ALAN LOMAX RECORDINGS SERIES

These songs 'are the folklore of children themselves,' Ewan McVicar writes. The discs' scholarly architecture actually leads to some aesthetic pleasure, too, notably on Singing in the Streets: Scottish ChildrenвЂ™s Songs. (Thankfully, the translations вЂ“ turns out these are whaling tunes, fishermenвЂ™s poems, and odes to the simple life вЂ“ seem mostly benign.) Perhaps naively, the music evokes sun-kissed countrysides unspoiled by mass advertising and anything more technologically advanced than an occasional beat-up car. From there, strange instrumentals on weird instruments wander in and out between vocal solos, womenвЂ™s choruses, and bizarre counter rhythms. I suspect that if this music were recorded again today, with all of the voices properly micвЂ™ed in a decent recording studio, it wouldnвЂ™t have the half the impact of these recordings.Д«asque Country: Biscay and Gupuzcoa begins with a blast of alboka - a droning double-clarinet that sounds like a Bulgarian bagpipe. (They are highly recommended if looking for a total palette cleanser.) The melodies on the Spanish and Italian discs seem derived from the same ancient DNA as each other, the voices are the same ghostly high-pitched whine exemplified on Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music. Thankfully, more than many of the recent batches of Lomax recordings, the music on these discs feels instantly otherworldly, almost mystical. WhatвЂ™s the difference between that and listening to one of John ColtraneвЂ™s long instrumental meditations? If the music is good, it doesnвЂ™t matter if you know what it means or not. Which leads to the question of whether listeners should be allowed to make Alan LomaxвЂ™s recordings their own? Does listening to these recordings mean that one is obligated to sympathize with its creators and do his best to understand their culture? Or is it alright to just close oneвЂ™s eyes and dig all the groovy non-English abstraction that comes piping through the headphones? I side with the latter. The liners are overwhelming and make it hard for listeners to make the music their own. They are helpful, albeit overwhelming, like a librarian who piles a reader so high with books that, no matter how many he reads, he will always be made to feel like he should read just one more before levying judgment.

ALAN LOMAX RECORDINGS SERIES

The latter вЂ“ along with reissues of discs from his Italian Treasury (whose name unfortunately makes it sound like a chintz CD youвЂ™d order offa late-night cable) and his Folk Songs of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales series вЂ“ are predictably crammed with liner notes. The evangelicalism of Sister Gertrude Morgan's LetвЂ™s Make A Record, recorded in English in Louisiana, is equally as magical (and beguiling) as any of Alan LomaxвЂ™s field recordings from SpainвЂ™s Basque region. The factors that combine to make these records sound weird and cool are the twin artists of time and technology, compressing voices to tinny mysteriousness and investing rhythms with pre-modern swings. Instead, it's merely the distance from the present. But the reason for that foreignness isn't because of their literal distance from the American experience. Despite their varied cultural heritages, the albums employ similar means of imaginary transportation and evoke a similar sonic space. I feel like a bit of a cultural doof grouping these albums together, recordings made in the mid-20th century in Spain, Italy, Scotland, and New Orleans.

Alan lomax recordings