#robbie basho

[jt1674]

[mon-nid]

[bydayiamnothingandbynightiami]

what a joyous fear, that of waiting for you

Give me your hand: I will now tell you how I entered the inexpressible which has always been my blind and secret quest.

How I entered into what exists between the number one and the number two, of how I saw the line of mystery and fire, and that it is a surreptitious line.

Between two notes of music there is a note, between two facts there is a fact, between two grains of sand however close together there is an interval of space, there is a feeling that is between feeling in the interstices of primordial matter is the line of mystery and fire which is the breath of the world, and the continuous breath of the world is what we hear and call silence.

Clarice Lispector

[thedevilsgun]

Robbie Basho , Zarthus

[dustedmagazine]

Robbie Basho — Snow Beneath the Belly of a White Swan: The Lost Live Recordings (Tompkins Square)

Snow Beneath the Belly of a White Swan : The Lost Live Recordings by Robbie Basho

The rediscovery of the guitarist, composer, and singer who presented himself to the world as Robbie Basho continues with this release of more than four hours of live recordings from his too-brief career (1965-1986). Snow Beneath the Belly of a White Swan is a major achievement, equally successful as documentation of the underappreciated composer and performer and as vital and beautiful music. Like Song of the Avatars (2020), which gathered unreleased demos and studio recordings, this collection, also released by Tompkins Square, expands significantly the amount of Basho’s music that is available. Packaged with archival photos and images of concert posters, the 30 live tracks (presented over five CDs in the physical release) provide a fascinating perspective on Basho’s music and its context.

Basho’s often lengthy excursions on acoustic guitar, at times accompanied by powerful and eerie singing, came to the attention of John Fahey, whose Takoma Records released a series of his albums in the mid to late 1960s. Featuring eclectic mysticism and showcasing stunning, if unorthodox, guitar and vocal technique, none of these albums sold particularly well. However, constant shows at coffee shops, bars, and college campuses across the country managed to land Basho a contract with the celebrated Vanguard label for a few years in the early 1970s. His Vanguard recordings also failed to attract a large audience, though, and he soldiered on with touring and small-batch releases on his own or on obscure new age labels until his death from overly aggressive chiropractic treatment in 1986.

Basho lived precariously on the edge of the music industry, a professional musician who was shy and socially awkward, a product of hippy culture who eschewed drugs (“I’m completely straight,” he declares before playing “Autumn Nocturne”) and was apparently devoid of guile or irony. As Robbie Dawson discusses in the liner notes, in the pre-digital era, Basho was never represented by an agent and had to rely on word of mouth, the post office, and phone calls to schedule his tours and market his recordings, usually with little or no support from a label. The unfavorable reviews that Dawson quotes and tepid applause following some of the tracks documented here suggest the difficulty that Basho experienced finding and connecting with audiences. All the more remarkable, then, are the passion and commitment that he demonstrates onstage.

Such challenges aside, these recordings demonstrate how accomplished a musician Basho was. Largely self-taught, his approach to the guitar and singing tends toward maximalism without being overblown. His fingerpicking on the six- and 12-string (it is sometimes difficult to tell which he’s playing) ranges from delicate (e.g., “Silver Curls”) to ferocious (“Charles Ives Paints Modern America”), sometimes within the same tune (“Portrait of Fahey as a Young Dragoon”). His influence is so pervasive in modern Takoma school guitar music (Jack Rose, Glenn Jones, James Blackshaw, Daniel Bachman, etc.) that its revolutionary character is easy to forget, and Snow Beneath the Belly serves as a reminder of his uniqueness.

The standout tracks include what seem to be the longest recorded versions of “Cathedrals et Fleur de Lis” and “California Raga,” both of which unfurl with stately majesty and offer insights into Basho’s thinking as a composer. Some tunes, such as “The Golden Shamrock,” which crackles with energy, are close to the studio versions, showing evidence of careful polishing. Other live versions differ from the studio versions in interesting ways. “Orphan’s Lament” on guitar —  rather than piano, as it appears on Visions of the Country (1978) — sounds every bit as mournful and a little more emotionally raw; “Chung Mei” sounds a little more conventional without the wonderful whistling that features on the studio recording; and the live version of “Green River Suite” appears as an instrumental rather than vocal number.

There are also a fair number of previously unknown or unpublished titles that will delight Basho-philes. At least some of these seem to be earlier or alternative versions of known tunes. “In the Meadows,” for instance, is reminiscent of “The Dharma Prince,” and the title track bears a passing resemblance to “Pavan Hindustan.” “Bear Medicine,” on the other hand, starts out with harmonics and a riff suggestive of John Fahey’s “America” before going off in a different direction.

Fahey is, in fact, a recurrent background figure in Snow Beneath the Belly. To begin with, two of the tracks are covers of his tunes (one each from his first two albums), being among the very few covers in Basho’s recorded output, and Fahey’s name appears in one of the song titles. Also, Basho repeatedly mentions Fahey in his stage banter. For instance, after crediting Fahey with the cover songs, he says proudly, “John Fahey is my friend,” and he repeats this claim at the end of “Song of God,” though it is difficult to imagine the sarcastic and irascible Fahey similarly describing the earnest and gentle Basho, of whom he once said “I never hung out with Robbie personally much. Nobody did. You couldn't.” Basho also introduces “Himalayan Highlands” as intended for Fahey’s wedding. It is fortunate for the development of guitar music that these two young men — both transplants from the Northeast to California shaped in part by childhood traumas and driven by idiosyncratic artistic visions — found each other, and Fahey deserves credit for recognizing the quality of Basho’s work (including his singing), releasing six of his albums, and helping revive interest in him through the release of the Bashovia collection on CD in 2001.

Basho’s banter is a delight throughout, showing him alternatively confident and diffident. In the introduction to “Chaconne Fandango” (which indicates that the title should read “Chicano” rather than “Chaconne”), he describes the tune as “a fun number” (though “Fahey said I was too serious”); interestingly, this peppy tune is greeted by fairly thunderous applause. He acknowledges making mistakes, for instance, declaring “I’m three for four this evening” before “Cathedrals et Fleur de Lis,” and reflects on his process, introducing “California Raga” as “a new type of music I’ve been working on for some time.” His devotion to the Indian spiritual teacher Meher Baba is also on display in the dedication of his performance at the beginning to “Song of God.”

Some of these recordings have been released previously. This version of “A Song of Kings,” for example, appears on the Live at St. Mary’s College of California set recorded in the mid-1970s, and “Charles Ives Paints Modern America” is included in the Portrait of Basho as a Young Dragoon collection, both released in 2010s by the apparently now defunct Grass-Tops Recordings. “Kowaka d’ Amour” appeared on the Tompkins Square compilation Imaginational Anthem 2 (2006), and “Chaconne Fandango” is the same as “Fandango” found on the 1/29/75 demos, also released by Grass-Tops. In every case, the sound quality of the Snow Beneath the Belly version is superior. This collection is not, however, comprehensive; for example, the Reed College bootleg recordings from August 4, 1967 are not represented.

Over all, the sound quality is remarkably good given that these recordings were mainly sourced from Basho’s decades-old personal tape archive. The remastered digital files come across warm and full, and the vocals and guitar are well-balanced. The few tunes, such as “Wonder Song,” that are of sound low quality are worthy of inclusion, in this case because this specific title is not found elsewhere and the playing and singing are prime Basho (and, indeed, the tape distortion of Basho’s voice serendipitously contributes to the power of this performance).

Tompkins Square deserves praise for cleaning up this trove of material and making it available in an attractive passage with well-written liner notes. Robbie Basho was a singular talent whose music, like Fahey’s, seems certain to find an audience in every new generation, and his live recordings, as this collection shows, are a vital part of that legacy.

Jim Marks

[radiophd]

robbie băsho -- the falconer's arm

[apex-nadir]

Twilight Peaks || Robbie Basho

[becoming-with]

[jt1674]

[bydayiamnothingandbynightiami]

dearer you cannot be, for I love you so already...that it almost breaks my heart - perhaps I can love you anew, every day of my life, every morning and evening - oh, if you will let me, how happy I shall be!

Emily Dickinson

Tears of Teresa · Robbie Basho

[bestfrozentreats2]

Robbie Basho - The Grail and The Lotus

Here's a song from the 1979 album "Art of the Acoustic Steel String Guitar 6 & 12." It's a sublime piece, shrowded with menace in all four corners.

Robbie Basho (born Daniel R. Robinson, Jr., August 31, 1940 – February 28, 1986)