I call it the Amadeus Effect:

When a new artist enters your orbit and everything else abruptly pales, listless, lifeless in comparison.  DakhaBrakha fucking Wolfganged me.  They sucked the air out of all other music, my own efforts included, and left me swooning in grateful, helpless, head-nodding admiration.

Everything about this band, from their cultivated visual aesthetic, their Slavic folk lyrics, their internal rhythm and delicately deployed multi-instrumental capacities, their multi-part chanting harmonies, down even to their origin story in the Kiev theater scene amid the political tumult of modern Ukraine, it’s all exactly right.  I’m sure this will pass, I’m sure I’ll be able to appreciate other artists, other kinds of beauty again, but…

God damn man.

This shit is electric.

i’ll fly away

“I eventually came to the conclusion you should never say anything in poetry that you would not say in prose.  Poetry has the same obligation to make sense as any other statement made by the human mouth. […] As for songwriting, if something has a pretty enough melody or a strong enough sense of arrangement, people will listen to it even if the lyrics make no sense — but that does not make it a well-written song. […] When songs get pretentious, overflowery and obscure, that person is proclaiming he or she is an artist. […] I think it was a good thing that, back in the Renaissance, people like Michelangelo were treated like interior decorators.  A well-written song is a craft item.  Take care of the craft and the art will take care of itself.”

-Dave Van Ronk, The Mayor of Macdougal Street

The Reverend Gary Davis was one hell of an interior decorator.


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