All the little birds on jaybird street

The Conference Of The Birds - Saddar Bazaar (1995)

If you ever wondered what a collaboration between Ravi Shankar and George Thorogood might sound like, The Conference Of The Birds presents a likely demonstration. Neither of those luminaries of their respective genres are present here, but the Bristol-based quartet Saddar Bazaar crafts their sound around a raga drone augmented with sweet slide guitar.

The result is a tranquil, soothing elixir to a hard day's turbulence named after a 12th-century Persian poem written by Farid ud-Din Attar. The poem relays the tale of a number of birds as they search for a king and is an allegory of the journey to enlightenment.

The unhurried odyssey of the completely instrumental album begins minus the slide in "Sukoon", (90/100), which is an Urdu word for relief or relaxation. The tempo is set for serenity with the sitar taking the driver's seat in confident control. If this album indeed renders a meeting of birds, perhaps this song is the cordial arrival of a majestic heron to the proceedings.

In "Arc Of Ascent (Part One)", (93), (http://www.mediafire.com/?867952afsrywi6x), a sparse intro is halted by the sovereign announcement of fuzzy guitar at :53. Seventeen seconds later, as percussion enters, the song takes full flight with a riff richly drenched in Blind Willie Johnson's "Jesus Make Up My Dying Bed", a traditional blues later covered by the likes of John Sebastian as "Well, Well, Well" (on The Four Of Us, 1971) and Led Zeppelin as "In My Time Of Dying" (on Physical Graffiti, 1975). (Bob Dylan also presented his take on "In My Time Of Dyin'" on his eponymous 1962 debut). The melting slide on "Ascent" fuses seamlessly with the buzz of Eastern instrumentation. If the eagle is the king of the birds, then this is its soaring theme.

The sparkly chiming of "Kiff Riff", (88), would also suit a graceful flight, though this one more easy-going, perhaps in the days before having to worry about being sucked into a jet engine. The restrained guitar perfectly underlies the gliding, the overall beauty of the piece delicate like a dove, but as bright as the unveiling of a peacock.

The mood in the "Garden Of Essence", (93), is slightly cautious, as if under the watchful glare of lurking falcons. Even so, the tone remains hypnotic as the guitar stretches out, picking up the pace by 4:30 and coming as close as this album gets to a full-out rock assault for its remaining three-and-a-half minutes.

"Sukoon (Reflection)", (85), reprises a brief segment of the album's first track backwards. Somehow the strange and wonderful sounds produced are as calming as those in the straightforward take. "Shamsa (Sunburst)", (88), is mellow and blithe, perhaps watching the gentle rising of the sun through the eyes of a swan, or perhaps watching the gentle rising of a swan through the eyes of the sun. By 2:10, the beauty of both are on full display.

The rhythms of "Baraka", (74), feel more western and the production more modern than anything else on the album. Basically percussion and Jew's Harp, it feels somewhat out of place and time on Conference, as if someone invited a penguin to the launching pad.

"Arc Of Ascent (Part Two)", (90), revives the earlier riff, taking it to its frenzied conclusion. The slide's wingspan here is stretched to farther reaches, with swirling keyboards to boot. The resurrection of the musical theme brings to mind the mythical phoenix rousing once again, even as chords and progressions are rephrased and renewed across time and cultures.

"Freedom Rider", (88), rolls on a big bass beat and the album's best slide through a frantic chorus. Sitar and keyboard dominate the verses like drooling vultures circling what will be their next meal.

Then, with the embrace of a lullaby, "Neelum Blue", (92), (http://www.mediafire.com/?eyv05y17aqru85e), softly entices the album to a satisfying close. The gradual descent settles effortlessly, unruffled like an accomplished owl reconciled to its experience.

Like Johnny Cash on Trent Reznor, some things work surprisingly well together. Saddar Bazaar's fusion of traditional Eastern and Western musical styles belongs in the category of pleasant revelations. Remarkably subtle even in its more animated moments, Conference transcends its nest to traverse an undiscovered sky.

The Conference Of The Birds (album): 88/100.

Let me whisper in your ear

Keep It Like A Secret - Built To Spill (1999)

If you took about a thousand guitars, melted them all down together into a bubbling mess and funneled the resulting sound out through a variety of effects pedals, you might have something resembling the amazing Doug Martsch and his band, Built To Spill.

This was the first BTS album I came across. Never even having heard of the band, it was a random impulse buy thanks to Amazon's usually annoying "Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought" feature. I had never used it before, nor have I since, but for whatever reason, I threw Keep It Like A Secret into the shopping cart.

The rub is that while I cannot even remember what inconsequential rubbish was my actual purchase, Secret immediately became one of my favourite albums ever. Scuffing and scratching from frequent listening necessitated the CDs repurchase three years later and then a third time when it was reissued on vinyl in 2007.

As a typical BTS song, "The Plan", (88/100), has guitars to spare. At any given moment, they can be scratchy, squealing or smooth, or all of the above all at once. Riffs come and go with insatiable frequency and yet with no alarm. The next is always ready to casually pick up where the previous left off. All is fused seamlessly in some brilliant sonic mosaic, crowned with existentially aloof lyrics.

The guitar gluttony continues on "Center Of The Universe", (92). The short, bright song springs along a catchy riff and airy melody, while pondering the struggle inherent in the compulsion for communication. "I don't like this air," he sings, "but that doesn't mean I'll stop breathing it." Vitality, as much as circumstance, dictates action.

"Carry The Zero", (100), (http://www.mediafire.com/?myhv7lvf4f0ljp5), starts off strong and incredibly builds up to two separate climaxes. Maintaining the jaunty feel of the preceding song, "Zero" spontaneously generates a fresh, impulsive momentum that will not be contained. It explodes into inevitable frenzy at 3:59 and finally into well-deserved elation at 4:38.

It is followed by "Sidewalk", (88), on both Secret and the Carry The Zero EP (released the same year). The sounds tweaked and teased from guitars here are sharp and spry, giving this tune a dynamic energy. "Bad Light", (93), deftly runs the sheen through a much harsher blender without diminishing it. There's a soothing backwards guitar among the hard edges where even "all that sun (which) makes so much shine" is "so hard to see in bad light."

If time is a river, as the Alan Parsons Project (among other prominent physicists) postulates, then the opening of "Time Trap", (95), might be the perfect accompaniment for a sail downstream. The first fifty lazy seconds fashion an enchanting, magnetic pull, while fuzzy guitar fades in from subtle undertow to full-blown vertiginous tempest around 1:06, all the more enticing in its excitement. Then, like arriving in a different era, the song completely changes at 2:03, ushering in a choppy beat and reverberation. As five minutes fly by in what feels like one or two, listeners can empathize, "Guess that's all fair now because guess that's all there ever was."

Perhaps "Else", (94), (http://www.mediafire.com/?hp4zxra14cw2zmd), could be described as the album's 'ballad'. The guitars are still out in complete adornment, but the pace of this song feels more laid back. There is an ethereal quality to this tune, with its casual and spiralling high-pitched guitar wails building to crescendo and the best use of high hat since "Stayin' Alive".

With "You Were Right", (92), emerges a rock beast. Everything just feels big about this song. The main riff and each bass note are devastating like the plodding march of a T-Rex. The lead guitar cries like a pterodactyl. Each insane drum beat detonates like a firecracker and the lyrics are a shout out to the classic rock pantheon. It begins with, "You were right when you said all that glitters isn't gold" and goes from there. (Oddly, Blue Oyster Cult's "Godzilla" is nowhere to be found).

"Temporarily Blind", (93), is another quick-tempo axe-masher comprised of at least four distinct and equally absorbing sections. Communication breakdown rears its common head once again as "they might let you say it but it would take all day to explain it" effectively signals the song's culmination in jumbled vocals and a molten wah riff.

Wah then begins and takes a prominent position on "Broken Chairs", (94). The music has a bombarding thrust similar to "You Were Right" and the enigmatic lyrics are co-written by Black Uhuru. Even a whistling happy bridge can't temper some seriously livid guitar and an extended raging coda brings the spirited album to a close.

The 2007 vinyl reissue also includes a bonus track, "Forget Remember When", which first appeared as the b-side to the 1999 City Slang "Center Of The Universe" single. This moody song also graced the Carry The Zero EP and the vinyl issue of Live (2000).

Since Secret, I have purchased all BTS albums and have tracked down many of their rarities. The run from Perfect From Now On (1997) through You In Reverse (2006) is an electric journey along a fantastic fretboard well worth the price of admission. I suspect with enough time, each will be represented here on this blog.

Despite the advice explicit in its title, this album is too good to reserve in hushed tones.

Keep It Like A Secret (album): 93/100.

Said the joker to the thief

"Love And Theft" - Bob Dylan (2001)

It would be hard to call "Love And Theft" a career zenith for an artist with such albums as Highway 61 Revisited (1965) and Blood On The Tracks (1975) on his resume, but it remains a favourite of mine since picking it up on the day it was released, the rather horrific September 11, 2001.

This album is a lyrical delight, with Dylan bursting in poetic bloom. He pulls off line after line in substantial stanzas full of astounding epigrams, witty couplets, even a knock-knock joke. This is all done with a wink and a nod to Junichi Saga's 1991 Confessions Of A Yakuza (via John Bester translation). In the realms of folk and blues music that Dylan has bookended his career in, borrowing and appropriating have always been accepted means of preserving and even furthering the traditions. If one would even deem it "theft", then, it is certainly done out of "love".

A rapid bongo rhythm fades the album in, accompanied by the shrieks of an antique-sounding guitar and the quick jive of a perfectly junky old organ. "Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum", (93/100), are Dylan's most obnoxious pair of scoundrels since "Tweeter And The Monkey Man", and their wild antics take them from "happy harmony" to an uncertain end. The lead guitar engages in majestic swirling runs while the rhythm guitar sets down a riff like a rugged spine. The narrator proposes that "a childish dream is a deathless need."

There may be "only one thing I did wrong," but the song "Mississippi", (100), (http://www.mediafire.com/?ccfdefrh3wp2oso), is certainly not it. This song is not in a hurry. It takes a leisurely albeit lonely stroll through a life filled with a little sunshine and a lot of struggle. While "walkin' through the leaves falling from the trees, feelin' like a stranger nobody sees," some regret is expressed, but no bitterness harboured: "My heart is not weary, it's light and it's free, I've got nothin' but affection for all those who've sailed with me". Every line is ripe with folksy acumen and the journey must continue. As the song says, "everybody got to move somewhere."

"Summer Days", (90), picks up the swing, offering a perfect tune for a cool autumn evening. While the mood set by the music and wild wedding party imagery is lighter, the song is still sung by one whose "back has been to the wall for so long, it seems like it's stuck". Perhaps the lively nature of this blues is the spark one needs to make a break from their heartbroken past or from the rut that life can so easily fall into. When told, "'You can't repeat the past', I say 'You can't? What do you mean, you can't? Of course you can.'" As a result, the escape will be spectacular. "I'm leavin' in the morning," he promises, severing all ties to yesterday by "break(ing) in the roof" and "set(ting) fire to the place."

This is followed by "Bye And Bye", (82), the first of two crooned ballads that "Love And Theft" contains. It's a short slow roller, a sincere tribute to the kind of dreamy, dancing love as imagined by a smoky Hollywood romance from the late 1920s or early 30s. Highlighted by laid back organ frills, the singer is wise, "watchin' the roads ... (and) studying the dust."

That gentle scene is shattered by the boistrous energy of "Lonesome Day Blues," (94), (http://www.mediafire.com/?s5w8762i12bwq9o). These are some big blues, sonically speaking, striking with the ferocity of some serious tremors. The band plays lavishly and the song is delivered from the perspective of one brought to complete isolation by death, abandonment and a lifetime of disappointment. "I tell myself something's comin'," he says, "but it never does."

Meanwhile, "Floater (Too Much To Ask)", (90), has the feeling of a lazy spring day. The ethereal quality is amplified by a breezy intermittent violin. The images come fast and furious, though, in this song, which borrows the most from Yakuza. Solitude again makes its lack of presence felt as "I keep listenin' for footsteps but I ain't ever hearing any." It reminds listeners that indeed "times are hard everywhere."

"High Water (For Charley Patton)", (96), is certainly not the first time Dylan has emulated one of his blues heroes and its aims are as authentically executed as ever, right down to the broom dusting. (Patton's "High Water Everywhere, Part 1" can be heard here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=336dDZsU1Eg). The machine-gun banjo, gasping accordian, background moans and epic drum rolls give Dylan's "High Water" an urgency appropriate of foreboding disaster.

"Moonlight", (83), is the second ballad, notable as much for its beautiful nature imagery as for the anachronistic fact that it would not appear at all out of place in Nat Cole's songbook. Love blossoms amongst tranquil orchids, cypress trees and twisted oaks.

The pace picks up once again on "Honest With Me", (93), courtesy a twitchy organ, a heavy beat and an intensified guitar note repeatedly bent to the point of breaking. Dylan also bends the language. The prevalence of puns here and over the course of the entire album showcases a sense of humour too often absent from like subject matter. Then again, sometimes things are so bleak, all one can do is laugh, simply because laughing beats the alternative. Just one standout line from this song: "You say my eyes are pretty and my smile is nice, well, I'll sell it to you at a reduced price."

"Po' Boy", (92), presents the misadventures of a hard-luck hero. Its melancholy theme is again juxtaposed with slapstick writing. I appreciate the appearance of Othello and Desdemona here much more than that of Romeo and Juliet in "Floater", due to the ubiquity of the latter pair. Both, however, match the tragic mood of a song about someone who just can't win.

Next, "Cry A While", (93), takes some jabs, both lyrically and instrumentally, seeking emotional retribution from a relationship gone bad. The bumpy road of the narrator's life is manifest in the music which jerks and rattles along like a jalopy. Whether battling tears "on the fringes of the night", in a church pew or in a courtroom, it seems there are many to be shed all around.

Finally, "Sugar Baby", (93), is the latest Dylan kiss-off in the grand tradition of "Idiot Wind". The impassioned bitterness of that diatribe is replaced with a disgusted but stoic indifference here. The sense of humour demonstrated in previous songs on "Love And Theft" has dissipated and a dusky, reflective tone is left in its wake. In a similar ghostly atmosphere as the one evoked on much of Dylan's previous album, 1997's Time Out Of Mind, wisdom gleaned from a lifetime of experience is dispensed soberly and sullenly. The dispenser knows tribulation and "can see what everybody in the world is up against."

The limited edition of "Love And Theft" features a second disc with two bonus tracks. "I Was Young When I Left Home" is an early Dylan demo from 1961, and an alternate take of "The Times They Are A-Changin'" from 1963 is also included. Both will have appeal for the Dylan fanatic, perhaps not so much so for the casual listener.

This album finds itself inexorably rooted in the past that sometimes haunts it. Dropping in ever so briefly on an assortment of characters in various states and places, "Love And Theft" has the feel of an evasive trip down a never-ending road. The corner of every phrase is handled precisely and the fuel is supplied by the dual charge of reminiscence and discovery.

"Love And Theft" (album): 92/100.