Pitchfork

Tomorrow's artists-to-be, allow me to spin a cautionary yarn. I once had a friend who became addicted to downloading cracked music software. After a few months, he had literally tens of thousands of dollars worth of programs on his computer, allowing him to realize any possible musical whim. The problem was, the more options that each new program afforded him, the more difficult the thought of creating any music at all became. When surrounded by infinite possibilities, he actually produced the least musical output of his life. Here, he discovered the basic reason that musicians will almost always impose restrictions upon themselves, be it in form, genre, instrumentation, or software: Total artistic freedom is paralyzing.

Tight parameters-- limitations stemming from the physical nature of an instrument, or a conscious decision of what to allow oneself-- can force a musician to focus on aspects of music usually taken for granted. 61 year-old Richard Crandell has spent his life playing with some of the world's great instrumentalists, from Leo Kottke to Taj Mahal to John Fahey; his first Tzadik release, Mbira Magic, is a testament to the ideal of liberation through restriction. The album is made entirely from a multitracked mbira (thumb piano) and occasional rhythmic accompaniment. With only a few keys, scales and tones available, Crandell's attention is turned toward rhythmic interaction, counterpoint, and impact through the addition and subtraction of melodic elements.

Mbira Magic is entirely acoustic, but the album inhabits the same world of atmospherics as ambient music. Crandell's phrases swell and ebb, as though pausing to breathe. There are no effects added to his sound, but he'll often phase melodies upon each other so as to create a layer of delayed response. The first piece, "Eleven", is the longest on the album, as he improvises over an 11-note phrase treated in such a way for a little over 11 minutes. The following track, "Steelhead", is a more concise statement. Here, and elsewhere, he's accompanied by Cyro Baptista, a renowned experimental percussionist who has played with artists such as David Byrne, John Zorn, and Herbie Hancock. Baptista keeps his sounds as humble as Crandell's tones, and together they create propulsive miniatures.

The mbira is naturally suited to playing the traditional circular melodies of African music, which obscure any recognizable beginning or end, and many of Crandell's tracks are built upon similarly repetitive themes. Yet while he works within scales commonly associated with other cultures, his sound defies any overt connection to world music. His shimmering patterns are more reminiscent of minimalists such as Reich, or Glass, and he applies methods and chords learned from studying fingerpicked guitar. Like lo-fi recordings from pared-down artists such as Mountain Goats or Devendra Banhart, Crandell's pieces give a palpable sense of their creation. Several tracks contain improvised sections, and the overall effect is one of sitting with him as he weaves quiet lines that float on air.

Crandell achieves a wide range of impressions and moods-- the echoes from a church on "Bells", or the folk melody on "Bolivian Lullaby"-- but they're all tempered by the unimposing nature of his instrument. Mbira Magic doesn't strive to be virtuosic or gripping, but allows its hypnotic melodies to quietly alter the environment around them. It's a beautiful piece of genre-less work, and a statement of maturity from an artist whose music is interesting enough to be content with but a handful of notes.