Caravan – a company of travelers on a journey through
desert or hostile region.
In this wide-ranging musical trek across the
terrain of human experience, Kronos wisely invited several
instrumental colleagues to join their train. The result is a
magnificent array of colour, ideas and feeling that can’t fail to
find its way into the top-ten playlist of music lovers everywhere.
No better place to start than Vrebalov’s “Pannonia (once a Roman
province) Boundless.” Harrington’s affinity for Gypsy tone and
technique is admirably complemented by Dutt’s earthy viola. A
punchy Czardas erupts, sending everyone to their feet dancing, the
music teems with slinky slides. Then one last gasp and away we go
with vigour and aplomb.
Next, the sultry heat of Paredes’ “Song of the Green Years”
(featuring a melodic line that teases the ear with its homage to
“Summertime”) provides a deliciously relaxing mood created by a
delicate pizzicato supporting the deceptively languorous bows.
At the next stop - Burman’s forward-moving “Tonight is the Night” -,
the addition of Hussain’s driving tabla, woody percussion and all
manner of slides, shifts the trip into high gear. Kronos and Co.
toss it off with knowing confidence and obvious love for this work
and its wit.
The peril of navigating life’s challenges comes home with Rangel’s
“The Little Death.” Its Viennese waltz tone and Brahms-like melody
are the perfect foil to the heavenly harmonics and shivering
tremolos circling above, waiting to illuminate the fallen. Culp’s
solo style has just the right measure of presence and discretion,
easing the phrases securely – and memorably – along the road.
Perapaskero’s “Turkish Song” explodes with a rhythmic joi de
vivre that effectively dissolves its bar lines in favour of
momentum and fun. Sure, some of the passage work, like a musical
five o’clock shadow, is a bit on the rough-and-ready side, but its
high voltage will leave any nit pickers languishing along the side
lines. What a recipe: Sticks on the bass, a wee bit of Bach-like
counterpoint, followed by a cup of Bartók dissonance, Turturica’s
heady cymbalum work, a pair of accordions – all zipping ahead as
relentless as California’s 2005 winter rain. Music doesn’t get much
tastier than this!
Gloomy Sunday” lives up to its name with its long history of
association to suicide. The pair of verses, each introduced by a
“Song of the Volga Boatmen” reference, aurally sets the scene of
dispatch on a riverbank in emotion-rich understatement before,
finally, rising eerily to the afterlife.
Terry Riley’s “Funeral March on Mount Diablo” could only come next.
Kronos steps into a supportive role as the music shifts into
electronically derived high art: a March Macabre that any devil
would adore. The tolling cymbal and braying brass add huge contrast
to everything that precedes or follows.
Troilo’s “Responsory” and Paredes “Romance No.1”
combine to banish the air of death and destruction using totally
different techniques. The former comes across as mildly
melodramatic, more conversational than tuneful in its religious
fervor; following its multilayered introduction, the later seems
uncertain which way to turn until the warm octave writing finally
wins the day before all disappear into the night.
Kalhor’s “Gallop of a Thousand Horses” comes just in time to
reinvigorate the proceedings. But, despite its pulsing rhythm,
Hungarian riffs and rattling drums, seems too vertical, as if the
steeds are perpetually rearing on their hind legs.
Culp distinguishes herself again with the beautifully shaped opening
solo of Racy’s “Ecstasy,” which is more released than merely played
and compellingly sets the stage for the dreamy lines and breathy
colour of Racy’s nay (reed flute. Aided by the seamless transition
to the waltz variant and Dutt’s bending interventions that signal
the final return and farewell, the music is as addictive as the
title.
Incongruously, a snare stick count down swings the set into its
final port. Yet once launched, Roubanis’ “Misirlou Twist” is the
perfect, infectious closer as its non-stop energy and swing
celebrate the joy of arrival – all perils survived if not totally
conquered.
