The Roving Musicologist

Travel Post #24: Mekong Boatmen Chaos Chorus (Luang Prabang, Laos)

An example of the boats that the singers live on.

There was nothing to do in Luang Prabang most nights, unless you went to the markets.  But the markets were dead most of the time and so Jacques and I ended up down by the river, for lack of money and ideas. 

At the river, boatmen sat in a circle and moaned in a musical way.  Some would  yell and leave, then sometimes come back and join together.  Various instruments took their turns; first a guitar, then an accordion, and finally a keyboard softly pumping out a generic beat.  But all of them were punctuated by the put-put of riverboat engines, as long craft in the dark made their way to points I would never see - except across the river, where the silhouette of a large boat settled in and let a car off onto the far shore of houses and temples, and maybe other things that were now just lights floating across the water mixed with the heavy haze in the air.

Jacques said the smoke was because the farmers were burning forest, which they always did, but for some reason it was worse today.  The smoke burned my eyes and scratched my throat, but it was too nice to leave here yet.  Lights, fluorescent, were nailed to the trees up on the bank, but they left the grand staircase down to the beach unlit, making the lights from the banana shaped boats seem much stronger. 

Hanging in the boats were pots and pans, the organization of lives shining in the light, radios with digital screens, and maybe a lantern here and there.  So many boats were moored here and yet the river was supposed to be too low for them to go anywhere.

Jacques talked about Egypt…the Mekong reminded him of places by the Red Sea.  It was like this, he said, people living like this. 

Weyes Bluhd Part 2 (Baltimore and other places)

That’s how it goes.

This is a song from a set recorded in October 2009.  The other song can be found in an earlier post. 

This was the first song from the set, and it has a way of wrapping itself around you like a mist.  The mixture of tapes, live instruments, and singing in this song is done very well and shows some good instincts.

I’m not sure what exactly Weyes Bluhd is up to right now, but she seems to stay busy wherever she goes.

Fred Meyer (Portland, Oregon)

Although they lost the battle of the bands, Fred Meyer knows it’s more important to be good sports.

The sun was hot when I recorded this show at the pancake house in north Portland.  It seemed like things were going wrong.  At some point there was an apology from the performer.  I was having my own problems with recording…notice the conversation about dogshit halfway through.

But then when something is recorded it changes. This is the last song of a three song set.

A very rare photo of Lala, the other half of Fred Meyer.

Travel Post #7: GFF part 2: The Old Man

I’m always trying to find old men playing any kind of instrument.  I don’t like it when people can sing too well, when their voices can handle any note with ease.  Playing traditional music makes some people work…they can’t change the notes around to fit their range.

There were about fifty people onstage when this guy played.  Various people would play together during the set, and sometimes the entire orchestra.  Then there were a few two minute solo songs.  This guy came forward, did his thing, and then rejoined the line, like it was no big deal.

This is probably it for the traditional music posts for awhile…I am currently in Turkey which abounds with interesting street noise.

The lucky charm of an Albanian bus driver.

Michael Hurley of Astoria, Oregon

There is scratching at the beginning, then things get better.

How you will see the world after Michael Hurley

Michael Hurley was there for the folk scene in early 1960’s New York, was associated with the Holy Modal Rounders, and now lives out in the land of the Goonies.  He played this show in an art gallery run buy a big guy with a ponytail.  We came in a little late and so paid at the end of the show.  Right after we paid, one of the small town weirdos came up to the art gallery owner and started talking about how someone had ruined their system for stealing breakfast from the local diner.  Ponyman was just trying to get us out of there at that point…this is who we had given our money to, some guy that loved to steal breakfast, not to Michael Hurley.  So I bought a couple of his comics and my friend bought a cd…because we have to keep Michael Hurley alive:

http://www.snockonews.net/

He wears this shirt a lot.