"Headphones on. The mind- altering fungi has turned your brain cells to glowing embers. You lie on your back, looking past a gathering of treetops in the bamboo forest. But the trees aren't really trees; they're actually large wind instruments growing out of the ground. Mother Nature controls the valves and blows a light, steady stream of air up from the earth's core, and through a copse of tree- woodwinds. Now there's a huge multi- layered drone backing up the high notes of harmonizing hummingbirds, while wood- nymphs whistle along. Wolves give digeridoo howls. Woodpeckers tap out their staccato percussion, a chorus of crickets chirp their accompaniment, and a rhythmically- inclined panda bear pounds on hollow tree stumps in the distance. All the sounds are in perfect unison like some vast aboriginal orchestra. But this is no ordinary trip, you're experiencing David Sylvian's organically- grown multiform sound- universe."

--Excerpt from my upcoming novel, "Mushroom Clouds in My Mind, Man"

Alright, nevermind the Kerouac-ian bullshit. But you get the idea. I mean, Dead Bees on a Cake isn't exactly akin to the incidental soundtrack music of some boring nature film made by Gorp- chomping hippie conservationists. There's a certain rare meld of both primal and postmodern compositional sense being applied here. Sylvian blends his different ethnic influences seamlessly, in a manner that shames the trendy world- beat affectations making appearances on so many British and American songwriters' albums. And sure, sometimes Sylvian's only a pan flute coo or zither- pluck away from officially crossing into Windham Hill territory, and joining the lifetime opening- for- Kitaro circuit. But hey.

Having been a member of synth- rock pioneers Japan, I guess it seems only natural that Sylvian would eventually record with someone authentically Japanese. Good thing he decided to work with arranging/ composing genius Ryuichi Sakamoto, and not, say, Yoko Ono or nasty ol' Yamatsuka Eye. Dead Bees on a Cake is nothing less than a continuation of Sylvian's eclectic series of genre- hopping solo albums-- the best of which is probably his first major collaborative effort with Sakamoto, 1984's Brilliant Trees.

When you're like Sylvian-- able to attract the likes of Robert Fripp (who plays on 1993's God's Monkey), Bill Frisell, and Talvin Singh and have them function as your sidemen-- you know you've finally become that semi- obscure but critically- acclaimed rock enigma you've always dreamed of becoming, right? Even Marc Ribot decides to contribute some inimitable guitar work on this latest album, miraculously tearing himself away from his busy schedule playing with every single musician in New York City.

Dead Bees leads off with the spare, soul- drenched "I Surrender," and gives some foreshadowing of what's to come. Ribot's traditional jazz octave- playing shares space with abbreviated flugelhorn parts, flute, and tape- looped guitar ornamentation (the funk- inflected churn of "God Man" suggests Mitchell Froom could have had his busy paws on the mixing board at some point, although there's no documented proof). But in many cases, just a guitar and vocals are apparently enough to satisfy Sylvian. For instance, on "Dobro #1," Bill Frisell handles the dobro duties while Sylvian simply sings. Or you may get an arrangement like the one on "Pollen Path," consisting of slide guitar, samples, drums, and Sakamoto on "insects."

Each track comes together in the sense that no one instrument or effect is ever really featured over another-- and that includes Sylvian's low, breathy vocals. His vocal cadences fit snugly around whatever instrumentation happens to be floating about. The songs also benefit from Sakamoto's arranging expertise, in that he seems to know exactly where and when to add the odd orchestral quirk, appropriate sound snippets, or coordinate a string or brass arrangement.

Sylvian's intrepid, near- subliminal use of samples proves to be an approach far beyond the grasp of most shameless sample- happy "progressive" groups. He extracts bits and pieces from the Mahavishnu Orchestra, John Cage, John Lee Hooker and Charles Brown's 1946 Cash Box award- winning single "Driftin' Blues," slowly and subtly interspersing the sampled contents into a song's framework. "Driftin' Blues" and samples of Hooker's "I'm Wanderin'" serve as the ostensible basis for Sylvian's unorthodox interpretation of simple blues on "Midnight Sun." Pretty heady stuff it is, especially compared to the output of millions of musically- illiterate con-men who steal huge chunks of old Motown hits or spy- movie themes and add a trip-hop beat, just before insisting that the result be hailed as serious work of art.

Talvin Singh makes an indispensable contribution, conjuring up some spicy raga rhythms on "Krishna Blue" and "All My Mother's Names." The latter transports you to an ambient never- neverland where Singh's Zen- like tabla beats become one with the throbbing of your eardrums and Ribot's guitar becomes the stuff of personification, as it unleashes primal screams and experiences fits of electronic epilepsy. Other extra- terrestrial sound samples fade in and out, and before long, you find yourself spinning out of control in something resembling the opening credits of "The Twilight Zone." (Wave to the giant E=MC2 figure as it floats by! There it goes!)

Sadly, Dead Bees on a Cake will most likely be received like every other David Sylvian solo project-- that is, with uniform indifference in America and a maybe few eyebrow raisings in Europe. True, for die- hard Japan fans expecting another Gentlemen Take Polaroids, or Adolescent Sex, this may at first sound to you like stuff you'd only listen to during an Oriental massage or a Calgon bath. But don't be fooled. Sylvian's lyrics are poetic and rarely dull, and the album's unmistakably advanced musical vision makes it pretty tough to dismiss as mere new age pap.

-Michael Sandlin