Tommy Emmanuel, ‘Morning Aire’.

Nearly incomprehensibly beautiful.

For all his wizardry (and that of course is no joke), he has a touch and a feel that is breathtaking, even among the giants with whom he belongs.  Seriously, it would not surprise me to see a Jimi Hendrix, a Robert Fripp, a Stevie Ray, … reduced to tears on hearing him.

And YouTube does provide.  This clip does rather capture what so moves me about the above performance on the “Live One” record.

Daang.

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John Renbourn, ‘Caroline’s Tune’.

Another piece to which I was some-time-ago introduced by Pandora radio.  As it comes up again today, I realize it needs a bookmark.  Lovely and contemplative, and a great example of The Awesome that was John Renbourn.

There’s a YouTube clip of course, but the sound quality seems noticeably worse than what Pandora plays;  please forgive that and just listen to the playing.

One of the things about Renbourn (and the late Bert Jansch, for that matter) that I remain both fascinated and impressed by, is the overtly “raw” sound of his acoustic “lead” playing.  Sometimes (and there are examples in “Caroline’s Tune”) you can just tell that the “boost” of the solo or lead part is entirely in his hands;  he just plays harder when he wants the notes to stand out.  And here, I’m not just making the standard reference to someone who understands dynamics;  there is a difference between just playing louder, and playing harder, and I hear Renbourn and Jansch both as playing harder for many such passages.  Choosing that*.  These guys were clearly good enough players that this choice must have been a willful one.

As I learn more about audio processing, my developing ear wants to hear those timbres, which sometimes start to sound quacky, plinky, and harsh, as something to mitigate or otherwise smooth out.  These days it would be pretty simple to use a gain booster pedal to achieve that, to bring up the volume and allow a softer playing style;  likewise a saturation boost (quite possibly provided by the same pedal) could help to inject an extra urgency or fullness to the tone without changing the playing style.  But these guys seem to have done that with their hands alone, and somehow it seems too simplistic to say that it would have been better to inject technology into what could have been a purely acoustic performance.

Food for thought, at least for me.  One way or the other, I’m glad Renbourn and Jansch did it that way, because 1) I noticed, and it made me think;  and 2) it sounds plenty awesome to me regardless.

 

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* At least in the studio.  I’d guess that at that time, other options for pulling such things off live were a great deal more limiting than they are now, and with some of the pioneering sounds that Renbourn was trying for (especially with Jansch in Pentangle), it may well have been the only way to get there.

Billy McLaughlin, ‘William’s Run’.

Just wanted to document an insistently lovely piece from guitar inspiration Billy McLaughlin.  Via Pandora I have found that I like a lot of his work, and the story of his struggle with focal dystonia does rather add to the mystique.

Anyway, I love this piece, “William’s Run“.  Bookmarked!

Tommy Emmanuel, ‘Lewis and Clark’.

Aussie guitarist Tommy Emmanuel is an absolute monster–he’s as close to “if it can be played, he can play it” as anyone I am aware of.  He’s a master of both gobsmacking technique and performance persona, two things that rarely go together effectively.

And some of the songs are just breathtakingly lovely.  This one sneaks up on me every time I hear it on Pandora–I’ve now lost count of the number of times I’ve gone to give it a thumbs-up, forgetting that I already have.  That’s happened with a few other tunes, but nowhere nearly as often as this one.

Behold:

Oh, to have been sitting in the control booth when he did that. Oi!

And then there is the magic of watching the man work:

Bookmarked!

Michael Hedges, ‘Because It’s There’.

Makes me want a harpguitar every time I hear it.

So. Ridiculously.  Lovely.

Pretty simple, by Hedges’ technical standards, but then he would have been the first to remind you that he never considered himself a guitarist, but rather a composer who happened to pick up the guitar.

Which might sound a bit like false modesty, except Michael Hedges.

Ralph Towner, ‘Solitary Woman’.

The studio recording of this tune still gives me the chills every time I hear it.  Ralph Towner is usually described with words like “enigmatic” and “quirky”, and from the first time I heard him with the group Oregon I could hear that.  (I was drawn to Oregon for other reasons at the time;  Paul McCandless had just floored me with his musical persona while touring with Béla Fleck and the Flecktones, and I was mostly listening for reeds.)  It was the trio record with drummer Bill Bruford and bassist Eddie Gomez, If Summer Had Its Ghosts, where I first really heard Towner’s voice as the understated powerhouse it is.

Many years later, it was Pandora that introduced me to the haunting 12-string brood that is “Solitary Woman”.  From first listen I was hooked, and the more I hear it now, the more I like the piece.

Of course, I then wanted to see if I could find a clip of Towner playing it live.  And I have to say, I was surprised.  I have seen two, both relatively recent, and both of them left me asking, “What happened?”

It’s not that I’m expecting him to play it the same way he does on the record–in fact I rather like it when artists re-interpret their own work, and in the “jazz” idiom, it’s nearly expected anyway.  But something just doesn’t seem right.  At the risk of trivializing it, there are big, obvious clams–as in “lost his way” sort of clams.  (And not intentional ones, either;  those have a very different sound.)  The sort of mistakes you’d expect someone like me to make.  It doesn’t fit what (little, admittedly) I know of Towner.

But the biggest thing, for me, is that in the live recordings he seems so…rushed.  One of the giant hallmarks of the studio piece is its simmering patience, especially in the rising-dyad theme that so beautifully frames that giant leading tone.  Both the dynamics and the timing are deliciously infuriating, and I would say it all seems to rise out of a position of resigned, moody patience.  I’d go so far as to say it nearly defines the piece on its own, and I would naturally expect to see Towner go through all sorts of variations and improvisation within that framework.  That’s not in evidence for either of the two recent live clips I’ve seen, and I must conclude that something else may be at work here.

The piece itself, though…man, what a lovely, haunting brood.  Bookmarked!