, “the greatest of
ease.” The CD kicks off with the slow ballad “The
Wind,” a sensitive-type thing that, in and of itself is
quite a fine tune. But as the album opener, I’m not so
sure. Track two, “Bad Pigs,” might have been my
choice for track one, a rock-steady funky-funk groove with Jasmine’s
typically sarcastic vocals indicting “the man” in
all his glory. The verse is good, the bridge even better. And
the funk break mid-song – complete with sirens and emergency
calls – is priceless. “I Don’t Do Shit”
is another Jasmine classic, with Kip Kolb’s fat-ass keyboards
beefing up the nicely funky groove laid down by drummer Greg
Isabelle and bassist Scott Borland. A tip of the hat to Southside
Gun and a goofy gang vocal track make the already spiffy tune
a total riot. This is Jasmine at his best – throwing care
to the wind, whining out some nebulous social commentary while
he and the band slam away some of the coolest grooves on vinyl
.. or plastic, or whatever. Follow that up with the gritty blues
of “In a Day’s Dream,” the rancid blues of
“In Memories,” the swift swing of “Stupid
Jazz,” the sweet poetry of “Lady Bug,” and
the epic “Four Long Days” and you’ve got only
a small portion of what Jasmine and mates are capable of. Again
bowls of credit should be poured like hot, sticky molasses all
over Kolb for creating an atmosphere both haunting and hilarious
through his keyboard voicings. Jasmine is fortunate to have
these musicians backing him.
As lead vocalist for National People's Gang, Jasmine became
an icon of sorts, a potential goldmine for the right record
company and a ticking time bomb for middle-class America. His
performances included everything from video monitors to tape
loops, from trays of fruit to jugs of his own piss.
His objective at times was to offend and anger, at others
to romance and elate. Whether ranting against the government
or weaving a simple ballad, Jasmine demanded that the audience
listen and possibly, for a moment, think.
The demise of NPG left Jasmine in Orange County, Calif. To
deal with gridlock, offshore oil rigs, smog-blighted horizons
and that irrepressible desire to create. So he did what any
right-thinking artist would do – he moved to Jacksonville.
When he is on stage, he is relentless. Be he the narrator,
the vaudevillian, the singer, the anarchist – it's pure
Jasmine. Wide-eyed and angry or charming and gentle, Jasmine
always takes a full swing. The symbolic becomes the everyday
and the everyday, symbolic.
A staple at any Chad Jasmine show is fruit – cantaloupe,
apples, honeydew. Jasmine uses the fruit to "break down
the barrier between performer and audience. I've always loved
to share fruit with people because you can't go wrong when
you share fruit. It's an amazing thing.
Jasmine is in some ways a folk artist and, in others, a genuine
punk. His solo acoustic performances are simple yet powerful.
Simple are the melodies, with memorable choruses and Jasmine's
lofty falsetto drifting about. Powerful are his movements,
his expressions – sometimes subtle, residing in a simple
nod or blink, barely perceptible yet essential to the performance.
Then, unexpectedly, Jasmine explodes into spasms of joy, anger,
frustration. In the purest punk tradition, attitude is paramount.
His falsetto turns to a shriek, his muscles flex as he slams
out his poetic diatribes. It's an unpredictable ebb and flow
of compassion, humor and hatred.
When performing with the CHAD JASMINE factor, his fury is
translated to the other members, locking the quartet into
some magnificent, harmonious ritual. The essence of Jasmine's
acoustic pieces remains, but hints of funk, jazz and blues
creep in like flood waters trickling through sand bags.
On stage his presence is raw, mamacal. His face contorts
and his muscles twitch. Jasmine's hatred and disdain for all
that is wrong is as thick as mucus, oozing from him as he
sings.
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