Alejandra and Aeron
Bousha Blue Blazes
[Orthlorng Musork; 2003]
Rating: 8.5
I've always considered folk music a sort of private music, which goes against most of what I've read about it; in general, traditional folk music
is described as "of the people" and representing universal experiences of pain, love and the otherwise mundane. Yet folk music almost always seems
tied to a particular time and place, often indelibly related to the person making it. I hear Elizabeth Cotton's motherly, eternally optimistic
plea "I don't wanna be treated this old way," and think of all the crap she must've gone through; I hear Leadbelly throw down lines like "shot James
Brady, gonna shoot him again" as if he'd killed a hundred men without a second thought. Even Dylan spouting, "I've been ten thousand miles in the
mouth of a graveyard" rings true with me. In all of these cases, I'm struck by the universal power of individual pain, yet the songs are nonetheless
distinctly individual.
In this way, folk music has always had an effect on me similar to free jazz, musique concrete or even noise: they all channel a desire
to express what is generally considered inexpressible, as often, they represent the radically subjective. When Dylan spouts, or
Stockhausen splices primitive electronics with German radio broadcasts, there's a tangible divide between what would be absolute truth and
complete alienation. It's tough to stand on the fence with that music, even more so when it's decades removed from its birth. Of course, folk, in all
its forms, has endured, and if there really is a relationship between the music of Dylan and Stockhausen, it is that practically anyone is
invited to join in (if not necessarily to hum the same tune).
Electronic and found-sound experimentalists (and heads of Lucky Kitchen) Alejandra Salinas and Aeron Bergman seem to be on a similar
trajectory as the aforementioned musicians. Taking elements of mundane existence from kitchen scatter to storefront hustle to parlor room piano,
they cut and filter with laptop precision, arranging them into an almost documentary narrative; their music is folk merely by proxy. On three
records (including the ethnomusical document Folklore, Vol. 1: La Rioja, source material for their Ruinas Encantadas disc) prior to
Bousha Blue Blazes, the Spain-based duo collected sounds familiar to almost anyone and manipulated them into music that, while culled from
the mundane, was decidedly abstract. Their latest release uses most of the same tactics, but rather than proceed as an experiment in sound, it
feels to me like a labor of love and loss, one of considerable depth. Simply put-- and despite my fear it could fairly easily polarize listeners--
it's the most beautiful set of music I've heard in quite a while.
The story of Bousha Blue Blazes is that Bergman's grandmother Bousha visited their home in Spain during Christmas 2001, and all sounds on this
record are taken from that time. After the very brief, laptop-manipulated guitar fanfare of "Ánimo", "Humming Radio Caro Cariño" sneaks in with barely
audible violin and guitar pluck; soon enough, Bousha's passive, pleasant singing arrives, joining an old tune on the radio. Very quickly,
the comfortable milieu of their living room is established, but it's just as quickly detoured by soft, high computer tones and a repetitive guitar figure.
The tones float alongside, but rarely interrupt the trio, as the piece glides in and out of focus. "Thanksgiving Going On Anyway" begins on a
stuttering, almost glitch pulse when all of a sudden, what sounds like a wine glass being shattered in the right channel introduces a muffled
crowd of people, presumably sitting down to dinner. The broken pulse recurs now and again, and sometimes sine beeps (and lots of other unidentified
noises) punctuate the mix like glitter on a tapestry. It's a very highly detailed music, but it doesn't overwhelm the senses--
in fact, like the best moments on this CD, it practically invites you to move closer.
Since many of the tracks feature vocals, they often resolve into semi-songs. "Amapola Dust" features Bousha's refrain "I love you" over shimmering,
sliced cymbals, vinyl crackle and its own echo looped, and considerably processed. "I Don't Know" is actually a straight song
performed by Bousha, and sounds unaltered. Apparently, she had been a professional singer in the past, and although a few years removed from the
stage may have taken strength from her voice, she's still graceful. "Know I Don't" follows, and the title suggests it may have taken source
material from the previous tune, though its construction is obviously laptop-generated. Two minutes in, the voices and piano drop out for a
cavernous, bottomless trip into the black abyss. Quiet but weighty ambience surrounds, and it almost feels as if I've plunged into the
deepest regions of a northern river, unable to sense much but my own helplessness. There is no sound but the still, consonant roar of the beyond;
in music it's sometimes hard to tell exactly where I am, though this place seems close to birth, or perhaps death.
Of course Bousha Blue Blazes is the kind of record that could inspire completely different impressions from someone else, or, even
myself, at a different time. Like the best folk, or any other purely expressionist form of music, it not only relies on the methods and
particular point of view of the performers, but on the hope that someone will intercept their transmission, thereby magnifying the impact. As I see
it, Alejandra and Aeron's remarkable achievement is not only in the unique way they translate the warmth and wisdom of an otherwise completely unfamiliar
woman and location, but in how they did it with such ingenuity. Far from a private experience, music like this stays alive as long as it has an audience
to connect with.
-Dominique Leone, March 18th, 2003