Cathedral ceilings? Forget it! When word gets around about the
acoustics in Rosendale, you may find yourself rushing out for a new CD
of Paul Horn at the Widow Jane's Mine.
It was there, Saturday night, that Summerland and Barely Lace played
back-to-back sets in that stony, misty wonderland of cavernous
mystery. Hooked into 4 car batteries for their modest electrification
and set up in a nomad stage at the edge of a subterranean lake which
stretched into the blackness behind them, one mystery seemed to be how
far back into those inky and unmapped reaches the lure of the music
carried.
Settling alongside others onto a plastic-layered haybale with fading
images of the huge red moon which had led the way to the cave swaying
oddly over to stray lines from Edgar Bowers' "The Centaur Overheard"
and gathering imaginative focus for the music, we were embraced by a
palpable wave of otherness. The shifting geographical and historical
dimensions of Summerland's music and, later, the cynosuring harmonies
of Annie Roland and Carrie Chapman of Barely Lace intensified the
effect.
The experience of stepping into an entirely separate realm was
breached only momentarily when a disgruntled Woodstocker on the
sidelines asked for a news-of-the-day opinion on Clinton's "strict
play of the CIA line on Cuba." It was a mild jolt to acknowledge the
existence of an outside world even for an instant before the
distracted soul mumbled away fracturing Will Rogers with "The CIA
never liked a candidate they didn't own..." and the enchantment of
the atmosphere immediately seduced attention back to an environment
away from all of that earthly stuff.
Daniel Benjamin's captivating fiddle was weaving a flow of Middle
Eastern, Magyar gypsy, Old English drinking songs and lusty, loping
ballads against Jeff Kalmar's trick guitar- (he had concealed an oud
somewhere inside of it, I swear!)- while the finely tuned vocal
instrument of Willow (her real name) transfixed the audience. With
snaking fingers and barefoot steps on a cave floor more wet than damp
on this occasion, Willow spun a husky path through exotically-flavored
contemporary tunes and Celtic dirges, seeming equally at home in each
passing form.
The tight, clenching bridges in one of Willow's originals were
strikingly theatrical and, although the group has been together but a
year, the harmonies were studied and rounded. This Rosendale
resident's talent for writing songs in a traditional mode
packs a delicate and learned authenticity although one of them I do
remember hearing in Sherwood Forest about 600 years ago. Another
time, another existence, perhaps, but actually quite properly in place
at the moment. Coming through above all was the mesmerizing,
time-bending quality of their sound.
"I've been singing Celtic ballads since I was 4 years old because it's
kind of a family thing," Willow said before describing her meeting
with Kalmar while working at the New York Renaissance Festival and
later booking their first gig at a Pagan gathering. "It was for
Halloween, so we got together a bunch of our gory, bloody ballads and
Jeff is into the Pagan/Wiccan tradition so he knows a lot of the Pagan
top 40. Together, we had a pretty good thing for that gig."
Playing Irish festivals, Renaissance weddings and other such venues is
a way of working toward "an original rock band with a brooding, Celtic
flavor" according to the N.Y.C.-born, Vermont-raised Willow, who
figures Summerland is half the way there. There's nothing half way
about their current sound, though, with Benjamin's versatile fiddle
capable of striking off in spirited downhome directions or lifting
eerie asides to haunted melodies and Kalmar's classical tonalities
able to leap raunchy intros into lively and fascinating progressions.
Kalmar also displayed a sharp and ringing lead vocal on a somewhat
unworthy cover tune.
Willow donned her shoes after the set but, after recently playing the
Eco-stage at Woodstock '94, a glistening cave floor must have seemed a
smiler for those unclad toes.
Barely Lace, living up to their name, maintained the fantasy feel with
Annie Roland's fey tunes like the one she introduced as "A song for my
favorite kind of bugs." (The Dragonfly Tune). The incantations which
begin Roland's songs are words but words that "don't really mean
anything," as she explained it. "It's sort of a made up language and
all the music I write starts out like that and then some of it gets
words and sometimes the words don't seem very necessary to perform the
tunes as they are- as just tunes."
Radiant in ageless costume, Barely Lace mixes traditional ballads like
"Cruel Sister" and palinodes like "John Barleycorn" into a set of
Roland's songs but what makes the performance truly extraordinary is
the addition of Carrie Chapman's inventive harmonies. There is a
devastating quality to the blends and skipping exchanges they employ
that's been honed and polished by an 11 year friendship.
"Devastating" was the word of the gent beside me who added "there's
something miraculous about the harmonies." True, and far too complex
and magical to explain simply.
Even with Roland's simple guitar for musical backing and Alan Thompson
sitting in on tabla for later numbers, one would hesitate to embellish
the instrumental sparseness for fear of interfering with the dazzling
interplay of voices. At one point on an uptempo number an obliging
cave cricket or frog contributed a perfect counterpoint for the length
of the song and then fell silent.
Walking around the rock expanse, catching varied echo effects from
changing directions on an airy and ethereal piece about the moon
served to underline a sense of voices emerging from other worlds.
Then, just as it seemed things were waxing into entirely mythic
places, it was purely appropriate to note that Stephen and Robin
Larsen, biographers of mythmaster Joseph Campbell, were in attendance.
"A lot of our music deals with the in-between places; places between
the worlds," Roland explained. "The world that we live in and other
worlds and transitions between those places and transcendence." She
added that the group's name came from a dream related to them by a
friend.
"A priestess on the banks of the Hudson when all these mythical beasts
lived on the land had the job of protecting them when they died or
changed form because they were vulnerable at that point. She would
escort them where they needed to go and make sure they were okay, our
friend told us, and when she finished the whole dream, she said 'Oh,
and her name was Barely Lace.' We'd been looking for a name and it
clicked. What we sort of found it to mean was woodland things when
they're on their way out- like when leaves are rotting and you just
see the skeleton of them or spider webs when they're starting to come
apart and they're like lace but barely lace..."
A companion analogy might recall the scientists who thought it would
be a good idea to feed LSD and other chemicals to spiders and see what
happens. Minus the artificial element, the incredible intricate and
irregular webs spun by these critters place with the filigree of these
blended voices, losing none of the beauty but adding unexpected and
compelling form.
On Friday, Aug.26th, the special atmosphere of the Widow Jane Mine
will host the improvisional spectacle of the Community Playback
Theater and Sept. 2-5 a presentation of Mary Gallagher's
Prenanjali
which is designed to take the audience from point to point in the cave
as the action unfolds. Call 658-9900 for tickets and discover the
charms of a unique setting- one that may have you reluctant when it's
over to return to the real world to mull over the baseball strike or
Bosnia or this situation with
Clinton and the Cubans. Here we go again...
-Irv Yarg
Off To The Mine...