Things are stirring.
This was brought home to me today as I returned from an afternoon run to find daffodils budding in the front yard. Granted, it was on the southern side of the house, but it still gave me pause. Spring is on the way, and it always seems to start sooner than you expect. Years ago, immured within a New England winter, I was walking down the street when I smelled something not wintry at all. The briefest scent of moist earth, the softest sound of water dripping from a budding tree, was a reminder that the wheel never stops turning. It almost seems foolish to say that a season begins or ends here or there; holidays are a celebration of spilling over boundaries, rather than a declaration reinforcing them. In that spirit, I have for your delectation several folk collections that transcend cultural and musical boundaries of their regions of origin, one re-emergent rare recording from Bali, and a stunning drum and pop collection from Polynesian ensemble Te Vaka. Bon appétit!
World music has burgeoned in the last 20 years -- there's just no better word for it. Or, more precisely, the recording and worldwide distribution of music that was previously only heard at the local level has reached an unprecedented volume. Just wander through Tower Records' world music section if you need proof, and remember that what reaches Tower's distribution channels is a small percentage of what's out there. Fortunately, the World Music Network, affiliated with the Rough Guides travel publisher, is here to help. If you want to dip your toes into a previously undiscovered genre or culture, you could do worse than pick up one of their collections.
A good example is the recently-released Rough Guide to Raï. What's raï? Glad you asked. Originally a Bedouin folk form, raï took root in the Algerian port city of Oran in the early twentieth century, and underwent a transformation similar to that experienced by the blues as it moved into urban areas like New Orleans and Chicago. Since the 1970s, the form has acquired new instruments and musical influences, becoming a popular, accessible genre. This collection blends Algerian and Western instrumentation, and showcases some of raï's most famous performers, such as Abdou and Cheb Khaled. Bellemou's "Nediha Gaouria" alone is worth the price of admission. It's also addictively danceable, with complex yet comprehensible rhythms, often accompanied by a trance-inducing drone. Though it bears a family resemblance to Middle Eastern musical forms, raï has a distinctive, evocative sound all its own.
If you're looking for something even broader in scope, look no further than the new album from Dalinda, titled Turquoise (ARC Music Productions, Ltd). Teaming up with world-famous producer and musician Hossam Ramzy, who's worked with artists from Peter Gabriel to Loreena McKennitt, Dalinda here presents an intriguing and enthralling blend born of diverse cultures and musical genres. Of Bosnian descent but born in Libya, Dalinda claims influences ranging from Balkan folk to Edith Piaf, and every one of them can be heard on Turquoise. The album has already turned up on a few belly dancing sites; along with the Rough Guide to Raï CD, there's enough music here to keep a party or circle dancing all night. That said, Turquoise is rather more energetic and dance-oriented, probably because of the Balkan and Russian Gypsy strains running through it. If you're a fan of Kultur Shock, whom I've mentioned in this column in the past, or of Eastern European or Arabic music in general, I have no hesitation in recommending this CD to you. It's modern enough to be accessible to the unaccustomed ear, as well, and English translations of the lyrics are helpfully provided in the multilingual liner notes.
Speaking of musicians taking traditional sounds to a broader level, that's a pretty good description of what happens on Live in Helsinki (NorthSide), a concert album from Finnish folk group Värttinä. This ensemble, which has been performing in various permutations for two decades, started taking a more global approach to its music in the early 1990s, and it is this approach that can be heard on Live in Helsinki, which was recorded in 2000. The variety here is impressive, ranging from the invocatory and downright spooky "Äijö" as the opening track, to the mournful "Meri," to "Seelinnikoi," which completely rocks out. Värttinä perform original songs as well as traditional material, drawing on rune songs -- which often consist of magical spells or chants -- and other traditional music from the Karelia region of Finland and Russia. The vocalists are all women, and much of the material on Live in Helsinki is female-oriented as well. The liner notes detail each song's subject matter, if not its lyrics. Värttinä is somewhat more of an acquired taste than other recordings I've mentioned here; while the performances are of consistently high quality, and the songs themselves are outstanding, this music is not necessarily soft on the ear. I like it. If you're not sure, it's worth visiting the band's website at www.varttina.com and downloading a few MP3s.
More accessible is the new live CD from Norwegian fiddler Annbjørg Lien, Aliens Alive (NorthSide). One of the internationally better-known Scandinavian folk musicians of the past decade, Lien has in recent years taken to exploring across musical boundaries. Accordingly, Aliens Alive is a mixed bag, though Lien and her band shift smoothly between traditional folk ("The Rose," "Fykerud's Farewell to America"), progressive rock ("Luseblus") and even a few new-agey hints on "Loki." She keeps the latter to a minimum, though, allowing the beauty and intricacy of her material to speak for itself. Some of the instruments seem to be a little undermiked, but in general Lien's fiddle -- usually the hardanger fiddle of Norway -- comes through crisply and clearly. A highlight is the 14-minutes-and-change "Origins," which exhibits astonishing dynamic range with unexpected shifts in tempo and instrumentation that nonetheless work. Lien is classically trained, and it shows, but she uses her considerable skill to make the music shine.
At the opposite extreme, geographically and stylistically, is gamelan, a musical form from Java and Bali that's attracted quite a following in the U.S. in recent years (we even had an ensemble at my isolated New England college). Gamelan ensembles consist primarily of sets of gongs, sometimes elaborated with flutes, stringed instruments, and vocals. The music on the intriguing Gamelan Semar Pegulingan (Nonesuch), however, is mostly played on gongs and other percussive instruments, including a xylophone-like instrument known as a gendèr. Their sounds twine in complex, interlocking patterns that are nonetheless pleasant to the ear. That pleasure is one reason this recording is so intriguing; another is its rarity. Semar Pegulingan refers to a particular style of gamelan that was rarely heard, even in Bali, for many years; this recording dates from 1972, and has been newly issued on CD. This is an elegant, intricate music that can have an entrancing effect. If you are thinking of using gamelan in a ritual context, this recording will have a wide variety of applications.
Head south and east, past Australia to New Zealand for a taste of Te Vaka, a Polynesian group that shows it is possible to be sunny without being saccharine. The generally upbeat tenor of Polynesian music -- here mixed with some jazz and funk tropes for Nukukehe (Spirit of Play Productions), Te Vaka's third album -- gets sampled a lot for the cheerful sort of pan-world music that makes yours truly's teeth itch. Te Vaka, though, is something else. It's deeply rooted in Polynesian culture, and Tokelau culture in particular. Most of the members are all or part Tokelauan, and the group's name means "the canoe" in the Tokelau language. When Te Vaka lets loose on the log drums that are the basis of its music (check out "Pukepuke Te Pate" for a stunning example) it's clear: This ain't no NutraSweet. If you're looking for a bit of sun-kissed music that's got a great beat you can dance to, look no further.
Nocturama (Mute), the new album from Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, doesn't have a wide variety of applications, but it's a fascinating piece of work nonetheless. As usual, the songwriting is top-notch, and the band is utterly on form, but that's not what makes Nocturama so fascinating. If you gave No More Shall We Part a spin last year, chances are you were impressed by its peculiar elegance; its sense of, for lack of a better phrase, restrained madness. Well, there's little restraint to be found on Nocturama; for this one, Cave and company pull out all the stops. Even when played at relatively moderate volume, many of the songs -- "Dead Man in My Bed" and the sprawling, epic "Babe, I'm on Fire" in particular spring to mind -- have all the force of standing in front of a Marshall stack cranked up to eleven. In fact, the length and intensity of the latter song, which closes the album, brings to mind the second encore at a sold-out concert, when the band finally lets it rip. Cave is aggressively irreligious, but there's something Dionysian about the passion and near-insanity of Nocturama. This is about as good as it gets, short of going to hear him live.
Genevieve Williams is a Seattle freelance writer. She can be reached at rimrun@drizzle.com with feedback, suggestions or recommendations. Local musicians and Pagan groups are encouraged to submit material for review.