Robbie Basho's Snow Beneath the Belly of a White Swan: The Lost Live Recordings, is a box set that I have been absolutely obsessed with over the last few days. Released December 4th, 2024, by Tompkins Square, it acts as a companion piece to the Tompkins Square 2021 release Song of the Avatars: The Lost Master Tapes. Both box sets were made possible largely to Liam Barker's dig through several tape reels from the Basho estate.
Artists in a live environment find themselves free with creative expression and without the urge to achieve perfection through multiple takes. That statement encapsulates this box set and the 30 tracks which eclipse nearly four and a quarter hours. I had the pleasure of joining a listening party hosted by Tompkins Square on February 28th (a tribute on the 39th year of Basho's passing) with Liam Barker fielding questions which lasted around two hours. Unfortunately, these tapes were unlabeled, and don't have a clear outline of where or when they were recorded. The bulk of the recordings do have potential source dates from 1967-1976, and in some cases it's an educated guess. The listener might also find clues as to the dates of the recordings, such as Basho joking about a forthcoming release of Voice of the Turtle (1968) by John Fahey and how he planned to release the Voice of the Eagle (1972). There is the occasional tape flutter, and some lo fidelity mono tracks but overall, they sound incredible, and capture some of the Basho's strongest and best pieces.
The sparseness of the audience clapping and the hot mics picking up Basho breathing in and out as he takes us along on a transcendental and spiritual musical journey put you right in the room. Basho's candid banter about the smell of the stage lights, his disapproval of his performances, his many references to Fahey, and just his strange understanding and appreciation of other cultures, lend a certain kind of friendly dorkiness to Basho. Who in many ways, has similar speech patterns (regional Maryland accent), as well as an adjacent playing style to Fahey. While Fahey was rooted in the American blues, Basho explores ragas and themes relating to Japanese and Persian cultures. The liner notes hint how Basho would often challenge his audience with his deeper pieces but would submit to the room and play a more audience friendly country set.
The nylon string guitar is often the de facto standard for guitar in the concert setting. Basho would push the steel guitar to new horizons, with the expectation that someday it would be measured on the same scale. His music evokes an importance, and not just something for pleasure. What might come as a surprise to the listener is Basho's singing, which might be jarring to some. His singing is part of the performance, exactly what you would expect to accompany his trance like playing to the heavens. Hearing his heart wrenching Orphan's Lament, played on guitar and not piano takes the song to a whole other dimension.
The recordings serve a reminder as to the tragedy of art. Basho passed away at the age of 45 after a chiropractic accident, and at the time was barely making ends meet. His two albums for Windham Hill were deleted from their catalog, even though William Ackerman (the label owner) was a student of Basho's. Perhaps that is a conversation for another day, as Basho's music didn't exactly fit the "new age" Windham Hill was moving in. Had Basho lived a few years he might have seen the inspiration his music provided to others, and perhaps his back catalog would also be given the justice it deserves. Even so, this release occupies an important place on the shelf and serves as a document of the journey of Basho playing small coffee houses to a handful of patrons, to roaring applause of full auditoriums on college campuses. It begs the listener to ask "what if" as we drift among the clouds in the heavens and land back down to the Falconer's Arm.
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