There's something about autumn. Even though I'm one of those tiresome people who gets depressed in the winter, bitching ceaselessly about the constant rain and lack of sunlight, as the days slide toward Samhain I can't help but get a little contemplative.
This time last year, I sat up late at night listening to the Berlin Philharmonic's recording of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony from 1942. I remember responding to the simultaneous emotions of rage and despair, hope and rebirth, expressed in the same piece. A few weeks ago, while commuting to work, I heard an interview on NPR with composer John Adams, whose works include the opera Nixon in China. Adams had composed a piece in commemoration of September 11, to be performed that night by the New York Philharmonic. Titled Transmigration of Souls, it is a quiet, contemplative piece, judging by the excerpts played during the broadcast (a recording of the piece is not yet available). It acknowledges grief but neither forces it on the listener nor insists on expressing it with grand musical gestures. It is, perhaps, a musical expression of Emily Dickinson's meditation on the aftermath of grief: "After great pain, a formal feeling comes."
Much of the music discussed in this edition of Earth Tones has a similar effect and is chosen for similar reasons.
Early-music aficionados looking for something a little different are well advised to check out the Mediaeval Baebes, whose fourth album, The Rose (Nettwerk), was released earlier this year. Like folk-preservationists Cordelia's Dad, the Baebes perform with an ear toward accessibility and entertainment. Not that they're lowbrow, far from it. However, the scholarly stuffiness that can often be found in early-music circles has no place among the Baebes, who are equally at home in rock clubs (they played Seattle's Crocodile this past summer) as in concert halls. They also play Renaissance festivals, cathedrals and pagan celebrations -- among their upcoming appearances is one at Witchfest 2002, a British festival taking place on November 9 (as of this writing, unfortunately sold out). Founded by Katherine Blake, formerly of the gothy Miranda Sex Garden, who also writes much of the music, the Baebes are a feast for the ears. Another difficulty with much early music is that a lack of notational systems and other archival information makes it hard to determine just how this music was performed. Nonetheless, authenticity rings through with every note. Blake's use of melody, rhythm and vocal arrangement shows an understanding of the medieval aesthetic, different as it is from music of the classical era and all that followed from it. The Baebes are multilingual, as well; in addition to English, they sing in Medieval French, Middle English, Latin, and Russian, among other languages. The Baebes are an accomplished bunch; they include among their members a comedy writer, an actor, an ex-computer programmer and several classically trained musicians and vocalists. The Rose is a gorgeous piece of work, whether for listening or for ritualing; of all the CDs I've reviewed here, this one is ranked among the absolute musts.
Regular readers of this column may recall my review of the collection Nordic Voices 3 (NorthSide) last year. Though the collection is not new, its two previous volumes are still in print, and the price on all three CDs is still quite nice (though not, perhaps, still cheaper than food). As one might expect, the first is the most musically unified of the three. That doesn't necessarily make it the best, though if you have some Norse-oriented rituals planned, that does make it the best choice for that particular purpose. Or Celtic, for that matter; the music on these collections is often reminiscent of Irish folk, as I've observed before. The instrumentation is often similar, and there's the same proclivity for medleys. Many of the track titles aren't in English, but translations are helpfully provided, so you needn't try to pronounce "Sjöankans Vals" when you can say "Sea Duck's Waltz" instead. The music is mostly folk, and mostly instrumental, though there are a few surprises; most notable is Hoven Droven's "Skvadern," on Nordic Voices. After several selections of somewhat trancy acoustic music, it's a surprise to hear drums and electric guitars; while the melody is traditional, what Hoven Droven does with it definitely isn't. That's not a negative in the least, but it's something to be aware of on compilations such as these. (Hedningarna's "Bierdna", on the other hand, is the perfect thing to put on for a circle dance, or to include on a similarly-purposed compilation of your own!)
Those looking for music from a sunnier clime -- although the mood of the music may not be -- need look no further than Ritual (Erato) from Portuguese singer Mísia. I have to admit, I discovered this one completely by accident, while pawing through the Celtic rack at Tower Records. I saw the title, thought the cover looked intriguing and put it into the car's CD player on the way home. At first, I was underwhelmed, but upon a second listen I realized that the noise of the road and traffic on the way home had prevented me from hearing some of this music's subtler undertones. It's definitely Mediterranean in feel, but you won't mistake it for Greek or Italian or Sicilian or anything else: Portuguese fado, as it's called, sounds unlike anything else (although some of the sadder, slower French laments come close). It's been described as "Portuguese blues," and despite its having little in common with the blues musically there's something to the phrase. Blues cultivates a certain worldwise objectivity, even as it details some of life's harshest realities; although you won't understand a word Mísia is singing unless you speak Portuguese, this same sensibility comes through. Despite the title, I'm not sure how suitable Ritual would be for ritual purposes. It is, however, absolutely the ideal thing to combine with a fire in the fireplace, good company and a bottle of red wine.
Fans of gothy cello bellas Rasputina will find a lot to like on Resign to Ideal (Fishy Says Meow), the new CD from Seattle's Saeta. There are so many bands in this town that one might be forgiven for overlooking a few, but do yourself a favor and don't overlook this one; I did, for far too long. (This is their third CD! Where have I been?) The music is delicately elegant, but it is neither shallow nor weak. Instead, Saeta constructs its songs out of discrete layers, each one laid atop the one before it with dextrous precision. They have a lighter touch than most bands of this genre; compare them to almost anyone on the Projekt label, and you'll hear what I mean. For dark music, Resign to Ideal has a lot of daylight. It's not dance music, though some of the songs suggest stately processions, perhaps through a nighttime garden that features lots of statues and hanging vines. Saeta has a contemplative mood, rather than a melancholy one, and it's this emphasis which protects Resign to Ideal from becoming overbearing. As the days shorten and the clouds gather, Saeta turns out to be perfect music for the waning of the year.
Somewhat less compelling, though quite entertaining in its own right, is the first CD from Seattle-based Point 1. Stress-Related Injuries (GrooveKing) has healthy portions of all the ingredients of the alternative-cum-mainstream, disaffected protoindustrial rock that's followed closely in the wake of grunge and its offspring. Point 1 lives somewhere between Marilyn Manson and and metal; some songs, such as "T.V.," sound as if they came right off the industrial-rock-heavy Matrix soundtrack. This isn't bad territory to be in, by any means; there's a dearth of good bands in Seattle playing this kind of music, and many cash-poor touring bands are shy about performing here. Since there are few more visceral experiences than hearing a crunchy-guitar, aggro-heavy band play live, there's no doubt that Point 1 is providing a much-needed service. Plain and simple, Stress-Related Injuries is pretty dang good. One wishes, though, that it was just a tad less derivative. It's hard to imagine the boundaries of this particular genre being stretched much further, but the heavy guitar and thumping bass, the cynical lyrics sung in a voice that suggests a perpetual combination of tears and rage, even the between-song snippets of things like film-rating Parental Advisories -- it's all been heard somewhere before. Fortunately, the members of Point 1 are clearly talented enough to stretch, so one may listen in hope that future CDs will trade slickness for invention.
The third recording from my local music selection is Blöödhag's Necrotic Bibliophilia (Rock & Roleplay). Blöödhag take the connection between heavy metal and science fiction, which has existed at least since Led Zeppelin wrote "Misty Mountain Hop," to its logical conclusion: They write heavy metal songs about science fiction authors. A Blöödhag show is a unique experience, sort of like a cross between a GWAR concert and Seattle Public Library's twice-yearly book sale. Instead of hurling unmentionable substances at the audience, the band hurls books; if you read one and write a book report, it's worth free admission to their next show, though apparently most people don't bother and just pay the cover. Their t-shirts say "This shirt belongs to:" on the front, and "The faster you go deaf, the more time you have to read" on the back. All this gimmickry, of course, can only carry a band so far, but even if Blöödhag weren't decent musicians into the bargain, it has to be admitted that the gimmick in this case is pretty darn spiffy, especially if you're an SF fan. While you'll probably only enjoy them if you're into metal, Blöödhag's mission -- to get as many people as possible to read as much as possible, preferably science fiction -- is an admirable one. If only they'd do one of those READ library posters.
Genevieve Williams is a Seattle freelance writer and drummer. She can be reached at rimrun@drizzle.com with feedback, suggestions, or recommendations. Local and/or pagan musicians are encouraged to submit material for review.