Backing Vocals – Brian MacInnes, Jane Symmie (tracks: 12)
Guitar, Vocals, Music By, Lyrics By – Dave Bixby
One of the most celebrated private press loner folk albums also happens to be an intriguing tale of Christian conversion. Ode to Quetzalcoatl, originally released in 1969 and now reissued by Guerssen, documents Dave Bixby’s emergence from a dark night of the soul, a descent into drugs and a redemption that allowed him to become a conduit for what he calls, “the divine power of the universe.” Its lyrics may be too evangelical for some listeners, but with multi-tracked voices and soaring acoustic chords, its music may well sell the message.
The title evokes Aztec mythology, but in the flying serpent creator Quetzalcoatl, Bixby finds a Christ-like figure, and his lyrics and message are resolutely in that vein. The album opens with a melancholy acoustic strum and a sober message: “Life used to be good/ Now look what I’ve done/ I’ve ruined my temple/ With drugs my mine is stunned.” That’s the cautionary “Drug Song,” in which Bixby tells the true story of his struggle with addiction. “Even my guitar wonders why I can’t play.” This is much like what happened to Bixby, who in the late ‘60s found some success with a Grand Rapid, Michigan garage band called Peter and the Prophets. Frustrated that the band was reluctant to perform his original songs, Bixby broke off on his own into the local coffeehouse scene, which led him to LSD. After a period of extensive drug use that lasted a year, Bixby said, “It felt like I had I lost my soul somewhere, but of course I couldn’t describe it at this point because I wasn’t religious or spiritual and I didn’t recognize that I was in trouble religiously or spiritually.”
The album that rose out of Bixby’s spiritual ashes plays out like an autobiographical tale of the scales falling from his eyes. “Free Again” follows with music and lyrics a bit more hopeful as Bixby climbs out of his hell, but still “So many days from growing.” An extended acoustic rhythm guitar break suggests Chris Bell’s solo work or his searching tracks on Big Star’s #1 Record. Bixby’s conversion becomes more explicit on “I Have Seen Him,” as he not only credits a higher power with his physical renewal and creative burst, but is driven to spread the Gospel: “Tell the world that He is still Living/ And weeping for us for we have pushed him aside.”
Such proselytizing may be too much for some listeners; Bixby’s friends were startled by his transformation from acid-head to acolyte. But even if you resist the earnest conviction of his words, it’s harder to walk away from the vibrant, wide-open music. Whatever your beliefs, you can hear that Bixby driven by something positive. These are the sounds of a man who has found his calling and wants to share in the joy of what he has discovered, and the vibrant chords go a long way to spreading that passion.
Ode to Quetzalcoatl is unique in the loner-folk school of private press records in that its singular vision is one not of mere alienation and isolation; although this album begins in that head space, it quickly guides the listener on a warm, healing path. A lot of listeners may find Bixby’s enthusiasm corny, but his haunting tenor and penchant for exuberant rhythm guitar suggest that in another time, he might have been a jangle-rocker. Bixby is alive and well and still playing music. It’s easy to listen to his music for pleasure; if that happens to deliver his message, then that’s all the better.
Bixby’s just paying tribute to the spirituality that he experienced that helped him disavow drugs and produce the beautiful, peaceful music contained inside his debut album, originally recorded in a friend’s living room across three nights and self-released in 1969. Originally part of the mid-‘60s Grand Rapids (Michigan) garage and folk scene (Shillelaghs, Peter & The Prophets), Bixby struggled with LSD and other drugs du jour, before seeking a way out and finding solace in conversations with Christ-like entities. This album is his epiphany, a way, according to the excellent liner notes “to transform the instant and ineffable communications he received into something personal he could explore”.
Opener ‘Drug Song’ sets the stage for the tortuous, suicidal lamenting to follow, as Bixby turns on the “O, woe is me” spigot, ultimately finding salvation through Christ. Bixby confesses in his liner notes that he “received a testimony of Jesus Christ for I have talked with Him and He to me, and I am one in Him…”. Heavily echoed throughout, Bixby’s pity party may be a turnoff to some (it does occasionally sound like a musical interpretation of the 12-step program), but there is no doubting his sincerity.
Bixby’s acoustic strumming nicely complements his gloomy, occasionally off-kilter vocals, which may appeal to fans of similarly distraught folkies like Leonard Cohen, Nick Drake, and Neil Young, although the one-note theme of his lyrics grows a bit tired after half an hour of preaching, like that Jehovah Witness that keeps ringing your doorbell.
Still, tunes like ‘Morning Sun’ and ‘Secret Forest’ are pretty, if rudimentary, and make for soothing, late night soul searching and navel gazing. The mostly instrumental ‘Open Doors’ and flute-driven finale, ‘Peace’ are particularly dreamy.
An enlightening experience, recommended to fans of Christian folk and spiritual self-discovery. Familiar touchstones include Perry Leopold, Dino Valenti’s solo album, and Young’s downers like ‘On The Beach’ and ‘Tonight’s The Nigh’t. I’ll echo Lundborg’s own conclusion that “it must be heard by any fringe folk fan”.
A record that closed out a historic three-album run of seminal early 70’s Afro-soul that also included their 1972 self-titled debut and 1973’s ‘Second Time Around.’ ‘Promised Heights’ solidified Cymande’s place in music history, and contains some of their most-beloved and often-sampled tracks such as “Brothers On The Slide”. As children of the Windrush Generation, Cymande were part of the first wave of innovators and originators of the fledgling Black British music scene. Taking influences from their Guyanese and Jamaican roots, the band fused reggae bass lines, Afro-tinged Nyabinghi percussion, psychedelic rock touches, and American style funk instrumentation into a unique sound they dubbed as “Nyah-rock.” ‘Promised Heights’ was recorded following the band’s US tour with Al Green which had firmly planted Cymande in the ears of an adoring American audience. Cymande were also the first British band to ever play the legendary Apollo Theater in Harlem.
On their final LP for Janus Records, Cymande continues the heavy message theme of Second Time Round. "Pon de Dungle" is about the secrets of life and love articulated over a lazy beat. "Equatorial Forest" is a multifaceted tune with a lightning tempo and sliding, accentuating horns, while the Curtis Mayfield-ish "Brothers on the Slide" has some commercial appeal. The flavorful "Changes" is like viewing a good oil painting; the slow, moody instrumental has a meditating effect, and a soft, airy flute makes for an inconspicuous lead instrument. "Promised Heights," the title cut, is strong, and should have done better for Cymande. It has the lilt and beauty of earlier sides, the horn work is sensational, and a nice sax solo scintillates. That same looping reggae beat is matched with meaningful lyrics and a positive, working-together theme on "Losing Ground." "The Recluse" has a great hook ("When will all the lights go, will they leave the blackest night") and features a nice romping beat spiced by sweeping horns. Cymande is a perfect example of music's universal appeal; despite not knowing 70-percent of what they're saying, you're still drawn into the sounds.
Second album from the London-based octet follows the same blueprint as they had for their debut album of the previous year. With a largely un-changed setting (line-up + technicians), the same label, the album came with another impressive artwork from the same painter.
The album starts on the very strong Anthracite (a very black coal, burning very well), which ignites the fire in your veins with its upbeat funky track gliding over distant brass lines, occasionally letting sax and flute getting personal with the listener. Excellent stuff. Willy's Headache is an aerial flute-laden soft jazzy track that last only two seconds longer than you wish it to and is soon followed by Genevieve, which is another excellent track where the insistent brass ostinato create a special tension that the vocals is only too happy to deal with.
The album is not quite as "perfect" as its predecessor, since there are a few tracks of lesser interest, including the more trad-African drum track For Baby Woh and. Fug is an up-tempo ethnic track (this sounds like Zulu rhythms) where the brass section attack both in the front ranks, but also in the background.
While Second Time around is another very worthy album, it doesn't have the amount of excellent tracks its predecessor had and furthermore, it lacks the surprise the first album had given us.
Cymande's second LP is captivating enough, but perhaps too political for the masses. Still, there've been few better fusions of reggae and jazz than Second Time Round. The spirited "Anthracite" is driven by horns on the chorus, a scorching sax solo, and a titillating flute. Flautist Mike Rose continues to captivate on the oddly titled "Willie Headache," which is far too mellow to cause listeners to grab for the Tylenol. Everything is centered around Steve Scipo's bubbly bass notes, a good example being "Trevorgus," in which the beat falls between midtempo and uptempo and everything (the horns, the rhythm, the chanting vocals) complements each other as if linked by an invisible chain. The group scintillates on "Fug," a rapid-fire mover and shaker that speaks of people dying because of greed and deceit. Cymande let their dreads down on this one -- emoting, getting real, and performing like there's no tomorrow. Gotta give Pablo Gonsales a bone for his constant, creative work on the congas throughout; drummer Sam Kelly stays in the background, happy with his understated role and keeping it tight. Vocalist Ray King breaks off his best lead on the tempo changing "Bird," and Joey Dee assists vocally while patting on his conga set; Peter Serreo, and Derek Gibbs sax play sparkles like champagne from beginning to end.
Invigorating head music done Rastafarian style by Cymande. "Zion I" is a spiritual chant put to music, setting the mood for Cymande. A laid-back "One More" lulls you into subliminal meditation before "Getting It Back" jolts you into some scintillating Jamaican funk-fusion. There's a message in many of Cymande's cuts, with "Listen," and "Bra" (a recognition of the women's lib movement), the most inspiring. Both are sung with passion, and are skillfully executed; the former is slow and painstaking in its message, while "Bra" slaps you upside the head with a stirring sax solo and bass-fueled vamp. An air of supreme coolness permeates Cymande, unusual for a first effort written by members of the band. Cymande sound like they have done this before; nowhere is this more evident than on the beautiful "Dove," a gorgeous concoction of lead guitar, tambourines, haunting backing vocals, and percussion, with the horns used as sparingly as table-seasoning on a gourmet dish. Along with "Bra," the group's most popular cut is "The Message" -- it's difficult keeping body parts still on this grooving mutha. All in all, Cymande is a marvelous collection that premiered a fine funk band.
Cymande was a multi-national octet based in England, drawing members from Guyana, Jamaica and St Vincent, and although they didn't have the direct African link, they still had the blood and roots enough to come up about as close as the African-rooted Osibisa. Indeed Cymande's music spread through three albums in the early 70's was fairly similar to the Dean-esque flying elephant group, drawing on long instrumental phase, allowing much interplay between the 8 musicians, plenty of space for (soft) exploration, while remaining absolutely accessible to the greater mass of potential listeners, including even the most discerning progheads. Their music was evidently ethnic, percussive, psychedelic, progressive, danceable, fascinating, intriguing and exhilarating, that drew from jazz (the heavy brass section), funk (you couldn't black and not be funk back then),
Founded at the basement of a London strip club, the group recorded in Soho and released their first album in early 73, an album presenting 9 tracks, none over 6 minutes (except the superb almost 11-mins Dove), but leaving plenty of room for the numerous instruments. Sound-wise, as mentioned with Osibisa, you can also easily think of the Nu Yorican band of Mandrill or the Burdon-less War or in a lesser extent early Santana, but this is already quite a stretch. Driven by the organ and a great stomping bass, the group rocks, swings and funks.
Starting on Zion I, you'd believe that the group would draw a strong reggae feel, but it's not really the case, as with the following track One More, Cymande is off to a real African start, and its not Getting It Back that will change much, although this extreme sort of funky reggae with jazz influences is simply mind-blowing. But the rest of the album moves away and Listen has a definite Marvin Gaye's Grapevine feel. However, with the following Rickshaw, if the group hints a bit at War in its chorus, the music is enthralling and pure dynamite with delightful developments from guitars, flutes, percussions, bass etc. Much in the same vein Dove is equally heavenly, this time drawing on psychedelics ala Traffic and Rare Earth and it is a haunting guitar piece that could fit on some of the best Savoy Brown (I'm thinking somewhere on Raw Sienna, for example), although the slight descending scat/chorus line has a bit of a Coltrane feel (ALS). Such an excellent track!!!!. Bra is a strong change (even a good kick in the butt) to shake you from the enchanting torpor that had settled in with those two longer tracks, and the brassy funk is right up the Mandrill/War area. Some of you will remember the minor hit of The Message, one that was on Santana and War musical grounds, but the album closes on Rastafarian Folk Song, with a hilarious dialogue, before developing a reggae psalm, one that welcomes you in a different reggae world of The Wailers' territory.
Rasta prog-rock is a reality! I had been expecting Cymande to sound more like fellow African influenced fusion rockers like Osibissa, Santana and Mandrill, but instead, Cymande offers a much cooler and relaxed musical vision than their previously mentioned high energy musical brethern. 'Late night' is the best way to describe the sound of this very laid-back mix of sparse instrumental prog - rock numbers, African jazz- rock, Rasta drums and international pop/soul music. I could imagine a late-night FM DJ from genres as diverse as progressive rock, acid jazz, world beat and rare groove/soul gems would be proud to slip on some of these cuts for an unsuspecting post-midnight audience.
When I mention the Rasta influence don't think reggae, this is more like Jamaican hill music passed down from Africa by Rastafarians who live in the country and play traditional African drums and sing long winding melodies that seem, to my ears anyway, to bear some influence from English church hymns and patriotic songs from long ago. Cymonde adds to that traditional Jamaican percussive base with the classic jazz rock instrumentation of drums, bass, guitar and woodwinds. Some of their music might remind you of Traffic, Peter Green, Gabor Szabo, Bo Hanson, Jade Warrior and some of Santana's more laid-back songs.
This is a great album, not particularly difficult or challenging, but by keeping it cool this band has made an album that has almost no embarrassing flaws, sometimes that is exactly what I am looking for. If you want that cool reverb-heavy late night vibe with an international percussive flavor, this one is for you.
With the release of their self-titled debut album in 1972, Cymande emerged as innovators of the black British music scene. Taking influences from their Guyanese and Jamaican roots, the band fused reggae bass lines, Afro-tinged Nyabinghi percussion, psychedelic touches, and American-style funk into a unique sound they’ve since dubbed as “Nyah-rock.” While they were embraced in the US, back home they were largely ignored and soon forgotten by a music business beset by prejudice against homegrown black talent.
Cymande split in 1975 after releasing three albums in quick succession, but their music lived on as successive generations of artists and fans found and embraced their songs. Their far-reaching influence can be heard in the countless samples taken from their music over the last four decades, from pioneering DJs like DJ Kool Herc and Grandmaster Flash, to De La Soul, The Wu-Tang Clan, Gang Starr, EPMD, Sugar Hill Gang, Fatboy Slim, and The Fugees -- to name a few. They stand today as one of the most revered and sampled bands in the history of Hip Hop, House, and Dance.
Charles Wright & The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band
1968
Hot Heat and Sweet Groove
01. Caesar's Palace
02. Yellow Submarine
03. Brown Sugar
04. Soul Concerto
05. Fried Okra
06. Spreadin' Honey
07. A Little Class & A Little Trash
08. The 103rd St. Theme
09. The Girl from Ipanema
10. Bring It on Home to Me
11. Whole Hog, Or None at All
12. Watts Happening
Charles Wright: Guitar, Vocals, Group Member
James Carmichael: Arranger, Piano
Mel Brown: Guitar
"Streamline" Ewing: Trombone
Arthur Wright:Bass
Pete Fox: Guitar
James Gadson: Drums
Herman Riley: Saxophone (Tenor)
Jackie Kelso: Saxophone (Tenor)
Melvin Jernigan: Saxophone (Tenor)
Abraham Mills: Drums
Hot Heat and Sweet Groove is the debut album by the funky band led by the charismatic Charles Wright. The Wright brood moved to Los Angeles when Charles Wright was 12. In Watts, Wright befriended doo woppers and balladeers like Jesse Belvin, the Hollywood Flames, the Youngsters, and others who lived in the area. Propped by stars like Bill Cosby and publicized by two and a half years of sold-out crowds at the Haunted House (a local club), along with an unexpected local hit, the band was able to secure a contract with Warner Bros. Records. Nothing major came from this set that displayed a choppy rhythmic approach similar to Dyke & the Blazers. But this surprisingly hard-to-find album produced by James Carmichael, who went on to great success with the Commodores, features some thick funk: "Fried Okra," "Brown Sugar," and reworkings of "Yellow Submarine," "The Girl From Ipanema," and "Bring It on Home to Me." While not the most cohesive set, you can't knock the hot SoCal energy exhibited by Wright and his crew of young hopefuls, including future Earth, Wind & Fire member Al McKay, along with James Gadson, Melvin Dunlap, Big John Rayford, Bill Cannon, Gabriel Flemings, and Joe Banks. The LP's most popular track, "Spreading Honey," charted at number 44 R&B and number 73 pop in 1967. The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band didn't even record the song. Wright cut the track with Bobby Womack, Leon Haywood, James Carmichael, and others as the theme song for DJ Magnificent Montague's radio show. But it smoked so much that Warner Bros. signed them on the dotted line and credited the single to the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band; this album followed, and the rest is history.
No Los Angeles group dealt funk like Charles Wright & The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band. Their grooves were hot and cool at the same time; they could stretch out and jam like jazzmen, so honed were their instrumental chops, and their name announced to the world that they hailed from the soulful side of the City of Angels.
Guitarist Wright was born in Clarksdale, Mississippi in 1940 but moved to L.A. at 12. Deeply influenced by local R&B crooner Jesse Belvin, the high schooler waxed his first single, Eternally, in 1956 as Little Cholly Wright on Cholly Williams' self-named Cholly imprint, though deejay Dick 'Huggy Boy' Hugg reissued it on his Caddy logo as by The Twilighters. Under that name, the group made 45s for Ebb and Cholly, and Pan World issued a 1960 Charles Wright single, (It's Gotta Be) The Right Time.
The first incarnation of the Rhythm Band came together in 1966 to cut a theme song for L.A. deejay Magnificent Montague, which got so popular that it came out on producer Fred Smith's Keymen label as Spreadin' Honey. Comedian Bill Cosby hired another outfit that included Wright to cut some sides for Warner Bros., notably Cosby's droll '67 hit Little Ole Man. Smith and Cosby helped get Wright's outfit a contract with Warner Bros. (an imprint not generally associated with R&B until then), where they cut their album debut, 'Hot Heat And Sweet Groove.' The ultimate Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band lineup consisted of Wright, guitarist Al McKay, bassist Melvin Dunlap, drummer James Gadson, saxists Big John Rayford and Bill Cannon, trombonist Ray Jackson, and trumpeter Gabriel Flemings.
Their first album as a unit was titled 'Together,' and they were, honing their grooves as the house band at a happening Hollywood Boulevard nitery called the Haunted House. Do Your Thing, their first Warners smash in '69, originated in a jam on its stage. Before year's end, they hit twice more with Till You Get Enough and Must Be Your Thing. Their first 1970 hit, the liberating Love Land, was actually a more potent pop seller than R&B (by now, Wright was front-billed with the group on the label).
Cut at Gold Star Studios in L.A., the Wright-penned-and-produced Express Yourself was the pinnacle of the band's funk exploits, his playfully languid vocal counterpointed by the extremely infectious goings-on unwinding underneath—punchy horns, chicken-scratch guitar, and a deadly groove locked down by Dunlap and Gadson. It leaped to #3 R&B and #12 pop and served as title track to one of their most popular albums.
There would be another hit at Warners, Your Love (Means Everything To Me), but the band's classic configuration would soon splinter as Wright moved to ABC-Dunhill for his last R&B chart entry, Doin' What Comes Naturally. Their reign wasn't as long as James Brown's, but The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band was a true funk machine.
04. Shake Your Body To The Beat (Long Version) 7:40
05. Scratch My Back 5:16
06. Life's Like Being In A Boxing Ring 4:16
07. Jungle Rock 6:24
08. Our Love's On Fire 4:46
Remastered At – The Carvery
Music By, Lyrics By, Arranged By – Charles Amoah
Following on from the runaway success of Soundway's release of Kiki Gyan's "24 Hours In A Disco", another Ghanaian legend looks to have his time to shine.
One of the most well-known disco and burger highlife artists of the time, Charles Amoah originally began his career as a drummer. Playing with Alex Konadu's band, as well as the Precious Jewels and Nana Tuffour, he then moved to Germany in the early 80s.
His first album Sweet Vibration spawned several hits which went on to be released as separate singles, namely "Scratch My Back" and "Shake Your Body To The Beat".
From the irresistible funk hooks of these singles, to the pop instrumentation of "Life's Like Being In A Boxing Ring", or the kraut-rock stylings of "Jungle Rock" - there is little doubt that the blend of disco, funk and highlife that was unique to the Ghanaian-German scene can be experienced in its full splendour on the album "Sweet Vibration".
Enrique "Pico" Ego Aguirre: Electric Guitar and Rhythms Guitar
Manuel Marañon: Percussion
Adolfo Bonariva: Timbals and Cowbell
Recorded Early 1970 Lima-Peru.
Bossa 70 was the brainchild of Nilo Espinoza, a Peruvian musician with a Brazilian heart. Nilo, a classically trained musician, was the top flute player in Peru in 1960. In 1961 he was honored with a scholarship to Austria to study advance classes of his instrument as well as other kinds of wind instruments. He lived in Europe for five years. It was during that time that he developed a profound attraction for all forms of the jazz language.
When he returned to Peru, in 1966, Nilo approached the best musicians he could find to form a group to play jazz and Bossa-nova, the new music craze from Brazil.
Very soon they found out there were not too many followers for their preferred musical styles. The group decided to play popular dance music on a part time basis so everyone in the band could make a living. The band had Nilo Espinoza, on the tenor sax and flute, Alfredo Ginoccio, playing trumpet and slide trombone, Otto de Rojas, at the piano and organ, Enrique Suescum, on electric and acoustic bass and Tito Cruz on drums. They named the group Los Hilton's, because they got a gig as the house band on the best International Hotel in Lima, Peru, called "Hilton".
They had several singers during the time they played at the Hilton. This was their mayor weakness, since it was hard to find a singer that could feel comfortable singing jazz and Bossa-nova as well as popular music.
In 1967 they recorded an long-play under the name Los Hilton's, which became extremely rare, since the Peruvian record label printed only 200 copies. The tracks on the album are a compilation of original compositions with some popular songs, played in The Hilton' s style.
In 1968 the group got busy giving concerts of jazz and Bossa nova. They decided to changed their name to Bossa 70, to reflect the musical style they were going to offer, specially after their main singer was replaced by Carmen Rosa Basurco. Carmen Rosa was a beautiful black woman that could sing in English, Portuguese and Spanish, and, also, had an electrifying personality with good control of audiences.
As a mean to promote their new name the group recorded a mini-lp with four fantastic songs. 100 copies were pressed and giving as a prize during the concerts and to personal friends and family.
In 1970, to commemorate the anniversary of the band, they recorded a long-play for Phillips, represented by El Virrey in Peru. The label pressed 300 copies that were sold quickly. It contains the songs Berimbao, Me quedo con el Shing-a-ling, Get out of my way, etc... True Bossa-nova, Latin jazz and funk. It is worth to mention that Enrique "Pico" Ego Aguirre, leader of Los Shain' s and Pax, was the lead guitar player during this session.
In 1972 the members followed their own musical paths. Nilo Espinoza formed a new version of Bossa 70 and called it : Nil' s Jazz Ensemble. This band went to record the only jazz funk lp from Peru
A masterpiece of Turkish ethno-psychedelic delight, recorded between 1970 and 1975 by the three very talented Hur El brothers, and released in small quantities on Diskotur (originals sell for $1000 and up nowadays); their second album has the heavy hashish sound -- fuzz guitar, impassioned vocals and Eastern percussion -- that makes Turkish psych so savory to the rest of the world; very possibly as good as anything recorded by countryman Erkin Koray.
The first album by trippy Turkish trio 3 Hur El -- a great blend of Eastern sounds and western styles -- all coming together with a slightly progressive feel! The instrumentation often includes some heavy basslines underneath lighter lines on acoustic strings -- a blend of folksy and modern that's topped by passionate vocals and often underscored by some great heavy percussion -- all in a style that's a bit otherworldly, but oddly quite compelling! The set's definitely the kind that makes you say "I don't know what's going on here -- but I sure like it anyway.
3 HÜR-EL was one of Turkey’s most popular Anatolian rock bands in the early 1970s and consisted of three brothers: Onur Hürel (bass guitar), Haldun Hürel (drums) and Feridun Hürel (vocals, guitar, saz). Like most Anatolian rock bands of the era, 3 HÜR-EL mined its Turkish folk music heritage and applied the scales, melodies and rhythms and placed them in a rock context.
This trio of brothers were born in the northeastern city of Trabzon but relocated to Istanbul for better business opportunities. Having started as as Yankilar, the name was later changed to Istanbul Dörtlüsü and then were employed in a number of local orchestras before forming this particular band in 1970. While the trio stuck it out for seven years, only two releases emerged during that timeframe although the brothers would reconvene for a set of albums in the 90s.
This self-titled debut album arrived in 1972 but carried a lot of the 60s zeitgeist of psychedelic folk mixed with traditional percussion-rich Turkish folk music wrapped up in rock regalia. Feridun’s fragile vocal style reminds me a bit of some of the Arabic traditional styles only with a bit more reservation that actually reminds me a bit of some of the ways female singers of places like Indonesia and Thailand performed in the 60s.
In addition to the standard rock instruments that include the guitar, bass and drums, 3 HÜR-EL employ a generous use of the saz, a stringed instrument native to the Turkey in the baglama family of instruments resembling a small lute and quite popular all across the Middle East. Another prominent feature is the use of high octane acoustic percussion very much in the vein of local traditional folk styles.
Despite a 70s appearance, the album sounds much more 60s to my ears but then again many of the Middle Eastern countries were on a completely different timeline during those decades of the 20th century when places like Turkey were still quite exotic. Overall this album sounds more like an amplified example of local Turkish folk music with no Western influences to be heard whatsoever. While the lyrics are all in the Turkish language, the brothers were peaceniks with themes covering liberty, freedom and justice.
As a complete addict of the addictive rhythmic lure of Middle Eastern rhythms and music scales, i do have to say that this is a decent slice of Turkish Anatolian rock however the vocals sound a bit cheesy to my ears and in many ways i keep thinking that this is Turkey’s equivalent to Bollywood music. It’s not really bad at all it’s just that i’ve heard better and 3 HÜR-EL would indeed improve on the following “Hürel Arsivi.” For what it is, it’s OK but everything is a bit too smooth and poppy for its own good. Needs a little more grit.
Kitsy Christner and Therese Williams recorded a novelty album as ten-year-olds. Forty years later, Dandelions is an Internet sensation.
The back cover reads:
It was just two years ago when we met each other — that’s when it all started. Jim CURRAN started giving us guitar lessons. After a while we always played together at the shows at school. Then we had a photography class with Frank. He taught us how to develop pictures and what a photographer should know. One day it was very nice out so we went over to the college to ake pictures and there was a great big dandelion field and so we thought why don’t we take pictures here. So we all picked some dandelions and posed in them. Frank took our picture and we developed it.
in a few weeks we were together at Kitsy’s home for the weekend and Uncle Scott and Aunt Judy were there when we started to make up some songs. Uncle Scott said, “Why don’t you two make an album since you’re so good?” We said, “O.K.!” So we started making up songs and Kitsy came up with the idea of using the picture of us as the album cover. We figured out how it was going to look and everything so we made up a whole bunch of songs. Some of them we forgot and they weren’t any good and so we had to make up new ones. Our new ones turned out pretty good.
Then we had singing lessons with some of the teachers at our school. Before we could record we had to practice doing our songs, so Jim said we should have a show of our own for the school just to get used to crowds. We did and we sang all our songs. Finally we had a whole bunch of rehearsals for the album and we had background people like Wendy and Mike — Mike played the drums and Wendy the bass. It really started to sound good so we had our first recording sessions.
On our first recording session we recorded four songs but we only used two: “Dandelions” and “Tuffy”. In our second recording session we were tired of rehearsing and recording so we decided we were going to do them all that day. They all turned out good. The following Monday night at 8 o’clock we chose which songs we wanted to do which finished the album. We had everybody who wanted an album at the College School send in $5.00 to us. When we got pretty much money we finished the album and that made us very proud.
We’d like to say “Thank you” very much to Jim CURRAN, Wendy KATZ, Mike KIEFFER, John MacENULTY, Uncle Steve (Uncle Harry?) and all the people who helped us make our whole album. TRES and KITSY
Not sure if you could call this record a “holy grail,” but it is certainly getting a lot of exposure amongst a small group of people right now. Only one copy of this record has ever surfaced for auction on eBay, final bid: $480. It is one of those hard-to-find records that collectors will go to great lengths to uncover.
I spoke to two people who own it, and their stories literally mirrored each others. Never doubt the ingenuity of a record collector. They are a cagey bunch. This vinyl rip is courtesy of one of those collectors. It was originally recorded as two tracks (side A, side B), but I cut it up into twelve tracks and amplified the sound a bit. Still, it’s ripped from vinyl so there will be a bit of surface noise and maybe some pops here and there. Be grateful!
Anyway, this is a 1971 original twelve-song album of real-people folk music, recorded by Tres Williams and Kitsy Christner, who were 10- and 11-year-old girls at the time. It's a great album of all originals by the girls, who also play guitars. They are backed by bass and drums. The songs are totally catchy and charming! One person I spoke to this week called it “The Shags, but with more musicality and talent.” The eBay auction seller said they “Nail the indie nerd vibe of 20+ years later with all the would-be charm and none of the pretension.” I listened to it yesterday for the first time and can’t really think of a good musical comparison, but the songs are actually really cool, and the recording doesn’t smack of kitsch in any way.
One typical 1970 afternoon, Thérèse Williams, nicknamed "Tres," and her best friend Kitsy Christner gathered for their usual after-school guitar lesson. The two Webster Groves fifth-graders were in a silly mood. While waiting for their guitar teacher, Jim Curran, they discussed a Christmas party that Kitsy's parents were planning. Tres wasn't yet sure if she could stay over that weekend.
"Be sure to ask your mom!" Kitsy reminded Tres.
"I will," said Tres.
"Be sure to ask your grandparents!"
"I will, Kitsy! I'll even ask my dog, Tuffy! And he'll say, Arf arf arf arf!"
Then Tres began strumming her guitar, landing on a two-chord pattern, and began improvising lyrics:
Arf-arf-fa-farf, that's what Tuffy will say
After I ask him,
Can I go to Kitsy's house?
I'm gonna run away from home and go to Kitsy's party!
As Kitsy joined in, Curran arrived, overheard the cheerful singing and playing, and asked, "What was that you were doing? You know you were writing music?"
What do you mean? We were just goofing around!"
"No, that is making music! Keep going. This is today's lesson. I'm not teaching you anything else. You're going to expand this."
This is how Tres and Kitsy, two ten-year-olds from St. Louis County, wrote their first song. Before they graduated sixth grade, they made an album called Dandelions under the band name Children of Sunshine, sold 300 copies to friends and family, appeared on local TV and radio, and — thanks to a garage-sale rediscovery by a local record collector — inadvertently created a collector's item that now sells for upward of $500 on eBay. There is currently no other way to hear it besides the gray-market world of Internet file sharing.
It also happens to be a wonderful album. Dandelions' ten short songs are clearly influenced by the folk music of the time — Judy Collins, Carole King, James Taylor — but the melodies are so memorable, the performances so strong and unjaded, the vocal harmonies so shaky but effective, that it's utterly charming even now. Tres and Kitsy sing about family friends, pets, the world around them, God and each other. There are silly songs with inside jokes, but there are also confused observations on a Vietnam-era world ("War") and a resigned, almost heartbroken look at divorced parents ("They Call It Love"). It's very intimate music, not meant for an audience beyond themselves and their close friends and classmates.
Despite this — or, more likely, because of it — Dandelions has struck a chord with a discerning class of musicians and record collectors. When Beth Sorrentino, the former lead singer/pianist of 1990s alt-rock band Suddenly, Tammy!, heard Children of Sunshine, the duo immediately reminded her of "the untouched and authentic sound" that she loves in her own music students. "They seem to understand music on a very different level. It's fresh in their ears. Kids, I find, don't sing or play music unless they completely feel it. The experience for them seems incredibly in the moment. It feels almost like you are eavesdropping on them. [The music is] just pure and clean, full of flowers and sunshine, and just a dash of edge."
"When music is this special, we want to share it," suggests British rock critic Everett True, who featured Children of Sunshine on his website, collapseboard.com. "It's so understated, so human. I love singing where you can hear the personality of the singers. The music is fantastic, the way it's so nearly not there. There's such untroubled joy there."
Everett heard about the album from Ben Ayres, a founding member of the band Cornershop. "The album puts me in mind of artists like Beat Happening, the Shaggs, the Vaselines and many other musicians I love who aren't afraid to wear their hearts on their sleeves and put musical ideas and emotions before detailed technical ability," Ayres says from London. "I deeply believe that most great music is on the boundaries of the so-called rules of music and more in the spirit and emotion-led area."
It's lofty praise for an LP that, almost accidentally, is only now worming its way into eager ears. It's certainly taken the creators off-guard. They occasionally get calls from curious fans, asking if it's really them.
"You have to understand, when we listen to it, there's a part of us that's very proud and profoundly moved," says Thérèse Williams. She lives and works in Santa Fe, New Mexico, now, but took time out of her vacation in Oregon to discuss Dandelions. "But there are other parts where I'm just in pain at the sound of my voice, or how simple it was. Very childish. Immature, almost."
"For a long time, it was sort of an embarrassment," says Kitsy Christner Sheahan, who still lives in St. Louis and works as a real estate agent. "Now I'm thinking: 'You know what? It's OK to come back to this now. It was always a fun, exciting time, but it's OK to be proud about it.'"
The College School of Webster Groves was originally founded in 1963 as a teaching school for undergraduate education majors at Webster College. Then, as now, the school was known for its program of "experiential" education, with emphases on direct experience and theme-based learning. "The school was extremely supportive of students exploring learning on their own," says John MacEnulty, who was one year behind Tres and Kitsy in school. "There was a specific curriculum in math and science, but everything else was sort of loosely guided. Students were encouraged to come up with projects of their own to explore things."
Kitsy began attending the College School in the fall of 1970, at the beginning of her fifth-grade year. "My parents, especially my mother, would seek out the most creative teaching styles and had learned about the College School," she recalls. "So she moved my siblings and me from the public-school system." Her father played a few instruments, her siblings took lessons, and both her parents were fans and patrons of the arts.
On her first day at her new school, Kitsy met Tres, who had been at the College School since the second grade. She lived right across the street with her mother. Her father, Jimmy Williams, was a well-known local jazz pianist and an integral part of the Gaslight Square scene. "He was right in the middle of it," Tres Williams remembers. Her parents divorced when she was a toddler, but she retains almost subliminal memories of Williams' presence in the home. "He watched me when I was a baby. He used to play classical music for me all the time. There's a passage of Mozart's Requiem that makes me just melt. Even though I don't have a memory of him in my household, I apparently have this cellular memory relating to music."
Tres and Kitsy went through the first school day together and signed up for extra courses — including Jim Curran's guitar class. "He was not a teacher per se at the College School. It was part of his coursework at Webster College to teach us," Sheahan recalls. "I don't remember that I had picked up a guitar more than a couple of times beforehand."
"I had taken guitar classes with [Curran] the previous year, and Kitsy and I, just by chance, were going into class together," adds Williams. "We played beautifully together, sang together and liked each other."
Through school and guitar class, the two became best friends. Tres would spend weekends at Kitsy's house; the two would ride horses together at the Christners' farm in Dutzow, about an hour west of St. Louis. "You seldom spoke of them separately," says MacEnulty. "They were always 'Kitsy and Tres.'"
It was at one of these weekend sleepovers that the idea arose to make an album.
"Kitsy's parents had a lot of music parties, and we'd always do 'shows,'" Williams remembers. Uncle Scott and Aunt Judy, two of Kitsy's relatives, were in town from Kansas City. After an impromptu "concert," Uncle Scott said, "You two are good! Why don't you make an album?"
That was all the encouragement the precocious pair needed. With support from the College School, pre-production began. They had taken pictures of themselves in a field of dandelions at Webster College, so Dandelions became the album title and photo. Williams still marvels at the ease and enthusiasm with which her College School teachers took to the project: "As soon as it was clear we were on this track, they completely supported us to the point where we would get out of school to do performances. We would take school time to write music, perform on TV and radio. The whole school as well as our parents were totally supportive. They allowed us to be in control of the entire process."
Under Curran's tutelage, they wrote enough songs for a ten-song LP. There were no outtakes or unreleased tracks. To get comfortable with the recording process, they gave a concert at the College School — their first performance outside of practice sessions and spontaneous shows for family and friends. For the recording, they rented a church on Big Bend Boulevard and hired two backing musicians, Wendy Katz on acoustic bass and Mike Kieffer on drums. They rented the church for an entire week, but Tres and Kitsy, being kids, finished the songs in two days and were too restless to spend time overdubbing or doing extra takes. "If we've recorded everything, can we be done?" they begged. There are two tracks of between-song chatter on Dandelions, and you can actually hear them arguing about song endings, and their audible relief after finishing the last track.
They mixed the tracks with Kent Kesterson at KBK/Earth City Sound Studios. Later a world-class studio and rehearsal space — Welders' drummer Jane Fujimoto recalls it as "like being aboard a giant spaceship" — it was then a tiny basement studio.
"He was recording high school choirs at the time," Sheahan says. "When we had to make decisions, we all met in his basement. And the adults let us decide." A total of 300 copies were pressed, and Tres and Kitsy sold them for five dollars apiece. "Jesus Christ Superstar was really big at the time," Williams says. "It was ten dollars for a double album, so we figured we could sell ours for five."
While waiting for the albums to arrive, the Children of Sunshine found themselves sought by local media. They appeared on two radio stations, KMOX (1120 AM) and a college station that neither now remembers. The Post-Dispatch wrote them up on the front page of the Sunday entertainment section underneath the headline "Songwriting Not For the Young at Heart." Most exciting, they appeared twice on Corky's Colorama, a long-running children's show hosted by Corky the Clown, also known as KSDK-TV (Channel 5) weatherman Clif St. James. "[Corky] had Tuffy's Pet Foods as a sponsor, so he had us sing it and then held up a can of dog food," says Tres. Their parents printed up business cards that said "Tres and Kitsy — Guitar Entertainment" on yellow card stock with raised orange lettering.
"Oh my gosh, we felt larger than life," Sheahan recalls with a laugh. "It was so fun and exciting."
And then it was over. By the time the albums arrived, Tres and Kitsy were in sixth grade and on to the next phase of their lives. There were no Children of Sunshine concert tours. In fact, both of them were a little embarrassed by the whole thing. "When you're ten or eleven, you're still a little girl," explains Sheahan. "When you get into the early teen years, you want to make sure you're still seeking approval from the people around you. And all of a sudden, we went through this transition where we had felt like what we had done was so wonderful, and then we thought it was babyish."
"By sixth grade, Kitsy's brothers were all into rock music," adds Williams. "No sooner was the album released than we were ashamed it wasn't hard rock. We had a psychological block to it for many years."
The pair graduated sixth grade and stayed together one more year — some of the College School parents from their grade started the Satellite School at Nerinx Hall High School. Then Tres moved onto Webster Groves High School, and Kitsy to Ladue Horton Watkins High School. The pair kept in touch but did not do any more songwriting or recording.
And that would have been the last anyone had heard of Children of Sunshine. Except for a little invention no one but a few computer scientists could have predicted in 1971: the Internet.
There have always been record collectors seeking out the most obscure recordings available. From old blues recordings and Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music to the present day, private, ultra-limited-edition pressings have always been valued for their scarcity and odd charm. "Obscurity itself will not sustain collector interest," suggests Irwin Chusid, a long-time DJ at Jersey City, New Jersey's WFMU (91.1 FM) who has produced reissues by the likes of Lucia Pamela and the Langley Schools Music Project. "However, obscurity and some musical magic, however raw, can spark cult appeal, especially if there's a back story and existing copies are rare."
Chuck Warner surely had this philosophy in mind while browsing a west-county garage sale some time in the mid-1990s. Now based in New England, Warner is a collector of some renown. His Hyped to Death label has unearthed literally hundreds of obscure punk, pop and post-punk one-offs and obscurities. He claims to have been one of the first to discover the Shaggs' Philosophy of the World, a strange but beguiling album by a trio of New Hampshire sisters that has spawned cult fame, a musical and a possible biopic. Through trial and error, he's trained himself to sift the vanity projects from the gems. "There are hundreds, if not thousands, of private-press LPs with promisingly crude artwork that turn out to be high school and college glee club and show bands, or religious records," Warner says. So when he happened across Dandelions at this particular garage sale, he was naturally suspicious. But, hey, it was only a quarter — so he bought the album and took it home.
"Of course, when I listened to it, I was blown away by both the musical sophistication and the lyrics." Warner recalls. And thus began the search for answers, in time-honored collector fashion: Who are these people? And what are they doing now?
Warner began sleuthing. He called the College School's alumni office, which would not give out contact information. When he realized that they had friends in common, he put out a request for information and a fresh, unopened copy of the album — only to find out, "Kitsy and Tres did not seem to want anything to do with the record and were not willing to sell copies to me at any price."
"We just didn't want to claim it anymore," Sheahan recalls. "The man I ended up marrying, his family had dear friends that went to the College School with me. While I was out of town, his mother had our record album in her living room and said, 'You're not going to believe who this is!' Even then, I was still embarrassed."
Warner played Dandelions for a few select contacts. One was ex-Dead Kennedys' vocalist Jello Biafra, known for his passion for "incredibly strange music."
Another was a long-time friend of Warner's in California. Said friend finally traded a pile of punk records for Warner's copy of the album, did his own research and found Williams on the Internet. She was annoyed that someone had sold Dandelions at a garage sale.
"My instant reaction was, 'Who's the jerk who sold our album when they could have called and given it back to us?'" Williams remembers.
By this time, both Williams and Sheahan were happily going about their adult lives. Sheahan stayed in the area, married, had three children and began selling real estate. Williams married, divorced after fifteen years and eventually found her way to New Mexico. There she became active in music once again — this time playing percussion in Brazilian samba bands — and started working in "permaculture," or sustainable land-use design. Her organization has helped set up agricultural systems throughout Latin America. (When it's suggested that she's come full circle from Dandelions to permaculture, she laughs. "If you're growing shallow-rooted crops, leaving the dandelions actually brings nutrients up to the surface," she says. "So dandelions are very valuable.")
Warner's friend convinced an initially skeptical Williams to sell him a batch of unopened albums, and from there the recordings traveled around the world.
It's been a long, strange trip: from a west-county garage sale to a collector in California, to a musician in England to an English writer currently living in Australia and now back to St. Louis. It took a complex tangle of technology — a medium that some believe is destroying the music industry — to bring these low-key, isolated acoustic recordings to an audience that no one, least of all ten-year-olds Tres and Kitsy, could have imagined existed.
Even so, the pair is making plans. In between writing a book about her father, Williams is fielding offers and talking to record labels about reissues. There have been a few offers, and they're considering how to best preserve the innocence and legacy of the original project. She and Sheahan have even discussed a "reunion" concert — maybe a potluck dinner for their family and friends, maybe even at the College School itself.
There's one bittersweet part of the story: Jim Curran, the man who taught them guitar and inspired the whole project, is nowhere to be found. They're still looking for Curran, and both were adamant that he be mentioned in this story.
"We cannot find him, and we want him to be part of this resurgence," stresses Williams. "If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't even be writing music. He was our protective bubble through the entire process."
But Williams and Sheahan would be crazy not to keep hope alive. If the story of Children of Sunshine teaches us anything, it's that we're all interconnected in complex and seemingly random ways. The concept of "six degrees of separation" is now as outdated as eight-track tapes. If a Webster Groves duo's fifth-grade school project can reach across the decades to find an audience, perhaps their teacher is closer than they think.
Born to an aristocratic family in Addis Ababa in December of 1923, Emahoy spent much of her youth and young adulthood studying classical music in Europe. She returned to Ethiopia in the 40s, where the war interrupted her musical studies. In 1948 during a church service in Ethiopia, she found her faith and began years of religious training.
Throughout her physical and spiritual journeys, Emahoy continued to compose for the piano. She first released this album in Germany 1963 as small private press record. The tracks reflect her own travels, seamlessly moving between Western classical and traditional Ethiopian modes, evoking Erik Satie, the orthodox liturgy, and meditative Christian music all at once. Her work is like no one else in the world, lyrical, hypnotic, full of spiritual warmth and a direct connection to the divine.
Emahoy lived in Jerusalem for many years where she continued to play until she passed in 2023, the funds from her work go to the righteous causes to which she has dedicated her life
This record, made when she travelled to Germany in 1963, marked the first time Emahoy’s music was recorded and features 5 compositions that beautifully weave through blues, jazz, and classical solo piano works. The transformative recordings of “Kompositionen” reflect Emahoy’s deeply expressive style of piano playing and her lifetime of experiences as a young music student in 1920’s Switzerland, her time spent as a Prisoner of War in WWII, her years as a close confidant of Emperor Haile Selassie, and her later years as a Nun in Jerusalem.
A profoundly healing and contemplative record, “Spielt Eigene Kompositionen” is the perfect soundtrack to reflect on memories of the past, while ushering in the hopes of a better future. Here is what each song meant to her as she was composing:
The Homeless Wanderer
The homeless wanderer plays his flute while he worries about the wilderness around him where he journeys. At night in the mountains, when people and animals rest after the day, one hears the song of a flute which the little wanderer plays, alone and far from home. The wild animals and snakes do not dare approach him, but listen spellbound to the melody his flute produces. The power of the notes protects him. Thus he loses his fear of the nocturnal visitors and they become his friends.
The Last Tears of a Deceased
Dedicated to my beloved brother, Assayehegne, who died in a car accident at the age of 18. The last sentence of my composition expresses my deep sorrow: “my heart will weep for him all my life.”
A Young Girl’s Complaint
A young girl complains about the hardships of life. Her sister’s words give her no comfort. But her tears bring relief from her sorrow.
The Mad Man’s Laughter
This designation for my composition goes back to a remark my sister made, which is that when she heard it, she heard the reverberating sounds of a madman's laughter.
Presentiment
The presentiment of a heavy stroke of fate. Composed two years before the death of my youngest brother, Assayehegn.
The music of the pianist Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou seemed to reflect every area of her extraordinary life. A daughter of Addis Ababa’s upper classes, she was immersed in Ethiopian traditional song, then trained in classical violin and piano, embraced early jazz and later took holy orders. So it’s quite fitting that her compositions were a curious fusion of fin de siècle parlour piano, gospel, ragtime, Ethiopian folk music and the choral traditions of the country’s Orthodox church. A BBC radio documentary on her work was entitled The Honky Tonk Nun, and it seemed to sum up the paradoxical nature of her music – a mix of high and low art, sacred and profane, precise notation and free improvisation.
Emahoy might have remained unknown to the outside world were it not for the French musicologist Francis Falceto, who worked with the record label Buda Music to release an album of her archive recordings in 2006. It was part of a series of compilation albums of Ethiopian music entitled Éthiopiques. The series was a revelation, even to many people who thought they were familiar with Africa’s best music. Where there are certain instruments, rhythms, scales and voicings that are shared by several different regions around the continent, the music of Ethiopia – one of the world’s oldest Christian civilisations – stands distinct and discrete from anything in neighbouring countries.
Emahoy’s best-known contemporaries and compatriots, who also featured on the Éthiopiques series, were jazz and funk musicians such as Mulatu Astatke, Hailu Mergia and Mahmoud Ahmed, whose mix of shuffling, disjointed rhythms, seductive vocals and sizzling wah-wah guitar riffs remain a source of fascination. But Emahoy’s spartan solo piano recordings didn’t quite fit under the ambit of jazz. Compositions such as The Homeless Wanderer, Homesickness and Mother’s Love (several of which are now familiar from TV advertisements) were quizzical, stately, delightfully odd pieces pitched somewhere between Keith Jarrett, Erik Satie, Scott Joplin and Professor Longhair.
They use a series of pentatonic scales, or kignits, which are the building blocks of all Ethiopian music, from its ancient liturgical chants to its folk songs and funky pop music. These five-note scales are similar but musicologically quite distinct from Arabic maqams or Indian modes. They have names like the anchihoye, the tizita and the bati, and most have major and minor-key variations (some, like the ambassel, don’t have a minor or major third at all, and so have a wonderfully ambiguous, open-ended feel). Emahoy’s piano playing manipulated these modes to draw us in and hypnotise us, like a snake charmer with a pungi.
Her signature style on the piano was metrical and precise. All improvising pianists try to “bend” notes in some way, but Emahoy had a very distinctive way of doing it. She didn’t slur or slide or crunch the keys like a blues or boogie-woogie pianist might, but instead played very crisp trills that gave the impression of raising and lowering the pitch of a note, just like the florid curlicues that Bach might have precisely notated. Her music often didn’t obey strict tempo considerations, slowing down and then speeding up almost at random. Sometimes she’d use so much rubato that a song that started in waltz-time would end in 4/4.
This music was the product of an extraordinary backstory. Her father, the European-educated diplomat and mayor of Gondar, Kentiba Gebru Desta, was 78 years old when she was born, making her possibly the only person on the planet alive in 2023 with a parent born in 1845. The young Emahoy was a glamorous society girl, educated at a Swiss boarding school and fluent in several languages. She had piano and violin lessons at a classical conservatoire in Cairo (learning under the Polish violinist Alexander Kontorowicz), immersing herself in the music of Bach, Beethoven, Brahms and Schumann. On her return to Addis Ababa, she started to write her own compositions, and assisted Kontorowicz when he led the Emperor Haile Selassie’s Imperial Guard Band (she recalls playing the Emperor some solo piano pieces and singing him a ballad in Italian).
In 1948, she was offered a place at the Royal Academy of Music in London but didn’t take up the offer, instead surprising her peers by taking holy orders and living – barefoot – in a convent outside Addis Ababa. By the early 1960s she started playing the piano again, and her recordings between 1963 and the mid-70s have become the basis for her canon. In 1984, she relocated to an Ethiopian Orthodox convent in Jerusalem. Until recently she was, from all accounts, still practising every day on an upright piano in her convent, and writing new material. Maybe some of these songs will yet emerge, as singular as the rest.
