Art of Field Recording, Volume 1
Label: Dust-to-Digital
Length: EP
Rated: NONE
Media: CD
Format: Album
WorkNameSort: Art of Field Recording, Volume 1
In 1956, Pete Seeger told a budding folk-music fan named Art Rosenbaum: “Don’t learn from me, learn from the folks I learned from.” That fan took the advice to heart, and more than a half-century later, Rosenbaum has amassed an astonishing collection of field recordings capturing the raw roots of various folk styles from across the United States. That collection is so vast that it’s housed in the University of Georgia library in what Dust-to-Digital label founder Steven Lance Ledbetter calls “dozens, if not hundreds of white boxes.”
Atlanta resident Ledbetter debuted Dust-to-Digital in 2003 with a now-legendary box set called Goodbye, Babylon. That set – six CDs with a 200-page book, packed in a wooden box with raw cotton – established a fairly high bar for roots-music collections, both in revelatory content and artistic presentation. With Art of Field Recording, Volume 1, the first in D-to-D’s series of Rosenbaum’s recordings, the accomplishment is not so bold, but is no less enticing.
With “only” four CDs and a 96-page book within its cardboard box, this set is, on its own, not as hefty as Goodbye, Babylon. But as an initial installment in a series that’s sure to top the dozen-disc mark by its three-year conclusion, Art of Field Recording is likely to stand as tall as Rounder’s recent digital reissue campaign of Alan Lomax’s field work.
It’s difficult to approach this collection without comparing it to the pioneering work done by Lomax. While Lomax certainly devoted a considerable amount of his time in the field to documenting American music, a substantial portion of his work involved international ethnomusicology. That global approach has colored the impression his American recordings leave, making Gullah music and Appalachian folk songs seem as foreign as Rajasthani bhajans. Conversely, the more accessible studio recordings compiled by Harry Smith in 1952 in the landmark Anthology of American Folk Music may strike some listeners as overly polished and removed from their source.
Rosenbaum’s approach splits the difference. He’s obviously fascinated by American folk forms, but as a New Jersey-born child of Polish and Jewish descent, banjo picking and gospel singing weren’t exactly part of his native cultural surroundings. But the curiosity, intense joy and near-obsessive desire he brings to his far-flung approach to field recording is less that of a documentarian and more that of a ravenous fan.
Accordingly, the selections on this first volume are diverse, grouped roughly onto discs marked “Blues,” “Religion,” “Instrumental and Dance” and, oddly, “Survey.” The first disc – “Survey” – is just that: a far-reaching summation of the outer edges of the musical styles Rosenbaum has encountered in his years of recording. Gospel choirs that sound like Bulgarian choruses (the Sacred Harp Singing Group of Villa Rica, Ga.), chatty, piano-playing old ladies (Laethe Eller, from her rural Georgia home, saying “I learnt it mah-self” of the beautiful song she rambles through), Mexican blueberry pickers singing about guns (Epifanio Sanchez, recorded in a Michigan general store) and the lone vocalizing of Iowa’s Arthur Vandeveer on “A Melancholy Sound” are just some of the more esoteric entries on the disc.
It’s an interesting entry point for the set, as it sets up the listener to be surprised. With the seemingly predictable sets of “Blues” and “Religion,” though, Rosenbaum manages to keep confounding expectations. Digging up unusual and individual takes on sacred songs like “Do, Lord, Remember Me,” “Walk With Me” and “Teach Me, Master,” as well as well-worn blues numbers like “Going Down the Road Feeling Bad,” the variety of performance is remarkable. The collection closes with 36 ridiculously upbeat tracks on the “Instrumental and Dance” disc. Waltzes, square dances, rags, “Turkey in the Straw” and three different versions of the banjo classic “Shout, Lulu” make for one hell of an old-timey dance party.
Rosenbaum’s diligence and passion is omnipresent throughout these 110 tracks. Thankfully, he was also equipped with recording gear of reasonable quality; the fidelity on all of the songs is stunning. While the voices may be rough and the instrumentation raw, there’s a real sense of being in the room while they’re being played. It’s also worth noting the importance of Rosenbaum’s preservation of so many obscure numbers documented on these discs. This is where the documentary aspect kicks in; were there not someone out there willing to drive throughout rural America with a tape recorder, all of these songs would likely be lost forever, making this as important as it is enjoyable. Which is probably just as Rosenbaum intended.
This article appears in Nov 21-27, 2007.