ROBERT WYATT - Cuckooland

Approaching a new Robert Wyatt record is no easy task. First of all, because of what this man represents: a cultured, committed musician, a master of Canterbury, and the owner of a style as unique and recognizable as Miles Davis's muted trumpet or John Coltrane's soprano sax. Secondly, because in 1974 Wyatt created a work that changed the way music was made. “Rock Bottom“, in fact, transformed that strange thing we still call rock, to the point of marking a pre-“Rock Bottom” era and a post one, in which countless musicians have taken to heart the lesson of that tender, unfortunate, bearded musician. In short, I believe the awe one feels in approaching his new work is more than just an affectation.

What's more, the undeniable complexity of his music, impossible to liken to anything else that could be called pop or rock, also makes it hard to draw the usual comparisons found in reviews. Wyatt resembles only himself, and his music is largely unimitated and inimitable.
Robert Wyatt's music belongs to him alone, and I believe this “Cuckooland” further confirms that claim.
The many guest appearances that already characterized the previous, beautiful “Shleep” have increased in this new work, which enlists David Gilmour, Brian Eno, Paul Weller, the faithful Phil Manzanera, Karen Mantler (Carla Bley's daughter) and many others.

Just a fragment of the opening “Just A Bit” is enough to know we're in Wyatt territory: the ethereal keyboard drone, the blown trumpet, the one-of-a-kind voice turning into an instrument… it all catapults us into his enchanted world, made of dreams packed with musical notes, clouds and posters, the tongues of Babylon and the words of children. It feels like a world described by Lewis Carroll, except here the dream is reached through music. Anyone who knows Wyatt knows he achieves this result by working through subtraction: it really takes so little to be immersed in these warm, calm waters, almost as if returning to a prenatal state.

The music glides by, and nothing seems left to chance: on “Old Europe” he takes us by the hand to introduce us to the old Europe, the backdrop to a unique love story between Juliette Greco and Miles Davis, but the horns sound so Dixieland that we can't quite tell which old Europe this is, so lost and swallowed up by the hegemony of young America. Wyatt likes to joke around—I picture him there, laughing to himself in his rocking chair by a window overlooking the sea.

There is, however, a negative sign that becomes apparent as the record unfolds: a monotony emerges that was absent from the aforementioned “Shleep”. In short, “Cuckooland” is a record conceived as if vinyl still ruled the world, so much so that our man decided to split it into two parts, adding a track with thirty seconds of silence. But Wyatt seems to have forgotten that records of old, with rare exceptions, almost never exceeded forty minutes in length. Excessive length is perhaps “Cuckooland”'s greatest flaw: stripped of a few episodes that feel like déjà vu, it would truly be an excellent album. The fact that, in some cases, Robert and Alfie chose to set down their pens in favor of pre-existing music makes things a bit livelier, delivering some real high points: such is the case with the delightful pianistic pastiche of “Raining in my heart” or the heartfelt tribute to Antonio Carlos Jobim in the moving “Insensatez”.

On the other hand, some episodes feel predictable, and overall “Cuckooland” seems to lack an underlying unity. Perhaps this has always been missing in Wyatt, eclectic and disorienting by nature. In this case, however, the lack of stylistic cohesion does affect the overall judgment. In “Cuckooland”, this is probably felt more acutely precisely because of the plurality of authors.
Of course there's no shortage of gems, but they're scattered across a far too disjointed whole: the moving “Lullaby for Hamza”, the splendid, barely-whispered sax of the closing “La Ahada Yalam”, where once again Wyatt's austerity reigns supreme.

In short, this “Cuckooland” isn't all bright spots, though it remains a complex and moving record, one that a shorter running time and greater consistency in the writing would surely have allowed to become another small masterpiece. We'll keep listening to it, of course; after all, Wyatt's records are not disposable goods. But we're left with a sense of dissatisfaction, which we hope can be resolved in less time than it took to separate “Shleep” from “Cuckooland”.

One last necessary note: let it be clear that if someone else had made this record, we would have hailed it as a miracle… but as we know, we're always a little more harshly lenient with our own masters.

(copyright: Musicboom)

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30/10/2006