The Beat Of The Earth: The Beat Of The Earth [★★½]

The front cover of this genuine psychedelic relic is a picture of some bongo drums and a panel of electric outlets, so if you think you’re about to enter an electric drum circle, you are 100% correct. Two 21-minutes formless jams featuring exotic random percussion, droning keyboards and guitars, cameos from bagpipes and sitar, chanted vocals exhorting the “children” to “come out to play”, this is pretty much exactly what I would expect to hear if I could time-travel back to a late 60s Happening, Freak Out, Love-In, or Faire, and while there is not much in the grooves other than the energy of hippies making noise together, it is by no means unlistenable, and I admit that I kind of dig it. You have to give credit where credit is due: back then, people got together and did outlandish things in groups in public, which is a far cry from our current infinitely more connected but increasingly insulated stare-at-a-screen culture.

The Beat Of The Earth was initially a one-off project formulated by Orange County musician Phil Pearlman, who apparently submitted the recording as a school project. Conceptually, this was Love-In Music. According to band member Karen Darby (in an interview here), “The words were free-form poetry, political to whimsical. The music was free-form, original, and unrehearsable, since it was all ad lib or spontaneous. I remarked to Phil that it was the steady thrum one experienced when you went to a Love-In. All these small groups of musicians playing guitars, tambourines, flutes, autoharps, bongos, anything that made sound, all simultaneously, created a type of orderly orchestral sound. The combined beats were primitive, primal, the beat of the earth.”

This type of energy music can be traced to the 50s’ oddball gatherings of beatniks (who are mentioned on side two) which made group improvisation—whether in the medium of poetry, jazz, drugs, or otherwise—an increasingly popular type of folk art. Indeed, the back of the LP cover claims “This record is an Artistic Statement.” But those looking for the conversational solos and joyously loose structure of jazz touchstones like Ornette Coleman’s game-changing 1961 group-improvised Free Jazz or John Coltrane’s ecstatic 1966 Ascension will not find professional jazz musicians here; this is amateur psychedelia, which the back cover also declares in the grammatically obscure but hilarious motto “If you are looking for psychedelic music, do not buy this record unless you are looking for psychedelic music.” I will not attempt to improve on that motto.

MP3: "Untitled [excerpt]"

The Beat Of The Earth: The Beat Of The Earth (Radish, 1967)

Side One

1. Untitled 21:00

Side Two

2. Untitled 20:55

Similar Recordings

Those who can’t get enough of the drum circle vibe will find much food and drink in the Red Crayola’s 1967 The Parable Of Arable Land, especially the wild “Free Form Freak-Out” tracks. Another ’67 platter by renowned psychedelic poster artists Hapshash & The Coloured Coat entitled Featuring The Human Host And The Heavy Metal Kids proves that British freaks could make a similarly wigged-out racket.

The Walker Brothers: Images [★★★]

In 1965, three unrelated Californians decided to move to England and become the next Righteous Brothers. Soon enough, Scott Engel, John Maus, and Gary Leeds took the stage name Walker and began to assail the British pop charts with orchestrated, Wall-of-Sound ballads from the hit songbooks of Bacharach-David and other commercial 60s titans. Never big in the States (other than with their classic midtempo downer “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore”), they became basically a huge “boy band” in the UK, with screaming fans and pin-up magazine spreads.

Within a couple years the fandom started to wear on lead singer Engel, whose titanic voice moved easily from soft-pop croon to operatic bombast, and whose bandmates began to seem increasingly ancillary. Leeds didn’t sing, or even play (except drums, and only in concert), and Maus’ earthy tone was pleasant enough, but hardly a match for Scott’s multioctave howitzer of a voice. As early as 1966, the band seemed to be pulling in different creative directions, as they continued to record highly orchestrated, though bland ballads, while Engel’s initial efforts at songwriting increasingly began to display a dark, almost gothic style full of cryptic lyrics and eerie, bombastic arrangements (sample song title: “Archangel”). Releasing an EP prophetically titled Solo John - Solo Scott (with two solo tracks per side), the Walkers would break up in early 1967 after finishing Images, their third full-length.

Like their other two LPs, Images is wildly uneven, with schmaltzy lounge crooning ostensibly aimed at the Tom Jones/Englebert Humperdinck housewife fanbase (“Once Upon a Summertime”, “It Makes No Difference Now”) mixed in with some excellent Scott Engel originals such as the weird 6/8 “Experience” and the lush “Genevieve”. But Engel’s tracks feel like impecccably tuxedoed aristocrats stuck in a smoky airport piano bar; to hear Scott’s dramatic “Orpheus”—note how the meticulous orchestration accompanies and enriches the song, rather than drowning it in dull waves of violins—in between dry and bland takes on “Blueberry Hill” and “Stand By Me” is a frustrating lesson in how not to pace an LP. Maus’ two originals include “I Wanna Know”, the hardest track on the album, with its ’67 fuzzed out guitar, and the moody organ and vibes of “I Can’t Let It Happen To You", one of Maus’ best original compositions. But this was the end of the Walker Brothers (until the mid-70s, anyway), and they acknowledge it with closing track “Just Say Goodbye”.

MP3: "I Can’t Let It Happen To You"

The Walker Brothers: Images (Philips, March 3, 1967)

Side One

1. Everything Under the Sun (B. Crewe, G. Knight) 4:15
2. Once Upon a Summertime (M. Legrand, J. Mercer, E. Marnay) 3:49
3. Experience (S. Engel) 2:53
4. Blueberry Hill (A. Lewis, V. Rose, L. Stock) 3:25
5. Orpheus (S. Engel) 3:24
6. Stand by Me (B. E. King, J. Leiber, M. Stoller) 3:27

Side Two

7. I Wanna Know (J. Maus) 2:28
8. I Will Wait for You (Theme from Les Parapluies de Cherbourg) (M. Legrand, J. Demy, N. Gimbel) 3:38
9. It Makes No Difference Now (N. Newell, I. Pattacini) 2:37
10. I Can't Let It Happen to You (J. Maus) 3:11
11. Genevieve (S. Engel) 2:49
12. Just Say Goodbye (P. Clark, P. Delanoé, A. Hatch) 3:33

Similar Recordings

Scott Engel would go on to record a series of richly orchestrated and wildly original solo albums as Scott Walker before succumbing to bland commercial pop; all of his first five solo albums are highly recommended if you are interested in the concept of a psychedelic Frank Sinatra. Maus and Leeds would both make albums in ’67 and ’68 respectively; neither sold much, but Walkers fans will find them enjoyable. The Walker Brothers’ legacy is best approached in the wonderful catch-all 2006 box set Everything Under The Sun, which collects all of their 60s recordings as well as their three 70s reunion albums. As much of their best work appear on singles and EPs and not on their albums, this is one-stop shopping at its best.

Gene Clark: Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers [★★★½]

When Gene Clark left the Byrds in early 1966 after two albums (one reason being a fear of flying which apparently made touring difficult), every indication was that he would find success either in a group or solo. He had been the Byrds’ best songwriter, penning such classics as "I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better" and "She Don't Care About Time" and “Eight Miles High”, and his rock star looks and moody vibe led to a contract with Columbia Records; Clark is probably the first major rock musician to “go solo”. But instead of capitalizing on his Byrds fame, Clark took his time, spending most of 1966 out of the spotlight and waiting until late 1966 to begin work on an album.

This would turn out to be a mistake, as the Byrds would rise to the songwriting challenge for their 1966 Fifth Dimension album, and were already working on the follow-up to that record. Ultimately, Clark’s solo debut would be released on January 16, 1967, just two weeks before the Byrds’ Younger Than Yesterday and with little promotion, which naturally caused Clark’s record to get lost in the bins. Indeed, Clark’s post-Byrds career is full of such frustration, as his talent rarely got the audience it deserved.

Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers does not suffer from a lack of good material or shoddy production (although I think the vocals have always sounded a little muddy in the mix). The crew that recorded including the Byrds rhythm section of Chris Hillman and Michael Clarke, and session musicians included such big names as Leon Russell, Glen Campbell, and future Byrd Clarence White. At times it feels like there was perhaps too much fussing with the control knobs, with the florid, though lovely orchestral touches in Leon Russell’s arrangement of “Echoes” seeming out of place contrasted with the rest of the album’s Beatles pop and sprightly folk rock. “Echoes” may be a bit overcooked, but it’s a wonderfully unique piece of music, sounding like orchestral Dylan. More successful are the oft-covered country rock gem “Tried So Hard” (check out the great Fairport Convention version) and the amazingly compact "Think I'm Gonna Feel Better", which, like "I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better" before it, wears an uptempo, cheerful disguise over heartbreakingly sad lyrics. In an interview, Clark described his inspiration for the record to be the Mamas & the Papas and Rubber Soul, which is a pretty good description of what the listener will hear. Unfortunately, the Gosdin Brothers do not harmonize as well as the Mamas & the Papas, or the Byrds for that matter—the harmony singing on the record is efficient, but does not quite gel. And while everyone was crazy for the Beatles, a track like "Elevator Operator" comes off as a pale rewrite of “Day Tripper”.

Gene Clark’s best songs are full of yearning and ache, darkly romantic and wistful. His solo debut contains a handful of classics, with side one holding the highest concentration of goodness. But many of the songs sound like Byrds outtakes, and without the songwriting competition or Dylan covers, side two ends up feeling a bit listless and monochromatic. Despite a few shortcomings, the album’s highlights are as good as anything Clark would ever write, and fans of the Byrds should regard this as a mandatory addendum to the group’s canon.

This album has been issued in a variety of formats. The 1991 compilation Echoes remixes and reshuffles the album, also including a few of Clark’s Byrds tracks. The 2007 Sundazed edition has better sound, restored artwork, and some curious outtakes, including some rare tracks opulently produced by LA bubblegum auteur Curt Boettcher.

MP3: "Think I'm Gonna Feel Better"

Gene Clark: Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers (Columbia, January 1967)

Side one

1. "Echoes" (3:19)

2. "Think I'm Gonna Feel Better" (1:36)

3. "Tried So Hard" (2:22)

4. "Is Yours Is Mine" (2:28)

5. "Keep on Pushin'" (1:47)

6. "I Found You" (3:03)

Side two

7. "So You Say You Lost Your Baby" (2:11)

8. "Elevator Operator" (2:32)

9. "The Same One" (3:31)

10. "Couldn't Believe Her" (1:55)

11. "Needing Someone" (2:09)

Similar Recordings

Playing this record after Rubber Soul is somewhat unfair—who want to go on after the Beatles?—but it gives you a good idea of where Clark was coming from. Played after Younger Than Yesterday, it makes one really regret Clark’s departure from the Byrds, as many of these tracks would have sounded great on that album. Clark would later head in a more countryish direction, and if you like “Tried So Hard”, you’ll enjoy the two Dillard & Clark records he made in 1968 and 1969 with bluegrass banjoist Doug Dillard.

Robbie Basho: The Falconer’s Arm I [★★★★]

Like the Peter Walker album I review here, this rare disc radiates 1967 eclecticism, spirituality, and wild nature. One look at the cover and you can easily imagine that Robbie Basho was, in fact, adept at falconry, and only came down out of the mountains in the springtime to dispense poetic wisdoms and buy more organic food and guitar strings. Like Walker and Takoma label founder John Fahey, Basho was part of a movement of 60s acoustic guitarists who sought to take the simple, populist instrument and create acoustic symphonies of East and West, world music before the name.

Where Fahey started with folk blues and built intense, detailed structures with classical and gospel motifs, Basho was much more entranced by the East, studying Ravi Shankar, Ali Akbar Khan, and the scales of Japanese, Chinese, and Persian music. So while some of his playing seems informed by the classical raga, he was not a strict formalist. And unlike Fahey, whose notes seem carefully chosen, like in a Pointillist painting, Basho is more of an Impressionist, with flurries of notes and quickly strummed passages privileging feel and emotion over precision. And also unlike Fahey, whose songs titles display a preoccupation with American topography, relationships, rivers, and religion, Basho seems obsessed with exotic spirituality and the inner wilderness (in the liner notes Basho refers to the title track as a “rough-hewn piece from my personal forest of recollection”). When I’m in the mood for contemplative/cerebral, I head for Fahey; Basho is better for those ecstatic moments when you need lift-off.

As a sample here’s “Tassajara”, named after the first Zen monastery in the U.S., near Carmel, and featuring Susan Graubard on flute.

MP3: “Tassajara”

The Falconer’s Arm I is one of three Basho albums issued by Takoma in 1967; sadly none is in print, although many tracks do show up on the compilation Bashovia. Robbie Basho died tragically in 1986 after a mishap at his chiropractor’s office.

Robbie Basho: The Falconer’s Arm I (Takoma, 1967)

Side One:

1. The Falconer’s Arm 9:51
2. Tassajara 9:46

Side Two:

3. Lost Lagoon Suite 12:16
4. Pavan Hindustan 6:18
5. Babs 4:35

Similar Recordings

If you like this record, The Falconer’s Arm II is an almost-as-good follow-up, although it features Basho’s singing, which is definitely an acquired taste. Peter Walker’s two excellent late-60s albums tread a similar path, as does Fahey’s 1973 Fare Forward Voyagers (Soldier’s Choice).

The Byrds: Younger Than Yesterday [★★★★★]

The cover of the Byrds’ fourth LP, released in February 1967, features the four band members, backlit and double-exposed to look like each of them is leaving his body. This visual certainly adheres to the trippy mood of the period’s album art, but also eerily mirrors the fragmentation going on within the band. Always a heated kitchen with battling cooks, the Byrds had already shed one member, moody poet of heartache Gene Clark, and were soon to send David Crosby on his way. But amid all the pressure were born quite a few diamonds, and this album is among the very best Byrds albums as well as one of the great records of 1967.

In just a few years, the Byrds had more or less invented folk rock, helped turn Bob Dylan from a minor folkie into a major voice, and sold a pile of records; their status as America’s answer to the Beatles was more or less assured. But instead of repeating their jangly hit sound, they continued to innovate (not to mention keep up with the Beatles), moving into dark, rumbling psychedelia (1966’s amazing “Eight Miles High”, “I See You”) and space rock (“5D”, “Mr. Spaceman”). Echoing the wild stylistic offerings of Revolver, the Byrds branch out here into countryish pop with the newly-prolific Chris Hillman’s "Have You Seen Her Face", "Time Between", and "The Girl with No Name" (anticipating the full-on country move they would make with 1968’s Sweetheart of the Rodeo). The bright, wry pop of “Paperback Writer” is answered with "So You Want to Be a Rock 'n' Roll Star", a track which pokes fun of the instant success of the Prefab Four, the Monkees, but which is also aimed at themselves, as their own arc of success came after hiding their folk and bluegrass backgrounds under Beatles haircuts and electric guitars. David Crosby’s efforts are the first flowering of his unconventional songwriting genius, from the baroque miniature of "Renaissance Fair" to the lovely, atonal "Mind Gardens" (as out-there as George Harrison’s “Love You To”, if not more so) to the moody, crystalline beauty of "Everybody's Been Burned". This being a Byrds album, there is of course a Dylan cover, “My Back Pages”, probably their greatest translation of a wordy and introspective Dylan track into triumphant pop poetry.

Most Byrds albums have some filler (“fyller”), and this album is no exception; but here, the less successful experiments all have small sonic bonuses. The countryish space rodeo "C.T.A.-102" has some wild sound effects and a visit from some alien Ewoks, while the sweet-and-sour "Thoughts and Words" features some of Roger McGuinn’s wilder backwards guitar effects. And if “Why” is a somewhat flat conclusion (and the dullest of the three versions of that track they would cut), the 1996 CD reissue more than makes up for it, including excellent outtakes (the hypnotic “It Happens Each Day”, a tamer and, in my opinion, better take of “Mind Gardens”) and the exuberant, cascading single “Lady Friend”. This might not be the best Byrds album—I give the nod to the seamless suite of 1968’s The Notorious Byrd Brothers—but it neatly encapsulates all their strengths, from folk to country to pop to space rock and beyond.

MP3: "Everybody's Been Burned"

The Byrds: Younger Than Yesterday (Columbia, February 1967)

Side One

1. "So You Want to Be a Rock 'n' Roll Star" (Chris Hillman, Jim McGuinn) – 2:05
2. "Have You Seen Her Face" (Chris Hillman) – 2:25
3. "C.T.A.-102" (Jim McGuinn, Robert J. Hippard) – 2:28
4. "Renaissance Fair" (David Crosby, Jim McGuinn) – 1:51
5. "Time Between" (Chris Hillman) – 1:53
6. "Everybody's Been Burned" (David Crosby) – 3:05

Side Two

7. "Thoughts and Words" (Chris Hillman) – 2:56
8. "Mind Gardens" (David Crosby) – 3:28
9. "My Back Pages" (Bob Dylan) – 3:08
10. "The Girl with No Name" (Chris Hillman) – 1:50
11. "Why" (Jim McGuinn, David Crosby) – 2:45

Similar Recordings

Besides all the Byrds’ 60s albums, most of which should be required listening for anyone with even a passing interest in 1967 music, fans of this record will enjoy much of the folk rock that was coming out of the Los Angeles and San Francisco scenes at the time. Buffalo Springfield’s masterpiece Buffalo Springfield Again, Love’s Da Capo, Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow, and Moby Grape’s self-titled debut all offer tight, varied songwriting. Lesser lights such as the West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band and the Beau Brummels also came up with Byrdsy folk-rock; see the former’s Part One and the latter’s Triangle. In addition, ex-Byrd Gene Clark released a solo album (Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers) just weeks before Younger Than Yesterday, and it remains a minor classic unfortunately overshadowed by his former band’s better-promoted LP.

Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band: Safe As Milk [★★★★½]

In Greek mythology, the Cyclops was a one-eyed monster named Polyphemus most famous for eating Odysseus’ men. In another, less common myth, the hapless Cyclops fell in love with a nymph named Galatea, and tried to woo her with song. But she rejected him, and his later run-in with Odysseus left him blind and wretched. Imagine that Polyphemus kept singing, and that this horrible, cave-dwelling ogre would growl and bellow the blues— the only voice which could compare to his existential discontent is the terrifying bellow of Captain Beefheart, also known as Don Van Vliet.

The passing of Don Van Vliet on 17 December 2010 came twenty-eight years after the Captain hung up his shell-shocked microphone and retired from a music biz career (which had earned him notoriety, critical acclaim, and no money) in order to sing through his paintings. Few ostensibly “rock” recording artists have longer shadows; Beefheart’s legacy rumbles on in pretty much any music which avoids the smooth ruts and well-trodden paths. Imagine an unholy mash-up of Howlin’ Wolf, Salvador Dali, e.e. cummings, Pablo Picasso, John Muir, and Ornette Coleman, and you start to scratch the surface of Beefheart’s art. He is most famous for his deep, bellowing, booming preternatural growl of a voice, an instantly recognizable and often frightening distillation of Howlin’ Wolf’s similarly bone-rattling holler, only amplified into an abstract poetry cannon. Besides his voice, which alone could have made him a career in the hard blues gutter, Beefheart was an astonishingly facile wordsmith, rich in puns and poetry and dazzlingly bonkers non-sequiturs full of nature and sex and blues and surreal metaphor. Behind him bashed his many aptly-titled Magic Bands, probably the most innovative aspect of his music. Deconstructing rhythms and turning song forms inside-out and backwards, Beefheart’s best music chugged along like a lopsided funky dumptruck with free jazz flat tires, and despite the wobbly, stop-start rhythmic attack, somehow everything held together in an abstract musical logic.

Beefheart’s first recording was a rowdy cover of Bo Diddley’s “Diddy Wah Diddy”, which featured one of the heaviest basslines ever to grace a 45. But beyond minor regional success, the single did not impress his record company, and so Beefheart would move on to Buddah to record his first full-length, Safe As Milk. At this point, the Magic Band—as evidenced from the ’66-’67 acetates and live recordings on the rarities box Grow Fins—was a heavy psychedelic blues band, and among the freakiest in the Los Angeles scene. But Beefheart’s vocal attack put him way beyond other white blues bands; contemporaries like Canned Heat, the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, or even the Doors sound like kids in a sandbox compared to Beefheart’s lupine overdrive. It is interesting, then, to hear how varied and even well-rounded Safe As Milk is. As a record, it presages virtually all of the later moves he would make in his career. Hard blues opener "Sure 'Nuff 'n Yes I Do" recycles Muddy Waters’ “Rollin and Tumblin’”, and tracks like "Plastic Factory" commandeer traditional blues riffs. Gleefully demented noise like "Dropout Boogie" and "Electricity" point toward Beefheart’s friendship with fellow iconoclast Frank Zappa and anticipate the epic surreal weirdness of 1969’s Trout Mask Replica. But the heavier tracks are leavened with bouncy pop like "Yellow Brick Road" and "Abba Zaba", a tribute to a candy bar, and there is even commercial r’n’b like "Call On Me", which is almost Motown, and "I'm Glad", which sounds like the Impressions (and which helps explain his unbeloved 1974 records Unconditionally Guaranteed and Bluejeans & Moonbeams).

As would be the case throughout his career, his backing musicians deserve a good portion of the credit. Drummer John French would be Beefheart’s gloriously irregular heartbeat for several records, and guitarist Ry Cooder, who would quit the band shortly after, contributes excellent slide guitar. Sadly, the intense pressure of making this wildly uncommercial music would lead to constant personnel shifts and record company troubles. The record itself suffers from middling sound quality to a producer’s decision to switch from a state-of-the-art 8-track studio to a primitive 4-track; the sound is often muddled. There were no real outtakes from the sessions (other than the aforementioned acetates), and the very good CD edition (on a reborn Buddha Records) includes longer, less focused blues jams from October-November 1967 sessions. Safe As Milk (the title being, perhaps, a wry acknowledgment of the record’s potentially distasteful originality) would become a cult record, especially in the UK, and while few fans rate it as his best work, it is probably his most accessible creation, and the ideal first purchase for anyone who wants to visit one of the wilder corners of underground 60s rock.

MP3: "Dropout Boogie"

Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band: Safe As Milk (Buddah Records, September 1967)

Side one:

1. "Sure 'Nuff 'n Yes I Do" (Don Van Vliet, Herb Bermann) – 2:16

2. "Zig Zag Wanderer" (Van Vliet, Bermann) – 2:40

3. "Call On Me" – 2:37 (Van Vliet)

4. "Dropout Boogie" – 2:32 (Van Vliet, Bermann)

5. "I'm Glad" – 3:31 (Van Vliet)

6. "Electricity" – 3:08 (Van Vliet, Bermann)

Side two:

7. "Yellow Brick Road" – 2:28 (Van Vliet, Bermann)

8. "Abba Zaba" – 2:44 (Van Vliet)

9. "Plastic Factory" (Van Vliet, Bermann, Jerry Handley) – 3:09

10. "Where There's Woman" (Van Vliet, Bermann) – 2:10

11. "Grown So Ugly" (Robert Pete Williams) – 2:27

12. "Autumn's Child" (Van Vliet, Bermann) – 4:02

Comparable Albums

No one really sounds like Captain Beefheart, so it’s difficult to list similar albums. Beefheart’s next album, 1968’s Strictly Personal, was a somewhat sloppy foray into psychedelic blues jamming. Beefheart’s high school buddy Frank Zappa released Absolutely Free in 1967, but other than its aggressive stance toward commercial pop and staid ‘60s culture, it bears little in common musically. If Beefheart had had the inclination, he could have probably made a pyschedlic blues album like the Doors’ first, or Disraeli Gears by Cream, but thankfully he followed his muse. For other examples of unhinged counterculture of the I-can’t-believe-these-guys-got-to-make-a-record variety, see anything by the Fugs, or the Deviants’ Ptooff!

Peter Walker: Rainy Day Raga [★★★★]

This stunning LP, an instrumental fusion of Indian raga, Spanish flamenco, and American folk guitar, pretty much encapsulates the burgeoning East-West musical cross-pollination that was in the air in 1967, and deserves a much wider audience. Peter Walker, originally from Boston, traveled widely—to Mexico, Spain, and Africa—studying the music of the world, especially flamenco, and became part of the New York City folk scene, befriending the similarly brilliant Sandy Bull. On a trip to San Francisco, he met Janis Joplin, but it was there that he first heard Ravi Shankar in concert, and devoted himself to studying the raga. Upon returning to the East coast, he met Timothy Leary, who was so impressed with Walker that he made him musical director of the ‘Celebrations’ at his Millbrook estate.

This record features nine original compositions and a cover of “Norwegian Wood”, which takes the Beatles’ first track to feature a sitar and unravels it into a peaceful raga. Walker, backed with subtle percussion and the occasional flute, uses the drones and escalating tension of the raga as a backdrop for his airy solos, which never lose the melodicism of flamenco. Overall, the effect is placid and meditative, and the album title seems to pretty much hit the nail on the head. Where classical Indian music can often sound rhythmically or melodically disorienting to the novice, Walker’s synthesis of Spanish and American tones with Indian form is a spellbinding and accessible blend of the three. According to Walker’s own liner notes, his American raga “employs the Indian concept of starting with a drone, adding a scale based on the drone, then a melodic line based on the scale, then weaving, reweaving, and interweaving the melodic line so that a freely improvised piece is constructed.” This is placid, cerebral stuff, and highly recommended.

MP3: "White Wind"

Peter Walker: Rainy Day Raga (Vanguard, 1967)

Side One:

1. Morning Joy 3:46
2. Norwegian Wood 4:16
3. White Wind 7:40
4. Bianca 3:07
5. Spring 2:59

Side Two:

6. Sunshine 3:26
7. Rainy Day Raga 6:25
8. Road To Marscota 5:47
9. April In Cambridge 3:12
10. River 5:12

[Note: This album is often listed as being from 1966. The excellent new edition on Ace’s Vanguard Masters includes newspaper clippings and reproductions of the record labels which make it clear that the record was issued in 1967.]

Comparable Albums

Walker’s own 1969 follow-up, Second Poem to Karmela, is just as good as this one. Fans of American folk guitar saints John Fahey and Robbie Basho will find plenty to enjoy here (try, for ’67 comparison, the former’s Days Have Gone By and the latter’s The Falconer’s Arm I). Even more similar to Walker’s style is the brilliant Sandy Bull, whom I discuss here). Ravi Shankar’s career and discography are daunting, but all of the few ‘50s and ‘60s records of his I’ve heard offer good examples of his dense, intricate and intense style. Another jazzier record which brings guitar and eastern instrumentation together is Gábor Szabó’s Jazz Raga.