Richard Crandell ranks high on the list of underappreciated solo acoustic fingerpickers, a fact likely to send a few readers to the edge of exasperation as they ask “just how many more can there be?” Indeed, diligence has illuminated a horde of previously obscured guitarists from across the last half century, and Crandell’s eventful background combines especially well with his instrumental dexterity to further deepen the Guitar Soli scenario. His latest collection Then and Now is currently download only, but it serves as a nice bookend to his 1980 debut In the Flower of Our Youth, of which vinyl copies are still very much available; both can be obtained through the auspices of Tompkins Square.
That Richard Crandell was amongst the steadily increasing number of guitarists heavily impacted in the late ’60s by the innovations of the American Primitive master John Fahey is by this point possibly the least interesting aspect of his story. He even opened for Fahey in the decade following, which is a credit very few acolytes can claim, and yet a far more revealing component in Crandell’s journey relates to crossing paths with guitarist Leo Kottke, who overheard him playing for Mimi Farina while the three were backstage after a concert.
Crandell didn’t just have the licks, he had the tunes, in this instance “Rebecca,” which so struck Kottke that he ended up recording it for his 1975 set Chewing Pine. Having a song cut by one of the pillars of the American Primitive style served as a nice capper to Crandell’s westward migration, a movement less remarkable if still quite comfortable in its familiarity; the most striking twists in the tale were still on the distant horizon.
Per the notes accompanying Numero Group’s 2008 compilation LP Wayfaring Strangers: Guitar Soli, he left New York in pursuit not of musical fame but a woman, and he landed temporarily in Berkeley, CA. Eventually heading northward to Eugene, OR, he made the acquaintance of fellow guitarist Bill Bartels and shared living space with Mark Zorn, the older brother of saxophonist, composer, producer, and label owner John Zorn.
It was in Eugene that the connection with Kottke was made, but Crandell didn’t cut his debut LP until roughly five years later. Electing for an opening beauty move rather than a bold display of ability, the warm chimelike tones of the title track set the album into motion very nicely, as the sharper resonances of “Diagonal,” the track Numero Group borrowed for Wayfaring Strangers, immediately follow.
In the Flower of Our Youth was a private press on Cutthroat Records, and given the nature of such releases went largely unheard at the time; considering the assured delivery of the 18 selections, this circumstance was more unfortunate than usual. “Rebecca” achieves a gorgeous aura without strain, making it easy to gather what Kottke heard in it, while the progressive approach to musical roots shaping “Delta Triad” is akin to his inspirations but with a repetitive bed of single-note tension registering as distinct.
The vibrant entries pile up fast, and with one exception nothing on the record eclipses the four-minute mark; “Minuet for Leo” offers Takoma-like prettiness, “Gn6 Noise” is edgier and culminates in the sound of a thunderstorm, and “Assembly Line” picks up the pace as the relationship between the track titles and Crandell’s execution deepens.
Ah, but that sole exception; “Alias Jane Doe” spreads out a smidge over five minutes as it diverts into folky, almost singer-songwriter-like territory (sans lyrics, of course). From there, “McKinney Stomp” reels off a splendid fragment of coffeehouse fingerstyle, while “Mt. Shasta” slows things down and keeps tabs on an engaging melody.
The fluid, downright catchy motion of “Goin’ to Taiwan” follows, combining with “Alias Jane Doe” and especially the Brazilian-tinged “Bahian Trolly” (which employs a metronomic rhythm to productive effect) to reinforce Crandell’s stylistic range and proffer evidence that the guitarist was primed to reach out to an audience beyond the general parameters of the American Primitive milieu.
Which is what he eventually did, although in 1983 he teamed with Bartels for the pretty spiff duo record Oregon Hill; like In the Flower of Our Youth, it was initially a Cutthroat private press, with CD reissues of both emerging in 2007 on the Sound Advice label. In the years after Oregon Hill’s emergence, Crandell was diagnosed with essential tremor disorder, an affliction causing often severe bodily shaking that limited his ability to write, use a computer, or play guitar.
During this same period, he accepted the job offer of a local concert promoter to drive the tour bus of Thomas Mapfumo, the Zimbabwean bandleader noted for the creation of Chimurenga music. Combining the traditional Shona style of Zimbabwe with modern electric instrumentation and politically focused lyrics, Mapfumo’s bands also utilized the mbira, a musical instrument classified as a plucked idiophone of the larger lamellaphone family and sometimes referred to more simply as a thumb piano.
After that first tour, Crandell found a mbira left behind on the bus and he eventually discovered that his hands didn’t shake while playing it. Teaching himself the instrument with tuning guidance from Mapfumo’s mbira player Ngoni Makombe, Crandell began getting serious while navigating away from replicating Shona music.
Instead, his compositions blended the cyclical repetition of Minimalism a la Glass, Reich, and Riley with the gentle fragility of a child’s music box. This is where his ex-roommate’s brother enters the picture; impressed with Crandell’s work with the mbira, John Zorn subsequently funded two CDs, 2004’s Mbira Magic and ’07’s Spring Steel, for his Tzadik label. Both include the input of percussionist and frequent Zorn associate Cyro Baptista as they offer a surplus of soothing magnetism.
The discs seemed to rekindle interest in Crandell’s guitar playing, with Wayfaring Strangers and the vinyl reissue of In the Flower of Our Youth coming out the year after Spring Steel, while in 2009 “Zocalo” served as the opening track for Tompkins Square’s Imaginational Anthem Vol. 3. Work on the Mbira continued, specifically Essential Tremor and Pacific Bridge, a duo CD with Koto player Masumi Timson, both for the Nature Bliss label.
And yet it comes as no surprise that Crandell refused to completely abandon the guitar. Old loves die hard, after all. Then and Now collects pieces from across the last 25 years, most cut to DAT in the ‘90s with some of it recorded more recently; the final track was captured in the last twelve months. The results are inspirational, mostly for obvious reasons but additionally due to there being no tangible loss of the touch that so successfully shaped his debut and Oregon Hill.
Opener “Road Trip” exudes a relaxed picking atmosphere that can be traced back to Mississippi John Hurt, and Crandell augments the setting with controlled complexity and polish (particularly the tidy flourish at the end), underscoring ample time spent in front of audiences (the guitarist reports the track was inspired by his 50-state American Friends tour).
The unfortunately titled “Funk Dat” gives tough treatment to a melody mildly reminiscent of Fahey’s old-fashioned side, but much of Then and Now’s success relates to a handful of 12-string excursions evincing a noticeably more intimate air: first, a strong reading of Bartels’ composition “American Friends”; second a solo version of “Swallowtails,” which initially appeared in duet form on Oregon Hill, and third, “Unknown Lament,” also originally from the LP with Bartels, with this lengthier solo reading highlighting a different coda.
The foot-tapping in “Swallowtails” only adds to the audible closeness. Elsewhere, standout “Over/Under”’s gradually rising three-minute guitar pattern contrasts well with musical motifs Crandell explored on the mbira as his cited love of Bach can be heard in “Haley Suite,” which is perhaps this set’s most attractive piece; the guitarist’s mention of Scott Joplin is just as perceptible in “V-Blues,” which flirts with the rustic ambiance of “Funk Dat” without ever succumbing to quaintness.
“Route 22” flows without a hitch, and “Down to Earth,” cut just three years ago, is as robust as anything here. In a swell twist, “Cinema Verité” features not guitar or mbira but ukulele. Deftly avoiding the preciousness often linked to the tiny axe, the recording was made just a matter of weeks before Crandell wrote the notes for Then and Now; it closes this fine collection with an upswing of good feeling and further documents a highly versatile musician who’s been heard far too seldom.
Then and Now,
A-
In the Flower of Our Youth,
A-
