End Scene - Marty Friedman's Scenes

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through house, Bottle was fidgeting, figuring things out. Gladys in her kerchief,  and Skip in his chair, Compy Compilerson combing his hair.... 

You know what? No. Not gonna. Go find two more Christmas albums if you want to on your own, but i'm moving on to something else. Time for a new direction, a new age...new age...new age..... 

You're thinking Yanni and Enya (both excellent choices), but i'm thinking something more unexpected. Marty Friedman made a new age album. Yeah, his second album Scenes was produced by Kitaro and it's a full buffet of sappy, cheesy, soaring melodies, wandering tonality, the kind of exotic appropriation that makes you wonder if Kitaro was secretly giggling inside the whole time, and then you remember it's Marty Friedman, he happily chose to relocate to Japan where they love him more than Germany loved Hasselhoff. They love Mr. Big too, so Paul Gilbert's hanging around as well. Anywho, Marty Friedman does whatever Marty Friedman feels like doing, and this album is pretty bizarre for a shred guitarist. Whatever else i end up saying in the ensuing paragraphs, the overwhelming intention of these scenes is "mystical." 

It would be easy to dismiss it as corny or emotionally sappy, but that would belie the fact that it freakin' awesome. It's not the standard neo-classical infused wankfest you expect from a super famous lead guitarist's solo album. It's not an exercise in impossible guitar theatrics for the sake of being a guitar god as though it's an infinite billiards tounament in an epison of The Twilight Zone. It's melodies Marty Friedman liked at the time strung together in various creative ways. Sure there's shred and screaming noodles here and there, but he's clearly composing music, not trying to win the talent portion of the pageant. 

The album itself also flows surprisingly well. Not just a bunch of random tracks, but an intentionally plotted journey. What it means is your problem, but it's construction is certainly not slapdash. 

None of this means i hate all of the others. Satriani has some amazing pieces, Gilbert is fantastic, Buckethead is pretty great. I don't like Vai or Yngwie, and i'm meh on Petrucci, but that's me not them. The line dividing those groups is actually fairly simple, but ridiculously difficult to put into words. Melodies, for me, are monologues. Guitar solos in particular are little lectures, rants, poems, sermons, etc. Ok, here comes the guitar solo, what's he got to say? Listening to a Zakk Wylde solo is like watching the Swedish Chef scream and throw kitchen knives at the wait staff; great if that's what's necessary, distracting absurdist nonsense 85% of the time. A lot of these guys just sound like "Motormouth" John Moschitta reciting a Micro Machines commercial script. This entire album is sumptuosly Largo by comparison. Plus, Friedman's melodic writing uses harmonic tension and release, emphatic statements with conjunctions and introductions and segues, body language, shape, direction, you get the idea. The perceived meaning might come across as simplistic or naive in these particular pieces, but the expression itself is what i'm interested in here. The magic of guitars, synths and drums.

So, diverging timelines. One Bottle finds another bizarre Christmas album tonight (how about Bootsy Collins' Christmas Is 4 Ever) and pulls out Jesus Christ Superstar tomorrow. Two Bottle (the one i'm gonna be) says "buggerit, let's build bookshelves in the Bunker, binge watch every episode of The Adventures of Pete & Pete on youtube (totally there), and get ready to make some new bizarre music next year." 

So, from all of us crammed in the headspace of hamburger, Merry Christmas. And, as we all anxiously await the arrival of another adventure, enjoy.