Robbie Basho:
The Beatific Lost Guitarist
When folk guitarist extraordinaire Robbie Basho performed at Cambridge's Club
Passim years ago, he was widely known as one of a trinity of players (with John
Fahey and Leo Kottke) who revolutionized folk-guitar picking. How times change.
Whereas Fahey and Kottke have maintained cult followings, Basho, who died in
obscurity a decade ago, is largely forgotten. So the Tacoma label, now owned by
Fantasy Records, deserves fanfares for issuing Guitar Soli, the first CD
of Basho's music, though his LPs on various labels still surface in used-record
stores.
Fahey and Kottke invented guitar styles that were revisions of old
country-blues approaches; Basho created a guitar style largely based upon Asian
models. He tuned his acoustic six- and 12-string guitars in peculiar ways,
echoing the tunings of Indian sitars or Japanese kotos. He strummed and picked
original instrumentals that borrowed from both Western symphonic forms and
Eastern ragas. Undergirding his style was an oddball sense of spiritual
mission. He saw his music as a theosophical and poetic expression of what would
largely become vulgarized into new-age muzak.
Guitar Soli's 11 tunes -- 10 instrumentals and one song -- have titles
like "Seal of the Blue Lotus" and "Sansara in Sweetness After Sandstorm." They
average six minutes in length; often they're moody explorations of musical
textures you wouldn't expect to hear from any acoustic guitar. Bass drone notes
abound. High notes from Basho's 12-string cascade like so many sliding sitar
notes. Even a cursory listen to this CD will have you pondering just how
otherworldly a master can make a steel-stringed guitar sound.
This compilation draws upon Basho's first albums in the '60s, Seal of the
Blue Lotus/Guitar Soli, The Grail and the Lotus, and Basho
Sings/Volume 3. Much needs to be said about the last, though compiler Bill
Belmont was timid in including only one example of Basho's singing. Basho sang
like John McCormack, the famous Irish tenor, meaning that he was vibrato-laden
and stentorian. There was nothing casual about his singing. He'd belt his
original lyrics, words that sounded like a hallucinatory mix of Kahlil Gibran
and whatever exotic aphorism you found in your last fortune cookie. Yet every
once in a while, you can hear the very oddness of his singing as being in synch
with his Far Eastern guitar. Such an exotically complex folk-guitar style
couldn't really be counterpointed by a vocal stance as loosely informal as,
say, James Taylor's.
I visited Basho at his Berkeley apartment months before his death. In a hovel
filled with unreleased tapes stacked to the ceiling, he proceeded to tell me,
cryptically, about his quasi-shamanic new songs. I think he knew he was dying,
even as he struggled to finish new projects. For all the Far Eastern musical
modes and the walls plastered with Hindu art, I thought of a line by poet
William Carlos Williams: "the pure products of America go crazy." Basho's pure
and crazy genius deserves a widespread hearing at last.
-- Norman Weinstein