Ramnad Krishnan - 'Vidwan: Songs of the Carnatic Tradition' (Nonesuch Explorer)

These four sides of Carnatic classical music were recorded while the musicians were in a residency at Wesleyan. No date is given but this came out in '68 so one would have to assume it was from around this time - during the summer of love, perhaps? Krishnan has a strong and reedy voice, and it's recorded really up-front, making these Telugu lyrics really reverberate. Of course I don't know what they're saying, and I don't know anything about Carnatic music, but that's the escapism of music. Not that when listening to this material (or anything else equally impenetrable to me on a linguistic level) I make up my own meanings; maybe when I was younger I did or I tried to interpret a narrative through non-verbal moods and images at least, but now I just ride along with the sounds, harmonies, layers, assonances and dissonances. Most of these tracks are loooong (10-20 minutes), built around little more than a violin, some percussion, and the everlasting tampura drone that makes Indian music so distinct. V. Thyagarajan is the violinist, and he plays it seated and upright, like a tiny cello - this allows him to saw in and out quickly around the notes and this leads to some stunning, stark passages where everything drops out except the violin and tampura. This is recorded in a way that makes it sound somewhat tinny, or maybe a better word would be 'crisp'; the little bells on the percussion instruments sound like they are right here in the room with me, and that presence gives it a lasting physical feeling, especially due to its length. Four sides are a lot of Carnatic tradition, and each seems to be punctuated with the same structural shifts as the others - solos, long jammy passages, and vocal fore-fronting. The fourth side is billed as an improvisation, so I spent the whole record looking forward to it, hoping that I would be hearing some sort of freakout AMM/No Neck Blues Band style jam. But alas, it was an improvisation around fairly tightly defined Carnatic traditional structures. Which is to say that its still a fine side o' vinyl, as fine as the other three, but I didn't detect any increased freedom or looseness here; this is hardly Tristano's 'Digression' or Coltrane's Ascension - but that's OK, its not necessary at all for everyone in the 60s to let loose in a wild way. Krishnan died in the early 70s but is still well regarded in this world; Thyagarajan popped up on a lot of recordings by Jon Higgins, who is also one of Carnatic music's greatest practitioners, despite being originally from Massachusetts (thanks, Wikipedia).

The Family Elan - 'Stare Of Dawn' (Locust Music)

The Family Elan is Chris Hladowski, Bradford-born multi-instrumentalist and member of various groups in Scotland in the last decade including Scatter and Nalle; this is a totally solo affair showcasing his immersion in Eastern acoustic instrumentation and it fits in well with a lot of the new wave of ethnic-flavoured underground folk forms that hit around this time (2007). The recording is close and bright, and on most of the six tracks Hladowski jams melodically on bouzouki or dulcimer or oud or something - it's not easy for this ear to discern the different tonalities, but there's percussion (maybe a drum or maybe just the side of the wooden instrument being tapped, plus bells and shakers) and a bit of singing and some flute and it's all just very very nice. But that's not to diminish it - when the repetitive, trance-like riffs break down, as they do at the end of 'Over The Hills and Fields I Wander', there's a bed of free sonority for all of these errant string plucks to dance around in. It's reminiscent of some of Vibracathedral Orchestra's (un)holy ruckus, though more rooted in a pastoral song structure. When Hladowski sings, as on the opening and closing cuts, his voice has a mellow, smoky tone that floats in between the strumming, plucking and bowing. The songs occasionally shift towards less stable territory, and violins scratch about an elusive centre; it's occasionally beautiful beyond belief, and while somehow feeling akin to a lot of other artists, nothing comes to mind so there's a unique vision as well. 

Don Ellis - 'Haiku' (MPS/BASF)

A record released on the BASF label?!? Was this primarily intended to demonstrate stereo equipment over its artistic goals? Ellis is a good choice for such an approach, because he has a really lush, psychedelic arrangement style and his compositions lie somewhere between Sketches of Spain-era Miles Davis and the more circular meanderings of Moondog, or even Lou Harrison. The Harrison connection is heard most obviously on the opening cut, 'Children', which is an exercise in pure, liquid beauty. There's no easy place to file this - it's trumpet-driven but it's hardly jazz - it's soundtracky, but not a soundtrack - and it's got classical overtones galore, but it's hardly classical music. The more orchestrated moments weave the ear candy into cotton forms, occasionally overdoing it with it's pouncing rhythms ('Summer Rain') but being delightful and elegant when stripped down - side one closes with 'Forest', built primarily around Ellis's trumpet and a bit of harp. But even the parts that sounds clichéd, I can't help but wondering if you threw Van Dyke Parks singing overtop and told me it was a Song Cycle outtake, if I'd be ecstatic. Ellis is probably most famous for the French Connection soundtrack, which has a dirtier edge than anything here. The liner notes talk about how influenced he is by Japanese culture, though there's hardly any Eastern flavour to the sounds. But the photo of a nude Ellis sitting on a rock, contemplating the mysteries of the universe (with those contemplations likely forming into a 5-7-5 pattern), tells me all I need to know. This has always stayed in my vinyl accumulation because even though it's pretty 'soft', it's sometimes just the right atmosphere for a lazy summer afternoon. There's too much work to be done, so instead of romping through the leaves and trees I can stare at the screen and let this carry me off to distant imagined corners of mainstream psychedelic circa 1971. I thought I had a copy of Electric Bath, which has a somewhat more Latin edge, but I must have imagined that.

Dzyan - 'Electric Silence' (Bellaphon)

The cover of this Kraut gem indicates some seriously gross sci-fi territory, with melting scary aliens, the psychedelic version of TMNT's Krang (though let's face it, Krang is a pretty psychedelic character to begin with, or at least a cartoon embodiment of the late chapters of Joseph McElroy's Plus). But the sounds are much more varied. Admittedly, the opening cut 'Back to Where We Came From' starts things off with a very outer-limits vibe, though these affected mellotrons are of a more earthly source than they first appear. But while Electric Silence is a beautiful, lush record to get lost in, its influences are more Eastern than extra-terrestrial. Both sides of the record feature a middle track built around sitar atmosphonics, with the mellotrons making holy platforms, in layers, to ascend towards a collective jam. It's good stuff, sure, but not the extreme edge of prog-Kraut-freakout that you'd expect. A mellow 'out' is still a nice 'out', and Dzyan's sense of tension of mood is stunning. It's when they vary towards rock moves that they lose me - the middle section of the aforementioned opening cut is a funky jam that sounds like Malcolm Mooney-era Can, sans-Mooney. The exception to the placid eerieness is 'The Road Not Taken', which explodes into an extremely aggressive ball of free rock; honestly, this cut sounds like the Flying Luttenbachers by the end. It's an awesome track but sticks out like a sore thumb. The closing title track is not silent at all but features a similar call-and-response game to the opening cut, only in a more nimble, nervous style, making the entirety of Electric Silence feel like one complete cycle. This copy is in quadrophonic sound, and I lack the technology to accurately reproduce it, so maybe I'm missing lots. Even in stereo this is a keeper. 

Henry Cowell / Lou Harrison - split LP (CRI)

"You can't go wrong with CRI" is one of those steadfast rules of vinyl accumulation, though really, my own shelves have only a few. Both sides here are conducted by Leopold Stokowski, a "man of his time" by choice, and featuring Maro and Anahid Ajemian, two Armenian-American sisters who solo on piano and violin respectively. The Cowell composition, 'Persian Set', based on his time in Iran. It reminds me in places of the reedy mystery of the Meshes of the Afternoon soundtrack, though by the last Rondo movement, it explodes with a living, bouncy ferocity. There's some vocals during this bit which are proto-prog rock (really, they could be from the Aphrodite's Child album); the whole composition should involve a tar, a Persian guitar, but this recording uses a regular guitar. On the flip is a similarly eerie, modal work by Lou Harrison from 1951 called 'Suite for Violin, Piano and Small Orchestra'. Now, Harrison's slowly becoming one of my heroes of 20th century composition and this showcases him well, if a bit more downcast and moody than his usual ebullient work. There's a certain ebb and flow in the suites of Lou Harrison - what he does he is gets these long, slow melodies usually played by strings or flutes, with a fast, rhythmic but limited-palette instrument underneath, in a gamelan style. This one starts out with a bang but gets slow in the middle, only to slowly build back to a plateau. The second movement of this suite eeks out carefully, putting its toes in the water slowly with some exploratory fluting; the stillness is incredible. Gradually the gongs or other percussion start to appear, giving a wider horizon to the pastoral scene.

Can - 'Tago Mago' (United Artists)

When I found this copy of Tago Mago I was torn between this British import, with alternate cover photo and neat (but delicate) matchbox folding -- and the original gatefold cover we know and love. I went with this one to save a few bucks, in the process depriving myself of one of the most iconic images in the whole Kraut world, but probably snagging the more rare of the two options. This isn't an amazing pressing, or maybe it's just old, or maybe my stylus is just showing some wear (we are 191 records through this project, after all). Side one opens with 'Paperhouse', which segues into 'Mushroom', a track that really opens up and (on a good pressing) allows you to really hear the room when Jaki is cracking against the rim of his snare drum. Here, things are a bit distorted and the sense of space is compromised a bit by the inevitable noticing of vinyl artifice. Oh well. I used to somewhat discount 'Mushroom' for the obvious drug reference but tonight it just sounds magical - particularly the converging downward tones of the guitar leads and the organ leads. 'Oh Yeah' is the champion tune of the first side though, beginning with noisy, electronic filterbanks and unfolding into a bouncy, jazzy groove. I particularly like the sense of backwardsness that is throughout - maybe Damo's unique vocal style or maybe a bit of studio trickery. It feels like art that is erasing itself as it happens, trying to keep up with its own beautiful internal momentum. Overall there's so much more swing here than in any of the Mooney stuff, 'Soul Desert' excepted. I dunno if it's Damo's influence or Jaki coming out of his shell more, but 'Paperhouse' introduces a new lightness of touch that serves Can well, particularly on 'Oh Yeah' when the band will sort rise, like the crest of a wave, then it will break and shimmy out into every direction at once. It's a sense of motion that is far more open and free than Monster Movie's grooves. In the middle of Tago Mago, quite literally, are two side-long pieces. Both are behemoths, amazingly dense constructions that are (to me) what cements Can's legend. 'Hallelujah' you've all heard - a repetitive hook, bass-driven, that again proceeds quite dub-like through 1,000 transformations in eighteen minutes. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration but whereas 'Yoo Doo Right' is plodding and (sorry) stupid, 'Hallelujah' answers to a higher calling It rolls more than it rocks, without being any less heavy. In the middle it suddenly turns all Tony Curtis-like, but it's still the same song. When turned up really, really loud, it rips the roof off. But then, side 3 has 'Aumgn', 17:22 of Can's most experimental side. If you dig the Holger Czukay solo album Canaxis (and I sure do) then you might love this, though Canaxis's platitudes of calm are replaced by intense, screaming horror. There's dense walls of sound, upfront organ textures, blatant music concrete, and overdriven drum pounding that duets with a sinewave generator, barking dogs, and Damo shoving the microphone down his throat and moaning through reverb and delay units (just like kids do today, in basements worldwide). Those who want to dismiss this as mere fucking around should direct their attention to the last five or six minutes, where everything builds to a ludicrous crescendo before sputtering out into an assonant dawn. Gratuitous, no! It's actually one of the most accomplished examples of long-form rock experimentation on record. And after that, side 4's 'Peking O' feels relatively short (at twelve minutes). I don't know how connected Damo was to the nihilistic Japanese psychedelic underground happening at this time, but 'Peking O' begins like a companion piece to Tereyama's Throw Away Your Books, Rally in the Streets. It's harsh, dissonant layers of organ, delay-affected vocal screeching that melts into a bizarro Casio lounge trip, a bizarre atmosphere that is somewhat plush animals and somewhat proto-Residents tone-squawk. There's swirling keyboard lines, bent jazz breakdowns, and a manic, Brainticket-esque pulse. It's the fragmented attention-span, non-linear adjunct to 'Aumgn's dense wall of cosmic energy. It's easy to get lost in the magic, but then when you think about the step made between Monster Movie and this, well, it's a holyshitohmigod-nobrainer. I can hear Renaldo and the Loaf birthing into existence, and the sequenced blast beats + electric piano noodling are a recipe for dementia. Vocally, Damo is showing how he influenced both C. Spencer Yeh and the Micro Machines guy. At the end it finds it's pulse, just in time to burn out and introduce 'Bring Me Coffee or Tea', which despite it's darkly impulsive suspension, can only feel like a comedown when juxtaposed with the last four tracks. There's a reason Tago Mago is considered an all-time classic and I didn't really just need to write all of this to further inflate it's legend. But sometimes a close listen, even to something familiar, is rewarding in a way you'd never expect. And that's been a nice benefit to this project - rediscovering what was never lost.

Sandy Bull - 'E Pluribus Unum' (Vanguard)

This document of mid-sixties idiomatic string mastery was something I was originally a bit disappointed with, as half of the record follows a 32-bar blues progression. It took me many years to embrace this progression, as I had an aversion to anything that traditionally rooted. Funny thing too, cause my Dad loves the blues, country, delta, proto-rock and otherwise, so I surely felt a ton of these vibrations when I was in the womb. 'No Deposit, No Return' blues is a multitracked composition by Bull, building up on a boom-chick drum part that actually might have been recorded with bass drum and hi-hat on separate takes. The bass drives the blues melody and Bull improvises on electric guitar and oud. The tone on the electric guitar is amazing; it has one of the most shimmering, earthy sounds I've ever heard and overall the whole track buzzes with an incarnate static energy. By the end, the main melody is driven by the oud but he's extemporisin' up a storm in the background on the 'lectric axe, and even the cowbell has come out. Though the instrumental workout here is beautiful, it's really the overall structural arc that is so great about this track. It moves slowly and loops back in on itself, like a dancing flame. It's totally lovely, but side two's "electric blend" frees itself from the blues convention, beginning around a bold electric oud improvisation. It takes awhile to flex its muscles, painting the walls with ringing overtones while it does. Once the familiar boom-chick creeps in, it feels a bit more focused. Over 21 minutes, 'Electric Blend' starts and stops a few times, creating a whirlwind of eastern-tinged echo and tremelo. The bass solos a bit, getting jiggy over a shuddering electric guitar, in one of the piece's more subtle moments. Like side 1, the background starts to get a bit crazy with noisy, low-mixed freakouts. It has that ringing tambura effect but close listen reveals it to sound more like Thurston Moore. Bull, on the back cover, looks like a guy who owns a midwestern gas station, but from listening to this you'd think he was a swami with long white robes and some dog-eared yoga books. Maybe that's part of what appeals to me so much about E Pluribus Unum - two sides, two moods, east meets west and all of that. The fidelity on this record is top-notch as well - a mid 60's pressing, this somehow remained absolutely mint until it ended up in my hands, and almost no surface noise is present. An advertisement for the wonders of vinyl records, this is!

Masaki Batoh - 'A Ghost From the Darkened Sea' (The Now Sound)

This lovely mini-LP blows away most Ghost recordings, in my opinion, but major gas face to the label for not marking the 45rpm speed anywhere. Because, this opens with a thumping, acoustic cover of Can's 'Yoo Doo Right' with deep, breathy Japanese singing -- and it sounds great at either speed, just more guttural at 33. So it's not until track 2, a cover of Cream's 'World of Pain', that it becomes clear that it's a 45rpm record. Both songs are great reworkings that show the gentler side of Batoh, though there are still very dark winds blowing. 'Sham No Umi' closes the first half with some shimmery beach acousticness, still out there enough to qualify for the psych prize. What I love about these acoustic treatments is how he will subtly accent some chord changes with a spare organ or harmonium note, or perfectly underplayed percussion. The massive wall of sound psychedelic guitar monster stayed home for this one. 'Spooky' opens side 2 and it's not a cover of the Classic IV standard but a steel drum repetition that can't help but make me think of Steve Reich or 60s minimalism. It's cut with some dissonant howling and fades into 'Tuchigumo', the most experimental piece on the record. Here, rubbing and bowing sounds build up into a soundscape, not unlike Nurse With Wound at times but holding back from the balls-out juxtapositions. There are some great reversed sounds in the background but it's not overwhelming. The last track is where you hear the 'hardy gardy' credited on the sleeve, and it's a dense wall of thick drone that lets light in, but only in glimpses. The track, like the whole album, is a gem.