(1978) Robbie Basho - Visions Of The Country [Vinyl Rip 24-96] {100.XY}

Review:
Robbie Basho died in a California hospital room more than 27 years ago. His vertebral artery ruptured during a visit to a chiropractor’s office. He had a stroke, slipped into a coma and, at the age of 45, passed away. In the decades that have followed, his already-wavering reputation as a pioneer of finger-picked acoustic guitar experimentation has passed largely like a shadow behind the music and myth of John Fahey, Basho’s old pal who released several of his earliest albums.
It should be remembered that Fahey experienced a renaissance in the 90s. The music press famously championed his early work and helped goad him from semi-retirement. He followed the laurels both with a string of strange, daring records and a brilliant new record label, Revenant, which advocated alternate strains of the avant-garde and the hillbilly music that had helped inspire his own. Basho, being dead, enjoyed no such revival. In fact, a large chunk of his catalogue now languishes out of print, serving as grails for collectors rather than essential bits in a narrative much broader than Blind Joe Death. And that’s a shame: Nearly 30 years after his death, and after multiple waves of guitarists have risen to revive the mantle Fahey and Basho both helped shape, Basho’s manic, hyperkinetic approach to playing, singing, songwriting and living in general have very few peers. Basho’s tenth album, 1978’s Visions of the Country, was the fifth album Windham Hill Records ever released. After more than three decades out of print, it is finally back in circulation; on its 35th anniversary, it serves as an ecstatic testimonial for a guitarist in need of a popular resurrection.
Basho’s relative anonymity isn’t only a byproduct of his untimely death, of course: Even when he was alive, his allegedly inscrutable personality and debated quirks kept him a bit at arms length. Those same strange traits are part and parcel to his music. He did not aim for Fahey’s steady, solemn gaze or Leo Kottke’s eccentric approachability. Rather, Basho’s music was a blunderbuss of feeling, tied to unstoppable technique. He whistles loudly over the Keith Jarrett-sized piano clouds of “Leaf in the Wind”, as though it were his aim to spoil the song’s billowing beauty. And he ends Visions of the Country by urging listeners to “follow the Milky Way-- home!” in a voice that suggests Mr. Rogers.
Indeed, Basho’s singing generally wasn’t what you’d call pretty or subtle. During “Night Way”, from the second side of Visions of the Country, he obscures the wonderful ribbons of his six-string guitar with singing generously described as zealous. He wails a ceremonial Navajo chant, his voice locking into and falling from falsetto, its vibrato smearing the track with warble. For the listener, the guitar is the star here, but you have to peer past the bleat to find it. During “Orphan’s Lament”, he slurs and nearly screams his tribute to the poor and peripatetic above sheets of stacked piano notes, delivering empathy like a bar-side Irisman. These aren’t songs you’d really put on during a party or in a mix for a love interest. Basho’s sound is dramatic and yearning and very personal, altogether unapologetic for the way he saw the world.
What’s most remarkable about Basho is how busy and emphatic but absolutely effortless his songs could feel, especially when he touches the guitar. At once, Basho could appear to be laying it all on the line and simply breezing through the notes. During “Rocky Mountain Raga”, he practically howls as he sings “Oh, you grand Rockies,” pretending that he’s an opera star. But even so, his fingers are frantic and unfailing, delivering a perfect and convoluted stream of notes that never loses momentum just because he’s now got something to say. Early in his career, Basho was a rather plainspoken folk musician. A natural roamer, though, he developed an enthusiastic embrace of world religion and music-- from India to Ireland, from Native American lore to Sufi teachings. On Visions of the Country, those polyglot tendencies allow him to slip Middle Eastern accents and chamber ensemble flair into “Variations on Easter”, a four-minute fantasy that’s as close to a “simple” acoustic instrumental theme as he ever really got. Conversely, he’s comfortable singing a pretty song over somewhat plain chords, too. On “Blue Crystal Fire”, he sustains that falsetto, his voice curling like that of Antony Hegarty in a song that’s coincidentally about natural wonder-- “Smooth singing sunshine/ wrap your blanket around me.” Basho constructed his ecumenical complications above solid foundations. Visions of the Country uniquely shows every layer.
Gnome Life’s reissue of Visions of the Country won’t be enough to resuscitate Basho’s reputation, to turn him, like Fahey, into shorthand for adventurous acoustic guitar. But that’s OK. Basho will never have the same broad appeal or the same cyclic story as Fahey. His music is, at first, rather off-putting, but ultimately, he imagined modes for the guitar and composition that we’re still reconciling. Marnie Stern sometimes maneuvers against her instrument in the same way, and James Blackshaw explores the same nebulous majesty. But Robbie Basho’s music mostly remains a pan-everything oddball, and Visions of the Country is, at last, once again living proof.
Review By Grayson Haver Currin
Rating 8.7/10




Tracklist:
1.Green River Suite 07:41
2.Rodeo 02:30
3.Rocky Mountain Raga 07:39
4.Variations on Easter 03:57
5.Blue Crystal Fire 04:47
6.Orphan's Lament 03:46
7.Leaf in the Wind 04:38
8.Night Way 06:11
9.Elk Dreamer's Lament 04:17
10.Call on the Wind 03:04


Summary:
Country: USA
Genre: Guitarist, Singer, Composer, folk


Media Report:
Source : Vinyl
Format : FLAC
Format/Info : Free Lossless Audio Codec, 24-bit PCM
Bit rate mode : Variable
Bit rate : ~ 2.5-2.9 Mbps
Channel(s) : 2 channels
Sampling rate : 96 KHz
Bit depth : 32 bits (float)