Graham Reid | | 1 min read
Many years ago (read: decades if you wish) I spent a little time studying and listening to didgeridoo music and the various cultural references it had: I thought it was a fascinating instrument, and figured it had some connection with drones which are in many musics, from Celtic bagpipes to Indian tamboura.
Or something like that.
Hey, I was studying and teaching meditation at the time, so what did I know? But my casual "research" never quite answered the burning question: why is it that didgeridoo players on city streets are -- with the exception of those at Sydney's Circular Quay -- always itinerant, dreadlocked German or Swiss guys?
I like the drone of a didgeridoo, but can't take too much of it before I toss a few coins in the hat and walk on.
But this album has taken my sceptical attention.
Of course it isn't just didgeridoo barking away but a mellow techno dance/trance album in which the didgeridoo is just the haunting substructure beneath some gently woozy -- or eyes-open -- electronica. With laidback beats, occasional saxophone, and with bass'n'guitar alongside the electronic keyboards it is very captivating and not something I expected I'd ever listen to.
I've had it on repeat play for well over a fortnight and it provides a soothing and sometimes stimulating backdrop to the day. Sort of Aboriginal ambience, as it were. And there's not a German, Swiss or dreadlock visible on the cover either: just a couple of Ockers called Mike and Nick.
Enjoy. I know I am.
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