Gypsy Groovz Orchestra - Night Train For Lovers And Thieves [2009]
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Given the name of the group and the Balkan beats
craze of recent years – which has seen Roma music gratuitously
‘sexed up’ for digital dance floors – you might be forgiven for
overlooking this record. Don’t. This is the genuine article, an
understated but exhilarating tour-de-force of soulful, rootsy,
Balkan brass, and perhaps the year’s best album of Gypsy music.
The impetus for this recording was a desire to capture the diversity
of live music at the wild Guca festival, held annually in southern
Serbia. Bandleader Ekrem Sajdic and Gypsy Groovz made a fine album
called Rivers of Happiness in 2002, but for this they were joined by
seven other ensembles that took part in the event, totalling 75
musicians. The resulting jam sessions were then posted on internet,
and ideas about how they could be augmented flowed in from other
musicians around the world.
Among those whose input was included were ten Trinidadian
Rastafarians and a Punjabi sitar player called Gurdial Singh
Namdhari. That may seem odd, but the Gypsy diaspora has its roots in
the Indian subcontinent, and the way he echoes the high, wailing
trumpet on the opening Gypsy Girl Emina is a delight.
In total, players from 14 countries took part, hence the ‘Goes
TuttiMundi’ of the title. That may sound like a recipe for an
over-egged pudding, but it’s a model of empathetic musical
telepathy, and has a marvellously unhurried, sensual grace.
The album’s centrepiece is a 35-minute suite called Hot Water
Festival (named after the thermal springs nearby) which consists of
six parts that segue nicely into each other, turning one corner
after another as they slowly build towards a propulsive climax. The
only vocals are the musicians’ cries of exhilaration. A sinuous
clarinet rises above the quaking brass before sinking back, as a
trumpet takes its place. Fiddlers dialogue with the sax and trumpet
players, an accordion wheezes by, a cimbalom jangles.
This is not simply a soundtrack for partying, and the four quieter
pieces that bookend the above opus are filled with the kind of
melancholic yearning that faithfully represents the other side of
Gypsy music – what’s come to be known as ‘Balkan blues’. It’s rough
and ready, with plenty of “idiosyncratic imperfections”, as festival
organiser and arranger Ilija Stankovic explains in his sleeve notes.
But you wouldn’t want it any other way.
Jon Lusk
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Licence. Originally published on BBC World Review.
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