Psychedelic troubadour Wooden Wand (aka James Toth) has presented his neo-folk songwriting in many contexts, and the most polarizing has always been with free music collective the Vanishing Voice. Some listeners will enjoy the free-form sonic exploration to which the band and its peers (Akron/Family, Sunburned Hand of the Man, No-Neck Blues Band, Jackie-O Motherfucker) subscribe, while others may find the deconstructed arrangements a major distraction. Buck Dharma is no exception. It begins challengingly on "Hideous Whisker ...
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Psychedelic troubadour Wooden Wand (aka James Toth) has presented his neo-folk songwriting in many contexts, and the most polarizing has always been with free music collective the Vanishing Voice. Some listeners will enjoy the free-form sonic exploration to which the band and its peers (Akron/Family, Sunburned Hand of the Man, No-Neck Blues Band, Jackie-O Motherfucker) subscribe, while others may find the deconstructed arrangements a major distraction. Buck Dharma is no exception. It begins challengingly on "Hideous Whisker and His Woman," a static-and-drone instrumental layered over with deep noodly bass and meandering blooz guitar, and continues with the 8-plus-minute "Rot On," an extended dual-guitar and flanged vocal lament that brings to mind old American spirituals testifying that "the world done me wrong." "Risen from the Ashes" matches female vocal counterpart Satya Sai with wailing electric guitars and not much else. "Reverse Jam Band" is an overlong (ten and a half minutes) rumination of tremolo guitar and bass trudging lonely through the dark swamp dragging heavy chains (providing a touch of musique concrète). On "Owl Fowl" a wah-wah guitar battles screeching feedback (it's indeterminate who wins) while a lurching dirge slowly builds, unfortunately without climax. The most traditional and song-like track here is "I Am the One I Am and He Is the Caretaker of My Heart," another featuring Sai's compelling vocals, this time accompanied by a rolling bassline and jangling acoustic, coming off almost, as would most seemingly be their intention, like a backwoods hymn of yore. And on "Wicked World" Toth delivers his free-associative mystical manifesto, which is either the album's centerpiece or completely unlistenable snake-oil gibberish. This album is not as satisfying overall as The Flood or Gipsy Freedom, but anyone familiar with the Vanishing Voice oeuvre knows that they can be "difficult," or "an acquired taste," depending on who you ask. But allowing for patience and a suspension of disbelief, and letting the sound flow organically, there are nuggets of gold to be found throughout Buck Dharma -- you just have to know where to look. ~ Brian Way, Rovi
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