Sometimes, the Gods just give it to you. Phenomenal music, that is. And at the Grand Performances series on July 23rd, the stars aligned for a one of a kind union of like-minded bodies and souls. The Miguel Atwood-Ferguson Ensemble joined up with beat scene maestro and Brainfeeder boss Flying Lotus to dish out some live renditions of tracks from his phenomenal “Cosmogramma” to an eager audience at Grand Performances. Violinist and composer Miguel Atwood-Ferguson lead a troupe of musicians from FlyLo's album in a beautiful rendition of “Drips,” which shifted into a special adaptation of J Dilla's “Take Notice.” All night, the musicianship was top notch as harpist Rebekah Raff wove dreamscapes with her fingers, and low end theorist Stephen 'Thundercat' Bruner explored the outer reaches of bass.
Luckily* it was all caught on video.
After the jump we have a film of the performance and a free mp3 download too.
AND because we're feeling generous, we've included a new cut from Flying Lotus' new EP Pattern+Grid World, just so you can see where this cat been and where he is headed.
Miguel Atwood-Ferguson Ensemble:
Flying Lotus (laptop)
Miguel Atwood-Ferguson (violin, arrangement)
Evan Francis (flute)
Dontae Winslow (trumpet)
Joey Dosik (alto sax)
Kamasi Washington (tenor sax)
Garrett Smith (trombone)
Rebekah Raff (harp)
Marcel Camargo (guitar)
Brandon Coleman (keys)
Stephen 'Thundercat' Bruner (bass)
Chris 'Daddy' Dave (drums)
Nikki Campbell (percussion)
*Why is this lucky you may ask? Lemme tell you. This West Coast Sound correspondent had to miss this particular song that night. For sure I was there, but due to some unfortunate circumstances, I had to leave right before this interstellar jam sesh beamed down onto the stage. Before you get all, “dude, what?” at me, here's the deal. So I'm minding my own business with a couple of friends, when this ladydude starts dancing all up into our space. Typically, this is fine. I'm cool with people entering my space. No shields up, no arming photon torpedoes, I'm just letting her be. Then, she starts executing some unusual dance moves, that sort of dancing that appears as though someone slipped a baby python down the back of your trousers, then filmed it, then replayed it in super slow motion. And for those with a very, very specific fetish for this kind of thing, let me inform you, it was not hot. I try to avoid her, so I move a couple steps away to let her get her gyrate on. Then I turn around, and this other guy's just staring at me. Like Scanners make-my-head-explode stare. And I realized it was this dude I hadn't seen in like five years, mostly by choice. He's all excited to see me, cause he's stoned out of his brain, and he starts blabbing to me about how he's a lawyer now and how much money he has, and, of course, my eyes are rolling back into my head, because, like, this is terrible. If he was quacking at me, like literal quacks like an old drunken mallard, I would have had more interest in what he was saying. I quickly fake right, and I try to go the other way, and there she is the wiggle-dancer.
Rock? Meet hard place.
So I'm wedged in-between snake-ass and annoying lawyer, and then contracted a serious case of the Anx. You know, “the Anxiety,” uppercase, where you're like, I gotta get the shit out of here. (Don't lie, you get the Anx too). How bad could it have been you may ask? Bad enough for me to lead my high-heeled entourage (does 4 ladies make an entourage?) away from the show–which I knew was gearing up to blast my spectacles into the stratosphere–down Angels Flight (awesome, totes didn't get smooshed!), and off to Cole's for beers and sammies. My kingdom for a French dip.
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