Cerca:houston calls

Recorded April 17 and 18, 1993, at the Union Grove Baptist Church, Ozark, Alabama.

The Wiregrass Singers' Dewey Williams began learning the shape-note tradition in his childhood. He studied under Judge Jackson, who authored the landmark 1934 hymnbook The Colored Sacred Harp. In 1971, Williams formally organized The Wiregrass Sacred Harp Singers to preserve the music full-time. This unified troupe began touring nationally and leading workshops, which ultimately launched them onto stages at the Smithsonian and Newport folk festivals up until Williams' passing in 1995 when the group disbanded. The African-American Sacred Harp tradition in the Wiregrass region has steeply declined since the start of the 21st century, due to an aging generation of singers, and today it is largely sustained through archival preservation and occasional multi-book singing meetups.

This raw recording, made at the Union Grove Baptist Church, Ozark in mid-April 1993 finds the group singing from B. F. White’s The Sacred Harp (1844), which together with his brother-in-law William Walker’s Southern Harmony (1835) formed the musical backbone of generations of Southern music and Southern musical styles.

"On almost any Sunday between the months of March and October, the season most conducive to travel and outdoor dinner-on-the- grounds, Sacred Harp devotés join with fellow songsters at the County Line Church in Slocomb, or the Mount Sinai Church in Henry County, or the Union Grove Baptist Church in Dale County, or at any one of a dozen or so churches in the southeast Alabama counties of Barbour, Coffee, Dale, Geneva, Houston and Pike, to form the square and sing fa-sol-la. Approximately fifteen African-American Sacred Harp singings occur annually in the Wiregrass region of southeast Alabama. A singing tradition characteristically associated with white culture in the Deep South, southeast Alabama has enjoyed a vibrant African-American Sacred Harp tradition for well over a century.

On a day of a typical African-American Sacred Harp Singing, the participants arrive casually in the late morning, seat themselves in the square according to voice part, and begin to sing. A dinner break occurs in the early afternoon, and the singers enjoy a covered-dish "dinner-on-the-grounds" (or in the church basement) prepared by the women. The most intense and emotional singing typically occurs after the dinner break. Each singer takes a turn leading the song of his choice. He walks to the middle of the square, calls out the song's page number and waits for the designated tuner to key the song. Singers are discouraged by the other singers from repeating a song that has already been sung, or "used." This proscription is often dispensed with, however, if the singer is particularly young, particularly old, or if the song has special significance to the individual song leader (perhaps the favorite song of a recently deceased relative).

Every singer is given an opportunity to lead a song. Often, older or more infirm singers will request younger singers to lead their songs for them. The motions of the song leaders are highly stylistic and often emotional. Young children are taught in singing school to mark time with their right arm while holding the book in their left. Typically, a singer will stand in place at the center of the square while leading the singing of the notes. When he begins to lead the lyrics portion of the song, he will often begin to "walk time," rhythmically pacing from one side of the square to the other, being careful never to turn his back on the tenor section. This "walking time" is unique to the African-American tradition. As a singer grows more confident he develops his own distinctive leading style. During fuguing songs in particular, he may gesture to each section of the square as its part joins in. Skilled song leaders often elicit applause or other emotional responses from the group. Occasionally a singer may fall into a state of spiritual ecstasy and "get happy." The episode might include a personal testimonial followed by a repeat of the last verse or refrain from the previous song. The singings break up around 5 P.M."
—Henry Willett, 1997 credits

Psychedelic Anxiety, as a mood, goes something like this: overwhelming, existential, vertigoic, arising when we stare into the void. This metaphysical unease also serves as the title for Brooklyn-based musician Frances Chang’s second album, and as a feeling it’s present throughout, charged by all things occultish. Recorded by Chang and engineer Andrea Schiavelli, featuring a cast of revered NYC DIY players, including Schiavelli (Eyes of Love) and Liza Winter (Birthing Hips), Psychedelic Anxiety relishes in the refining of aesthetic, in the electricity of improvisation, in balancing bleakness with humor. It embodies an idiosyncratic genre Chang calls slacker prog — offbeat, but brimming with spiritual and emotional resonance. The record infuses artifacts of the mundane with otherworldliness— even the love songs live more in the realm of fantasy (or horror) than the romantic. The psychic twin and mirror image of Chang’s 2022 debut full-length Support Your Local Nihilist, Psychedelic Anxiety by comparison is less urgent, leaving space for more nuance and storytelling. Together, these albums represent a new cycle of creativity for Chang, a reset to zero. “Eye Land,” captures Chang on a tour around the Irish and English countryside, in a moment of major life change. “Lying around your spare room,” she sings, “Sky is cloudy here in June.” Around her, guitar sputters and stops. Vocals branch off like vines on the side of an old house. It is a profoundly lovely song, a freaky miniature in the way that a Broadcast song is a freaky miniature. “Darkside” opens up with a particularly memorable narrative moment. “Last night I saw Parasite,” sings Chang, describing how she saw it alone, how regular life that week was acute, weird, intense. How she found comfort in resignation. After all: Psychedelic Anxiety is a serene, bizarre record full of alien sounds and big introspection.

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Driving anywhere in Texas can cost you half a day, easy. For example, it'll take you over four hours just to get from R&B singer Leon Bridges' hometown of Fort Worth down to Houston, where the psychedelic wanderers in Khruangbin hail from. The state is vast, crisscrossed with rugged expanses of road flanked by limestone cliffs and granite mountains, forests of pine and mesquite, miles of desert or acres of sprawling grassland, all depending on what part you're in. And it's all baking under the Texas Sun that lends its name to Bridges and Khruangbin's new collaborative EP. "Big sky country, that's what they call Texas," Khruangbin bassist Laura Lee says. "The horizon line goes all the way from one side to another without interruption. There's something really comforting about that." On Texas Sun, these two members of the state's musical vanguard meet up somewhere in the middle of that scene, in the mythical nexus of Texas' past, present, and future-a dreamy badlands where genres blur as seamlessly as the terrain. It calls equally to the cowboys boot-scooting at Billy Bob's in Fort Worth, the chopped-and-screwed hip-hop fans rattling slabs on the southside of Houston, the art-school kids dropping acid in Austin, the cross-cultural progeny who grew up on listening to both mariachi and post-hardcore out on the Mexican borders of El Paso. All of these things, overlapping in a multicolored melange, purple hues as vivid and unpredictable as one of the state's rightfully celebrated sunsets. A journey through homesick reminiscences, backseat romances, and late-night contemplations, the kind of record made for listening with the windows down and the road humming softly beneath you. Like the highways that inspired it, Texas Sun is guaranteed to get you where you're going-especially if you're in no particular hurry to get there.