Light in the Attic’s Native North America (Vol. 1): Aboriginal Folk, Rock, and Country 1966–1985 is a simply glorious compilation providing wholly necessary and long overdue access to vital regional history. Painstakingly researched and assembled by Kevin “Sipreano” Howes, as the title states this 34-track set explores the intersection of native culture with a variety of compatible modern genres; the sum is an illuminating and engaging listen.
One extreme of the reissue/archival spectrum is the uninspired regurgitation of previously extant product. Found on the opposite side is the uncovering of discoveries and the deepening of context that serves as the antidote to predominantly mercantile interests. This divide is a good place to begin detailing Native North America (Vol. 1), a collection that required years of extensive research on the part of its curator.
Due to the history of wrongs inflicted on native peoples by the overriding culture, this package is bound to stir up the emotions. But instead of getting stricken by anger or disgust over the decades of injury and neglect the indigenous population has endured, the belated emergence of these sounds as part of a tide of interest in global culture old and new offers the possibility of healthier emotions going forward; along with the crucial historical context, the biggest asset here is the regenerative power of music expressed through a dedication to originals, much of them with a country-rock flavor.
Native North America is deservingly dedicated to Willie Dunn, whom Howes explicates as an indefatigable cross-disciplined inspiration and a prime example of the true benefits to be found at the crossroads of art and activism. Culled from his self-titled ’71 LP for Summus Records, “I Pity the Country” offers topical lyrics reinforced by well-practiced instrumentation.
And after the passing of 13 years Dunn’s vocals are even richer; “Son of the Sun,” a cut drawn from his The Vanity of Human Wishes LP for the German Trikont label also brandishes steely string friction and the distinctive rhythmic approach that resurfaces so interestingly across this collection in a number of diverse settings.
Another inspirational figure spotlighted is Yup’ik Eskimo John Angaiak, a resident of Alaska who survived service in Vietnam to work extensively in education and cultural preservation. One byproduct of his activity was I’m Lost in the City, a 1971 LP issued through the Eskimo Language Workshop that became something of a regional smash.
Both of Angaiak’s contributions here, “I’ll Rock You to the Rhythm of the Ocean” and “Hey, Hey, Hey, Brother” derive from that disc, the pair inching close to a folky destination through the basic tandem of voice and guitar. However, while steeped in emotion the singing is well-controlled, and if not conventional or streamlined Angaiak displays a way with melody; that Alaskan radio play is no surprise.
I’m Lost in the City even yielded a 7-inch, the format also providing Sugluk, the Native North America band most likely to stoke the flames of Nuggets-nuts and Mojo subscribers, with the two EPs in their slim but sweet discography. A series of one-takes made for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation in 1975, “Fall Away” carries achy hints of CCR as “I Didn’t Know” is nice mid-tempo riff-laden heart-gush with a little harmony and a touch of Stones. On each the rhythm section is basic but vibrant. “Ajuinnarasuarsunga” is a down-tempo piano-driven country-flavored stab sung in native tongue.
Also recording an EP for the CBC was Sikumiut. Though “People of the Ice” was waxed in ’76, both “Sikumiut” and “Utirumavunga” are soaked in a fascinating mid-‘60s post-Beatles melodic rock vibe; if the rhythm is serviceable it never missteps and is a huge part of the appeal, the guitar steps to the fore very nicely, and the native vocals seal the deal.
Sikumiut are intriguing, but even more so is Willie Thrasher, his tracks here again preserved by the CBC in 1979 with the help of local Ottawa studio players who stretch out a tad on “Spirit Child.” But for my money the best aspect of the three is Thrasher’s captivatingly loose vocal delivery and edgy emotionalism. On “Old Man Carver” he actually reminds me of Tav Falco, and “We Got to Take You Higher” only increases the warmly idiosyncratic aura; Willie Thrasher provides Native North America with some of its true highlights.
Not far behind are the three live cuts from Willie Mitchell from Sweet Grass Music, an LP documenting the 1980 Sweet Grass Music Festival. Mitchell’s solo piece “Call of the Moose” possesses tangible urgency, but things really heat up after the Desert River Band enters the equation. “Kill’n Your Mind” is tightly constructed guitar rock with highly effective no-nonsense lyrics, and “Birchbark Letter” is psych-informed country-rock; when the band kicks it into high-gear the released intensity is palpable and underlined by the audience’s response. Mitchell dishes exceptional guitar playing throughout.
Lloyd Cheechoo’s two pieces carry a substantial contemporary resonance. Though recorded in ’81 for the regional comp Goose Wings: The Music of James Bay, the acoustic glide and muscular bass of “James Bay” strikes my ear as an easy fit for a 21st century indie rotation, as “Winds of Change” should easily appeal to more discerning contempo Alt-Country/Americana heads.
While the pair of CBC-sourced cuts featuring Philippe McKenzie are noted for that aforementioned rhythmic drive, his solo “Mistashipu” also contains a mild similarity to Neil Young, the guitar strum gradually raising the tension, And his role in the gorgeous “Tshekuan Mak Tshetutamak” by Groupe Folklorique Montagnais, a trio filled out by Bernard Fontaine and McKenzie’s protégé Florent Vollant, finds the guitars resonating beautifully as the forcefulness of the drumming remains.
Many of Native North America’s performers are represented by a single track, though happily quality doesn’t dip. And a sole entry doesn’t entail obscurity; David Campbell recorded extensively for the Transatlantic, Mercury and Decca labels while residing in England, though his “Sky-Man and the Moon,” a storytelling number distinguished by a pop-country-tinged croon and the use of early synths, was self-released after his transition to Canada.
And both Shingoose and Duke Redbird were successful musicians, the former crossing paths with Roy Buchanan while residing in Washington, DC as a member of Puzzle (who cut an LP for ABC in ’69), the latter a poet, roommate of Joni Mitchell and bandmate of Bruce Cockburn. The two were energized by the ‘70s rise of native consciousness, and in ’75 Redbird invited his friend Shingoose (aka Curtis Jonnie) to record a benefit for the Native Council of Canada. “Silver River” is from the resulting “Native Country” EP; instrumentally ornate with heavy-duty cymbal washes, it’s swampy but also kinda slick.
The Chieftones were billed as Canada’s All Indian Band and with their matching stage gear including bonnets nabbed from the US Plains Indians (a managerial decision) and an early-‘60s AM radio feel that’s a little bit country, a higher amount R&R, with a whole lot of harmony and a dab of native spice, it really stands out in the lineup, though there are mild similarities with the Saddle Lake Drifting Cowboys. Their “Modern Rock” is an exquisite slice of surfy-rootsy New Wave-era instrumental rock that inspired me to think of the early-‘80s NY scene and of fellow Canadians Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet.
Elsewhere, “Tormented Soul” is topical C&W from “Elvis of the North” Ernest Monias, and Alexis Utatnaq delivers a folky vibe a la John Angaiak, though his “Maqaivvigivalauqtavut” is sung in Inuktitut. Sung in Cree, Morley Loon’s “N’Doheeno” is a rich, expansive combo of folk and tradition, as Gordon Dick’s “Siwash Rock” conjures a magnetically appealing groove with just guitar and voice.
Also from the Goose Wings comp, “Dreams of Ways” sees Brian Davey’s guitar, vocals, and accompanying harmonica cohere into solid Young-like country-folk. Likewise, William Tagoona establishes a somewhat Neil-ish template “Anaanaga” only to impressively enhance it through Inuktitut and the use of strings later in the song. And Lawrence Martin’s “I Got My Music” is Nashville-shaded Southern-fried boogie seemingly designed to please the hippies and the honky-tonkers.
Peter Frank’s voice is booming yet gentle on “Little Feather,” the cut exuding storytelling warmth and expert picking that bodes well for the quality of his Souriquois Visions LP. Singer-guitarist Eric Landry traveled to Ontario to record “Out of the Blue” for the ’85 compilation LP Music from the Powerhouse: In the Spirit of Sharing; interestingly, further musical accompaniment was added later without his knowledge. That’s not the case with “Messenger,” Leland Bell’s entry on the same disc, a multifaceted cut displaying a reggae influence.
Willie Dunn’s “Peruvian Dream (Part 2)” closes the set; featuring the riveting chanting of Jerry Saddleback, through directness of the drumming and guitar tones it manages to bring to mind The Velvet Underground. The Dunn, Thrasher, and Mitchell selections (amongst others) detail artists of considerable stature, but the objective of Native North America isn’t really to drop individual bombshells. Rather, it highlights the subtle pleasures of grassroots endeavor and cultural identity in a marginalized sector of the North American scene.
The value is immeasurably enhanced by Howes’ notes, every contributor spotlighted with the kind of detail one wishes all (or at least the majority of) retrospectives mustered. In terms of collective weight of unearthed treasure this is a heavy beast, and as the full title plainly states is just the first volume of Native North America; a follow-up is in the works concerning the native productivity of the lower 48. Bluntly, I can’t fucking wait to hear it.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
