Stumbling out of the woods broken and torn, a boy with a ripped pleated shirt yells "There's something in there, and it's got Jim!". As I examine his face for falsity I decide his wide open eyes and lost teeth are convincing enough. The forest behind him though is startling and ominous; dresser cabinets are hiding behind trees, bark is leaking sap at a rapid pace, leaves are fighting each other wildly, mail boxes are running rampant, and a moose is holding a lantern. Regardless, I step inside not realizing what I have just gotten myself into. What I have done though is stepped right into the world of Wooden Wand & The Vanishing Voice in their new record 'Gipsy Freedom'. If you can make it to the exit of this wild woods then maybe you can take the trip again and really appreciate the journey.



Wooden Wand hail from upstate New York and conjure the mysterious sounds of the dark woods there to a t(ree). It is nearly impossible to contemplate a genre or style for these 5 individuals, but if one was to label them perhaps something along the likes of psychedelic folk jazz might suit them. This is not their only release, by a long shot, the band has recorded nearly 20 albums for various labels and have played everything from modest folk to the psychedelic epics of 'Gipsy Freedom'. To help them along their journeys on this particular album is the enormous free-jazz talent of Daniel Carter playing woodwinds on two of the 8 tracks. Enough of the formalities, lets get to the music!



Right off the top the band displays a clever entrance with "Friend, That Just Isn't So" a strangely poetic pairing of a saxophone and a breathy eerie female voice. It seems the notes don't match up and the harmony of the whole piece shifts off scale and back, but this is a simple precursor to the context of the whole album. In the song the voice sings "Maybe you think we've a long way to go/ But friend/ That just isn't true / That just isn't so", both alluding to the seemingly strange arrangements which appear to be falling apart and chaotic, as well as alluding to the long journey about to take place.



"Didn't It Rain" follows next and an assortment of twangs, thumps, jingles, cavernous tings, pizzes, whispers, and giant calls seem to manifest themselves onto the soundtrack. The sound is simultaneously two things. It is at once drenched and dripping, pouring out of itself as if it is the juicy syrup from a tree, and then again open and free, allowing anything and everything to become part of the soundtrack. The direction is neither linear nor undecided; the whole piece builds constantly to a specific destination. Once you wrap yourself into the music and start using your imagination (which must be a voluntary act) things begin to take shape. Thunder can be heard over the barren terrain laid out by the woodwinds, wind starts blowing over a ravaged set of scenery, sparks and flashes of lightening strike down to the ground, while mechanical blips and rhythms quickly appear and then disintegrate back into the landscape. It is the the premise of the "Rite of Spring" pushed to the edges with electronic and acoustic instruments, created freely from open minds and adventurous hands. That is exactly what this is; a rock and roll Stravinsky. At the climax of the song the voice we are so familiar with chants out in faltering folk uneasiness "Didn't It Rain, Rain, Rain/ My Lord", making the whole piece explode as well as implode. It's something you've really got to take notice of; it's raw and constricting, pulling everything into an atom of silence. Phew, that's just one.



After a few bleak constructive/destructive pieces comes "Dread Effigy". The piece opens slowly with a quiet guitar pattern and an oddly comforting voice like the bed of a river before a flood. Chiming behind the voices a guitar sounding like the mouth of a cave opens and the singing echoes in-front of wailing imaginary ghost orchestras. Chorus' come and go, interlacing with one another until the instruments behind swallow them whole, opening the palette for "Dead End Days With Ceasar".



"Dead End Days With Ceasar" thrives on a single bass line which moves up and down like an ever crumbling escalator. Over top this movement various chirps and ghostly voices of guitars come and go; it all sounds like a sail on the waters to hell, as if you're a stowaway on a ghost ship. Riffs start puncturing the skies above you like shards of light, gates are opened and then you're on a slow whir pool sink to the underworld. Ornette Coleman and Howard Shore would be proud.



It's tough, this hell hound steak I ordered from the underworld cafe, but once you get past the fat, it's pretty good. If you dig experiments in folk/rock and free jazz then fill your plate with these cats. A couple listens later and it will encompass you every time you listen to it, surprising at every turn, and never becoming boring.



Track Listing

1 Dread Effigy

2 Dead End Days With Ceasar

3 Friend, That Just Isn't So

4 Didn't It Rain

5 Don't Love The Liar

6 Hey Pig He Stole My Sound

7 Sun Sets Of Clarion

8 Genesis Joplin