John Fahey's final album of the 1970s was also his first studio album in nearly five years, his prolific pace in the first dozen years or so of his recording career slowing notably by the middle of the decade. He pretty much just picked up where he left off on Visits Washington DC, however, offering another set of acoustic guitar instrumentals with stellar picking and an eclectic range of influences. A good share of the material this time around came from other sources, as he put together a medley of Doc Watson's "Silver Bell" and Bill Monroe's "Cheyenne" for the first track; incorporated Leo Kottke's "Death by Reputation" into the second, and also covered Bola Sete's "Guitar Lamento." On his originals (and to some degree even his interpretations), echoes of Appalachian folk, bluegrass, blues, ragtime, and flotsam and jetsam of Americana (with Stephen Foster liberally quoted in Fahey's composition "The Discovery of the Sylvia Scott") blend and merge. Some of his characteristic moodiness emerges in passages from "Ann Arbor" and "Melody McBad," and Richard Ruskin, another artist on the Takoma label, adds second guitar to "Silver Bell." ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide
The album may have an awkward title, but the music it contains is both touching and generally quite graceful. It's an appropriate juxtaposition, since the album celebrates the life and music of guitarist John Fahey, who was himself the same kind of walking contradiction: a notoriously difficult personality with a rare musical gift that expressed itself in guitar compositions and arrangements that drew on the blues, folk, bluegrass, various world music cultures, and Native American influences as well. You'd expect a tribute album like this to consist of interpretations of Fahey compositions performed by admiring colleagues, but in fact it's something quite different: it consists mainly of compositions written in Fahey's honor (sometimes, though not always, in a style that explicitly evokes his own playing) and performed by admirers both famous (pianist George Winston, Canadian guitarist Terry Robb, guitar duo Stefan Grossman and John Renbourn) and obscure. Two of the album's most lovely and affecting tracks are by a Vietnamese guitarist who goes only by the name Tinh, and who was mentored by Fahey early in his career. Fellow Oregonian John Doan contributes a gorgeous adaptation of Fahey's setting of the hymn "In Christ There Is No East or West," and slide guitarist Mark Lemhouse plays an original tune called "How White's Restaurant Destroyed My Life." Winston contributes a piano arrangement of "Steamboat Gwine 'Round de Bend" at the top of the program and then a version of the same tune on harmonica at the end, and Paul Geremia gives a brilliant interpretation of an old Charley Patton song (Patton was the subject of Fahey's thesis in college). This is a worthy tribute to an unjustly neglected giant of American music. ~ Rick Anderson, All Music Guide
Most of this 76-minute CD of previously unreleased live performances was recorded at the Matrix in San Francisco on February 14, 1968; it's uncertain when the rest was done, but the liner notes guess they were recorded a year later, in 1969. The Great Santa Barbara Oil Slick is a solid addition to the John Fahey canon, as the sound is clear and excellent, if drier than much of his studio work. (It also has its share of dead air between songs, punctuated by detached and laconic announcements from the guitarist, though these don't detract from its listenability.) Most of the material presents concert versions of songs that appeared on various Fahey LPs in the '60s, performed with his usual eclectic taste and virtuosity. And as is customary for much of Fahey's work, it mixes the blues, Americana, and some experimental ideas without leaning too heavily on any one of those poles. For dedicated Fahey fans, the big find is the six-minute title track, the only one of these songs not to be included on any of his '60s records, though it contains portions of two compositions ("Requiem for Russell Blaine Cooper" and "Voice of the Turtle") that appeared on his 1967 album Requia & Other Compositions for Guitar Solo and his 1971 album America, respectively. "Dance of the Inhabitants of the Palace of King Philip XIV of Spain" lasts three minutes longer than the original Fahey version, too, with some interesting slide guitar work. Otherwise it's more a testament to Fahey's mastery of the tunes (and the guitar) than it is an exposure of unsuspected hidden sides of his art, but it's no less worthy for that. ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide
Red Cross is the last consciously recorded 'new' John Fahey record. Intended for release in 2001 but met with delays following his ill health (and eventual death), Red Cross bookends an important discography, to say the least. In a manner perhaps typical of Fahey, this collection of self-produced pieces ends his career on a note both simple and probing. Ultimately, though, the prevailing tone is one of peaceful resolution and it is this feeling above all others that lends this session its haunting beauty. For the first time in years, we hear Fahey, if not without, then at least de-emphasizing the experimental, and at times downright menacing leanings, displayed on recordings such as Womblife and City of Refuge; favoring, instead, a more personal and reflective approach. Make no mistake, there are still a handful of effects and avant-garde dissonances on this recording but even these are used sparingly. This time, instead of being an end in and of themselves, these passages augment some of the most warm and vulnerable playing we've heard out of Fahey in a very long time. This is the sound of a man who, at the time of these recordings anyway, was only recently coming to grips with periods of his career he had all but disowned. Especially poignant is the cyclical "Charley Bradley's Ten Sixty-Six Blues," a tune which should remind listeners of moments as far back as "Sligo River Blues" from his 1963 album. On this piece we hear a refreshed and revitalized Fahey and little in the way of the clumsiness of which he has been accused in recent years. It is a piece rooted both in the traditions of American folk form and, interestingly, his own history. His most 'traditional' moment in some time now, this is the kind of tune listeners have become accustomed to hearing only on reissues and expensive LPs, and it stands out as perhaps this set's highlight. Otherwise, the standards "Summertime" and "I Remember" are handled in a similar, albeit deliberately paced, fashion while his own "Ananaias" is reminiscent of the style heard on albums such as 1971's America. "Untitled With Rain," on the other hand, is an informal seven-minute drone featuring two guitar tracks, organ, and an ambient room mic. This piece, though less aggressive, is especially reminiscent of the experiments heard on Womblife, while "Red Cross, Disciple of Christ Today," the album's second cut, sounds rather like Neil Young's score to the Jim Jarmusch film, Dead Man. All said, this probably isn't the place to begin investigating Fahey's immense body of work, but listeners unfamiliar with his more recent leanings will get an abbreviated taste of them here. A highly recommended, confusing, yet ultimately fitting end to a brilliant career. ~ Brandon Burke, All Music Guide
On Georgia Stomps..., a live solo Chicago date from 1997, Fahey indulges in his frequent, and frequently rewarding, habit of obsessively digging into his themes, worrying short phrases until he's wrung every last bit of beauty from them. The pairing of the standard "House of the Rising Sun" and Artie Shaw's "Nightmare" is interrogated for 20 minutes before Fahey decides he's had enough. The artist performs several of his own compositions, including the lovely "Juana" from his Womblife disc, as well as other standards, ending with a reflective take on "Mood Indigo." Despite working out of essentially a blues or pop song sensibility, one can hear echoes of influences as diverse as Derek Bailey, Harry Partch, and Balinese gamelan. His deeply personal, introspective approach makes one feel as if one is overhearing an artist performing in the privacy of his home, for his own rollicking enjoyment. Unlike Womblife or City of Refuge, albums where Fahey utilized electronic effects and found sounds, this performance, with its heavy blues basis and rich textural fabric, provides a direct confrontation with one of the most purely musical and idiosyncratic guitarists around. ~ Brian Olewnick, All Music Guide
This is not your father's John Fahey. Recorded late in his life and produced by Jim O'Rourke, this is one of the more overtly experimental albums in the Fahey catalog and also one of the most fascinatingly beautiful. The opening cut, "Sharks," begins like a solo Glenn Branca performance, all high volume, reverbed strums, and feedback, wrenched bitterly from his guitar before allowing a brief portion of "traditional" picking which, in this context, sounds as though lifted from a dream. The equally dreamy "Planaria" features loosely tuned, deeply gorgeous arpeggios (with more than a nod to Harry Partch) laid over tapes of Balinese gamelan ensembles. Though Fahey had long been experimenting with tape collages and other effects, one gets the strong impression that O'Rourke's presence served to bring these elements to the fore; the subaqueous sounds on "Eels," for example, would not sound out of place on many an O'Rourke recording. Only the concluding "Juana," a relatively cheery number with Spanish echoes, is played in a straightforward manner. Fahey fans who really appreciate the man as well as the music owe it to themselves to hear all aspects of his work, and Womblife is one of the finest releases documenting his more explorative side. Highly recommended. ~ Brian Olewnick, All Music Guide
A strange man, John Fahey, with an unusual set of guitar styles. This album, originally released on Riverboat Records and later reissued by Fahey's own Takoma label, has a lot of rough edges in terms of the recording but a tremendous amount of power when it comes to the music. Fahey was at the top of his game, alternately playful and dark, so there's never a dull moment. There is always something new to be heard on each playing. ~ Steven McDonald, All Music Guide
Bitterness was an ever increasing component of John Fahey's music later in his career, and perhaps never more so than on City of Refuge. The titles of the final two tracks give one a sense of his approach here. As on several past occasions, Fahey uses overlays of tapes and samples, almost all of which are bleak, harsh, and alien, subverting any "pleasant" associations his own folk and blues-based playing might have. When, about halfway through "City of Refuge I," Fahey plays what might normally seem an upbeat and sunny melody, he tears at it brutally, essentially laughing at its pretensions. The entire last cut, a venom-filled letter directed toward the "movement" that sometimes claimed him as one of their own, sounds as though it was recorded in a wasp's nest. Only the ghostly and striking "Hope Slumbers Eternal" has remnants of his more earthy and melodic music, often sounding reminiscent of Harry Partch's writing for kithara. Although guaranteed to irritate Fahey fans who only think of him as a "pretty" folk guitarist, City of Refuge is a mature and deep (if misanthropic) work, and one that deserves to be heard. ~ Brian Olewnick, All Music Guide