Este disco data de 1981, pero creo que el tiempo ha sido y seguirá siendo muy amable con él. Un bajista, un baterista y cuatro guitarristas componen cinco poemas sinfónicos instrumentales. Los tres primeros suenan provincianos, diciendo cosas sobre el mercado de valores, la angustia urbana, la bancarrota espiritual, etc, pero son los dos últimos tracks (de los cinco que comprenden el original de la etiqueta 99 Records) los que otorgan la gran recompensa y van más allá de la marca de "cultura", una hazaña sólo lograda por obras maestras.
Read Here the Original
This album dates from 1981 but time has been and will continue to be very kind to it I believe. A bass player, a drummer and four electric guitarists have loosely/tightly constructed 5 instrumental tone poems. The first three seem provincial, statements that adhere to living in harsh New York City at the time. They are telling of things like the stock market, urban angst, spiritual bankruptcy, etc. But it is the last two of the five, which comprised the original 99 Records LP second side, that grant a big reward and go beyond the branding of "culture", a feat accomplished only by masterpieces. Track four "Light Field [In Consonance]" and five "The Ascension" describe an important destination and the arc of its journey there. They are unmistakable to any person who has ever suffered while in the throes of growing. Light Field is a glimpse of that promised land to come, which smiles with the light of six suns, so turn it up real loud. "The Ascension" describes a path of time that can be imagined and re-imagined over and over again. This travelogue can be given one of a variety of new names every time. A few suggestions: the birth canal saga, the crucifixion, the ego death, the transmigration of soul. These final tracks are exceptionally ecstatic musical objects, suitable for aesthetic contemplation but better for deep personal catharsis. By combining multiple guitars in chiefly major keys, Branca creates a sonority that had never been heard before, and rarely since. In the fever of spiritual climax, this sound feels like a thousand church bells dissolving matter into clear light; the entire idea of studio vanishes. It may sound merely like six guys trying to get symphonic in the early auditions. But given time, the code of soul truth slowly emerges, and this truth feels nourishing, all too true, all too real, an accurate metaphor for how hard it is to grow, to advance in a human body, at just about any point of passage. It transcends NYC and steps into the kind of holy land that is reached only by certain practitioners of Indian classical music and certain composers of large choral oratorios. Sound over the top? Check it out, the therapeutic possibilities are numerous.
writen by Yves Latorte