Class D, No End, Scott Spencer's "Dylan"

(WILLIAMSTOWN, Mass., May 21, 1998) -- Class D: In a class by himself

Contemporary rap is for the most part the soundtrack of urban America -- or at least a fantasy of such -- where gangs, drugs and guns rule. In the raps of James Arienti, aka Class D, the focus is instead on rural life, as seen from the point of view of one who has lived his whole life in and around the Berkshires.

On "The Harvest," his self-produced cassette, recorded in Stephentown, N.Y., Arienti lays down 15 raps in which Glocks give way to boondocks. Along the way, the self-styled "skinny Guinea" sends out props to his "Hilltown Henchmen" and "County Affiliates," members of his well- imagined "Arienti nation."

Arienti says that while the vast majority of rap fans are not urban gangstas, there is little in the music that speaks to their particular experience. "Gangsta rap is about shootings and drug dealings," he said in a recent phone interview from his home in Lanesboro. "There's no rap we can relate to. Now I've found my own niche -- the rapper from the boondocks. This gives fans something to relate to."

A graduate of Pittsfield High who now attends Berkshire Community College, where he studies criminal justice and psychology, Arienti hopes "The Harvest" and subsequent efforts will spark a movement of more rural-oriented rap. Arienti is a fleet, facile emcee, whose original raps -- intoned over pre-recorded rhythm tracks sampled from the likes of The Pharacyde, Redman, Pete Rock and Cypress Hill -- eloquently speak to life in the Berkshires, and Arienti's particular experience facing the stigma of being a white rapper.

While Arienti's lyrics live up to the "explicit" warning included on the cassette wrapper, his message is a positive one that decries racism from any corner and urges self-actualization.

The opportunities for Arienti to perform live in the Berkshires are few and far between. In recent months he has taken part in talent shows, and he was a main attraction of the National Music Center's Sunday showcase.

"The Harvest" is available at most independent record stores in the Berkshires, or by writing to Box 1069, Hancock MA 01237. For more info call 443-8190.

A new beginning for No End

As heard on its debut CD, "A Case of Life" (Nut Bust), Lenox-based band No End plays a jazzy, funky brand of original rock that, while it sounds utterly contemporary, probably would have been right at home at CBGB's -- ground zero of punk-rock -- in 1976.

On songs like "Sauce'n It with the Gimp," for example, lead singer/lyricist Chris Carnevale mixes up growls, yelps, repeated lyric hooks and actual singing in vintage David Byrne style, while his bandmates play a polyrhythmic, jerky blend of guitar-oriented funk and ska.

"We can't figure it out either," said Carnevale in a recent phone interview, speaking about the group's impossible-to-pigeonhole blend, which owes as much to Muddy Waters and Chuck Berry as it does to Kurt Cobain and Sonic Youth.

"All of us are into Phish and Stefan is a big fan of Bela Fleck," said Carnevale, referring to bassist Stefan Van Jura, who attends the University of Massachusetts-Amherst.

Rounding out the group, whose personnel has changed slightly since the band recorded "A Case of Life" at Derek Studios in Dalton last summer, are lead guitarist Dan Hayes, who attends Lenox High with Carnevale, guitarist/vocalist Tim Farris, who attends Oregon State University, and drummer Brian Chadwick, who goes to Mt. Everett Regional High.

Carnevale said the group, which opens for Dredi at the Sip of Seattle in Great Barrington at 9 on June 12, has written an album's worth of new material which "we like better" than the material on the "A Case of Life." He says the news songs are more "uplifting" than the older material, which seems to channel some naked, raw emotion from within Carnevale and the instrumentalists.

Carnevale says he and Hayes are planning on moving to Northampton and basing the band in that town. "We're going to get a house there and see how it works out, try it for a year," he said.

The Paper Trail: Imagining Dylan

Billy Rothschild, the narrator of Scott Spencer's "The Rich Man's Table" (Alfred A. Knopf), spends the greater portion of the novel in search of his father, Luke Fairchild, the reclusive, enigmatic folk- rock star who impregnated his mother and then left her and their child behind on his way to international superstardom.

From the coy cover photo to myriad details sprinkled throughout the book -- including scenes of the Greenwich Village folk scene, flirtations with born-again Christianity and Orthodox Judaism, the support of a dubious athlete accused of murder and scads of Dylanesque song lyrics -- there's no question that Spencer is basing the character of Fairchild on that most reclusive and enigmatic of real-life folk- rockers, Bob Dylan.

The question Spencer never answers, however, is why. For all the lengths he goes to construct a personality based on the historical Dylan, you would think he would ultimately have something to say about the man himself. But Spencer's Dylan -- I mean, Fairchild -- is merely a cipher given to lunatic posturings like this discourse on tennis:

"Tennis is the answer. It's got the symmetry of a Grecian urn, and the strategy of grand master chess, and the warrior heart of karate, and the mindless mind of Zen, it really does. It's better than praying. It's sure a whole lot better than drugs. Believe it or not, it's better than money and better than women, because women don't know how to love us anyhow, any more than we know how to love them. Tennis. You ought to get into it. It's what keeps me going. It's all there is." (Incidentally, this speech takes place at a Canyon Ranch-like celebrity spa Spencer locates in Lenox, Mass.)

Imagining Dylan is a valid exercise, as we know almost nothing about him. But other than the mischievous pleasure one might get out of putting such nonsense into Dylan's mouth, it's totally unclear why Spencer has bothered. Rothschild himself is a blank slate, of interest only by virtue of his paternity and his Sara Dylan-like hippie mother. Presumably Spencer, best known as the author of "Endless Love," set out to write a book about the nature and price of fame. In the end, however, to quote Dylan, nothing is revealed.

[This column originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle on May 21, 1998. Copyright Seth Rogovoy 1998. All rights reserved.]