
Like their referent, Monk’s Volcano Songs (1993-94) reveal
the earth’s hidden forces, at once violent and graceful, as they are
embodied in the human form. Fissures in the great cosmic wheel release
their breath in chant, foregoing the detriment of words in search of
untinctured expression. Therein lies the great irony of this music, and
of the earthly condition that engenders its existence: namely, that in
order to express detachment one must hold steadfastly to the ephemeral
utterance as a point of departure. Hence the uncanny splitting of the self we find between Monk and Katie Geissinger in the duet portions of the Volcano cycle (for indeed, were I unaware of the album’s personnel, I might have thought that Monk was overdubbing herself).
Compared to Monk’s six previous ECM New Series efforts, Volcano Songs
is perhaps the most intimately recorded. Microphones seem fully
embedded in these voices, subtly processed for reverberant effect.
Ultimately, I feel that one gets out of this music only what one is
willing to lay at its feet. It is both the beauty and the tragedy of the
human voice: in pulling at the threads of our emotions, we must undo
one thing to communicate another, so that by the end we have forgotten
where we started, inhaling an idea that may very well outlive us. And
just as a volcano spews forth its scalding breath into the atmosphere,
so too must we eventually exhale, licking the fragile layer that
separates our survival ever so delicately from the blank space beyond.
The magic of Monk’s music is that it offers a glimpse of that other
side, in terms that we can relate to. (ECM Reviews)
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