“Whatever happened to the people who gave a damn?” Gil Scott-Heron once asked in song.

The Chicago-born artist was a voice of dissent in a music industry that was turning into a big business during the ‘70s, transforming pop hits and party tunes into profit. It wasn’t a particularly hospitable place for Scott-Heron, who died Friday at 62. But he never set his sights on the charts. Instead, he devoted his life to writing, speaking, agitating and thinking out loud about the world. He gave a damn.

He made poetry of confrontation and art out of everyday life. As the critic Nelson George once wrote, Scott-Heron was a “keyboardist, poet, singer, rapper, and teller of uncomfortable truths.” Those truths could encompass everything from chastising the President of the United States to musing about how difficult it sometimes is for a man to tell his child, “I love you.”

An uncompromising artist working in a machine that thrives on compromise, Scott-Heron was an imperfect fit for the disco and MTV eras, though his “uncomfortable truths” resonated with those who wanted more out of music than  just escapist good times. His music was scattered across a hodgepodge of labels, and several of his best albums weren’t widely available until decades later.

The best of his music occurred in a rush of creativity through the ‘70s as he emerged from his teen years, already a published author and a serious student of blues, jazz, Langston Hughes and LeRoi Jones. He stumbled into the business of making records because a respected elder, veteran jazz producer Bob Thiele, encouraged him. He had a lot to say, producing an album a year for a decade-plus while touring relentlessly with the band he built with his college friend, keyboardist Brian Jackson.

Though Scott-Heron is often typecast as a rap progenitor – a label he steadfastly rejected -- he more accurately suggested a mix of Richard Pryor’s darkly comical oratory, beat poetry and blues-inflected ballad-singing. Musicians more steeped in jazz than funk accompanied him, and the music embodied many of the values of ‘70s jazz fusion, for better or worse. There were elastic time signatures and flowing keyboard melodies, but there were also plenty of meandering flute solos. Even amid the pastel arrangements, Scott-Heron’s rich, mahogany voice commanded attention.

He left behind dozens of recordings. How to get a handle on this multi-faceted artist? Here’s where to start:

Public Enemy’s Chuck D once said hip-hop was black America's CNN. If so, Gil Scott-Heron was the network’s first great anchorman, presaging hip-hop and infusing soul and jazz with poetry, humor and pointed political commentary.

Scott-Heron died Friday at the age of 62, according to his U.K. publisher. The Pitchfork Web site said the report was confirmed by a record-company publicist.

His songs, including “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised,” “The Bottle” and "Johannesburg," were hard-edged yet melodic, influencing subsequent generations of soul and hip-hop artists who revered him as a pioneer, including Common, Erykah Badu, Public Enemy, A Tribe Called Quest and Kanye West. (A guide to Gil Scott-Heron's essential recordings is HERE.)
 
Scott-Heron was born in 1949 in Chicago and spent most of his childhood in Tennessee and then New York. He showed an affinity for writing at an early age. His first novel, “The Vulture,” was published when he was 19, then he shifted to music in an effort to reach a wider audience. He teamed with Brian Jackson, a gifted musician he met while attending Lincoln University in Oxford, Pa.

"I had an affinity for jazz and syncopation, and the poetry came from the music," Scott-Heron told the Tribune in a 1998 interview. "We made the poems into songs, and we wanted the music to sound like the words, and Brian's arrangements very often shaped and molded them."

2.5 stars (out of 4)

When they’re at the top of their game, Jim James and his longtime Louisville quintet My Morning Jacket specialize in thundercrack moments. Over six albums, they’ve developed a knack for splitting songs open with one of James’ sky-piercing wails, a guitar solo or a wondrous, where-did-that-come-from? choir. One such moment arrives in the middle of “Circuital” (ATO), the seven-minute title track from the band’s sixth album. It ambles sedately until a guitar crackles into the foreground, at first just a brief, violent intrusion then eventually taking over the song, until the silence folds in back around it. The song is the centerpiece of what in the vinyl era would’ve been Side 1 of the album, with the tracks sequenced to melt one into the next. The ascending, trance-like “Victory Dance,” the undulating finger-picked guitar and yearning vocal of “Wonderful (The Way I Feel),” the surreal combination of Beach Boys-like vocals and pedal-steel guitar on “Outta My System” – it makes for a brilliant start and raises expectations that My Morning Jacket has finally made its classic.

Unfortunately, the album’s second half isn’t nearly as strong. “Holdin’ on to Black Metal,” with its cartoonish horn flourishes and female chorus, is this album’s answer to “Highly Suspicious,” the rogue funk track that divided longtime fans and sunk the band’s 2008 album “Evil Urges.” Things crawl to a close with two sleepy sign-offs, the aptly named “Slow Slow Tune” and “Movin’ Away.”

It’s a by-now-familiar lament. Though My Morning Jacket has been one of the most consistently brilliant live bands of the last decade, its studio albums remain hit-and-miss. “Circuital” is no exception.

greg@gregkot.com

3 stars (out of 4)

Death Cab for Cutie’s seventh studio album, “Codes and Keys” (Atlantic), pulses with the sound of tires on pavement, life blurring past a bus window on the road. Tucked inside its shifting scenery is a yearning that nags like a toothache, the desire for some semblance of permanence in an impermanent environment.

The word “home” comes up a lot in Ben Gibbard’s lyrics. A touring musician, he recently found himself married (to actress Zooey Deschanel), and this album tells the tale of how he got there. Along the way, anxiety and disconnection (“And if you a feel just like a tourist in the city where you were born") are transformed into resolve.

In contrast to the live-in-the-studio immediacy of Death Cab’s previous album, “Narrow Stairs,” the new album is about turning the studio into an instrument – a hive of sound that suggests background noise from a distant freeway or a disturbance just over the horizon. Producer-guitarist Chris Walla is the primary architect, and he showcases the versatility of the band’s rhythm section. They evoke wheels clicking down the freeway on “Doors Unlocked and Open,” which borrows its groove from the German art-rock band Neu. Nick Harmer’s bass bobs to the surface of “Underneath the Sycamore” like a life preserver, and underlines the voice of reassurance in “You are a Tourist.” The album’s narrator may have settled down in the closing pop celebration, “Stay Young, Go Dancing,” but his band sure hasn’t – and that’s a good thing.

greg@gregkot.com

Damon and Naomi: Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang, the former rhythm section of Galaxie 500, have maintained a high standard throughout their 25 years as a duo, blending chamber pop, acid-folk and wistful melodies, 9 p.m. Friday at Lincoln Hall, 2424 N. Lincoln Av, $12; lincolnhallchicago.com.

Anna Calvi: A fierce guitarist with a penchant for drama that brings to mind a surrealist movie soundtrack as much as pop music, the British singer is touring on the heels of her excellent, self-titled debut album, 10 p.m. Saturday at Schubas, 3159 N. Southport, $12; schubas.com.

Chicago Blackout Festival: For a preview, see the post HERE, 7 p.m. Friday and 4 p.m. Saturday at Velvet Perineum, 2515 N. Milwaukee, $20 (Friday), $30 (Saturday) and $45 (two-day pass); ticketweb.com.

greg@gregkot.com

Teens and twang – was this the future of country music on display Wednesday in the nationally televised “American Idol” finale?

But neither winner Scotty McCreery nor runner-up Lauren Alaina looks ready to shake up Nashville. The first all-teenage and all-country finale in the singing competition’s 10-year history was more of an endurance test than a talent contest.

Yes, the 17-year-old McCreery topped the 16-year-old Alaina after a record-setting 122 million votes were cast, but it all felt somewhat anticlimactic. Both singers didn’t so much seize the competition as hang around long enough during a generally uninspired season, rarely daring to do more than just stay a step ahead of more audacious but also more risk-prone singers.

The two-hour finale was more about music-industry stars flogging new songs and old brands: Lady Gaga and Beyonce performed their latest singles. U2's Bono and The Edge participated in an elaborate show piece for the troubled Broadway musical, "Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark," for which they wrote the score. And two of three "Idol" judges ate up some screen time, including Jennifer Lopez, who attempted an "interpretative" dance largely involving her posterior while her husband, Marc Anthony, sang.

“What would Beyonce do?” Adele joked as her concert wound down Tuesday at the Riviera.

As glamorous pop divas go, the 23-year-old north London native with the powerhouse voice and blue-collar pedigree is no Beyonce. But she has pretty much owned the pop charts so far this year.

Even by the standards of the relatively young British neo-soul singers with whom she is most compared – Amy Winehouse, Joss Stone, Duffy – Adele Adkins is modest almost to a fault. She walked on stage with one pop-star affectation – “my first weave,” she laughingly proclaimed – but otherwise looked like she’d be more comfortable hosting an art-gallery opening rather than fronting a six-piece backing band at a concert that sold out weeks in advance.

Adele debuted in 2008 with “19,” a subdued, largely self-written folk-soul collection that showcased a robust voice that didn’t need to shout, warble or unnecessarily drag out notes to connect. It also brought her a “Best New Artist” Grammy Award, and then the pros took over on the follow-up. With top-line producers and songwriters massaging it, “21” was groomed for stardom and it’s been the year’s breakthrough album so far with more than 1.7 million sales.

The sky-is-falling financial numbers from the music industry say it’s a lousy time to start a label specializing in actual records as opposed to no-fuss digital music with its convenience, considerably lower overhead and instant portability.

But don’t tell that to Todd Killings; he and his boyhood friend Brett Cross have released a steady stream of vinyl artifacts on their Chicago-based HoZac Records. In less than five years, HoZac has released nearly 90 records by bands ranging from the Smith Westerns and Dum Dum Girls to Nobunny and the Spits. The label's rise has coincided with a surge in vinyl sales; while CD sales have plummeted in the last decade, the much smaller niche market for vinyl albums has climbed 33 percent in 2009 and 14 percent last year.

“It’s actually a great time for labels like ours,” Killings says. “Even in 2008 and ’09 when the economy was slowing down and I lost my day job at a skateboard company, we got confirmation that the Dum Dum Girls wanted to do a split release with us and Sub Pop. The fact that she (singer Kristin Gundred) went to bat for us was a great sign we were doing the right thing. It’s been smooth sailing ever since.”

Adele: The U.K. pop-soul vocalist is shaping up as the breakout star of 2011, with her heavy-hitting second album, “21” dominating the pop charts on both sides of the Atlantic, 7:30 p.m. Tuesday at the Riviera, 4746 N. Racine, $35 (sold out) etix.com.

greg@gregkot.com

Bonnie Prince Billy with Eleventh Dream Day: The third annual Downtown Sound series kicks off with indie-folk maverick Will Oldham, a k a Bonnie Prince Billy, and Chicago quartet Eleventh Dream Day, back with their first album in five years, “Riot Now!” 6:30 p.m. Monday at the Pritzker Pavilion, Millennium Park, free; millenniumpark.org.

Lykke Li: The Swedish singer has moved past the chirpiness of her debut into a more commanding sense of drama on her latest release, “Wounded Rhymes,” 8 p.m. Monday at Metro, 3730 N. Clark St., $26 (soldout); etix.com.

greg@gregkot.com