The acoustic guitar isn’t a new instrument to Mike Tamburo. It was his main axe, as it were, in his former outfits, Meisha and Arco Flute Foundation, though Beating of the Rewound Son, Tamburo’s solo debut, leaves his playing rather starkly unadorned by sidemen or accompaniment. Tamburo’s no purist, he has no qualms with regard to augmenting his pieces with other instruments, or making use of nontraditional techniques in his playing, but his emergence as a solo artist marks a turn into more folk-tinged territory for the guitarist. Comparisons in his playing can be made to the usual suspects, Fahey, Basho-Junghans, and their ilk, but Tamburo isn’t a straight disciple of any of the prevalent deities of acoustic guitardom.
“Adam’s Fruit Temptation” not only begins the disc, but it’s the album’s highlight. Tamburo weaves expertly some of his best melodic work with subtle atmospherics and washes of delay. It’s a study in well-executed transitions, a mini-suite that, while it contains a good deal of Tamburo’s most traditional fare, easily deters boredom or monotony. The tracks that follow sometimes diverge from this path, with Tamburo’s more experimental penchants taking hold. “Kremlin Krab” loops and layers piano in a shimmering weave of swimming layers. Minimalism plays a part in Tamburo’s work as well, though drones aren’t a prominent feature of his work, his use of looping and electronics touches, at times, on a more active repetition. Tamburo proves more than once that he’s more than capable at folk forms and melodic constructions, so the inclusion of effects, electronics, keyboard, and other interlopers into his clean unaccompanied tone are surely not there to mask his playing or muddy the waters. The album’s largely successful avoidance of excess sentimentality is owed, in part, to these more varied stretches; they’re also a handy way to inject variety into the disc. Tamburo’s clever arrangement of even his most straightforward segments provides for stimulating listening, though Beating of the Rewound Son is never so heady it dispenses with its emotional heft.
In a musical climate that seems hungry for acoustic guitarists who aren’t afraid to veer from the beaten path (see continued reverence of Fahey, the emergence of Basho-Junghans into the American consciousness, and the exaltation with which Sir Richard Bishop’s last disc was received), Mike Tamburo, in Beating of the Rewound Son, has made an intelligent and impressive debut.
Note: Two of the three people who run the Music Fellowship also write for fakejazz.
