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TIMELESS RECORDING SOCIETY'S MEMORABILIA ARCHIVE 1971 Profile By Tony Glover To some musicians, their music is a pleasant pastime which incidentally keeps them in cars and clothes; to others it's a cold blue fire burning with icy intensity in every cell of their being-- they live for and through their art. Sandy Bull is an artist, his music occupies most of his waking thoughts...and maybe the dreaming ones too, for much of his music is the music of dreams; with shifting specifics and feeling flows that can't be denied. His accomplished instrumental work on oud, acoustic and electric guitars turns you at once inward and outward; he taps various western and eastern cultures in an individualistic but universal blend that reaches both mind and body. Bull recently returned to his native New York to finish up work on his fourth album for Vanguard Records, and also to appear at Max's Kansas City in a successful one week stint. To long time fans, it was more than just a homecoming gig, it was more on the order of a resurrection. For several years Bull had disappeared into the shadows of heroin addiction, and many had not only given up hope for his music, but for his life as well. Onstage at Max's, Bull played with new assurance, moving between his several instruments and dealing with the vagrancies of his amplification and tape playback system with calm patience and an easy humor. Spotlit against the reflecting glass window, his chiseled features became a mask of involvement as he hunched over his instruments, spinning out his blend of folk melodies and twining, rag-like improvisations. Sometimes accompanying himself with foot-cymbal, or using pre-recorded tapes of rhythm guitar, bass and percussion, Bull moved through nearly an hour of swirling musical textures that alternately soothed, spaced and stirred the listeners. And, to complete even one more circle, he reached back to his beginning days as a Village folk performer to sing an affectionate version of "Tennessee Waltz." The audience at Max's seemed composed of self-spawned fantasies; people who carry their own orbits with them--egos enmeshed in layers of hipness and remove, but such is the spell of Bull's demon-like commitment to the music he makes, that more than a few were drawn inside the sound and swayed, eyes closed, free for a time of the images that weigh them down...and the necessity of proving to anybody looking that they are who they claim to be. Bull, now 30, was born in New York, and seriously got into music at the Woodstock Country School in Vermont, where Mike Seeger is a fellow alumnus. Inspired by Mike, Bull took up 5-string banjo, taking lessons from Erik Darling in the Village during school breaks, and improved his guitar skills with a Pete Seeger guitar instruction record. In 1960 Bull received his first widespread public notice, when a critic wrote up his appearance at the Yale sponsored Indian Neck Folk Festival. By 1961 Bull began to appear at various folk clubs in the Village. It was the beginning of the folk boom. "Bob Dylan was working across the street at the Cafe Wha," Bull recalls in his soft, slow speaking tones. It was then that Bull began to move away from pure folk style, incorporating jazz and eastern influences in his music as well. "While I was working at the Gaslight I decided I didn't want to play anything the same way twice anymore," Bull explained. "I set a goal to try to be able to pick up an instrument and play something that was interesting--but always to be spontaneous." By then Bull was experimenting with guitar in various open tunings; he used to play along with ragas recorded by Indian greats Ravi Shankar and Ali Akbar Khan. Also from records, those of the Staple Singers, came another of Bull's main stylistic ingredients, the amplified guitar with electrically produced tremolo. "it's really handy to have that rhythm right there all the time," Bull reflected. "Especially when you're playing alone--it gives you a springboard to build from." While playing at Gerdes Folk City, Bull was approached by Vanguard, and later Jac Holzman, who was starting Elektra Records at the time. Bull chose Vanguard, because of their roster, and recorded his first album, Fantasias,which contained pieces that showed all of Bull's influences; folk, gospel, jazz, classical and eastern. It was a deliberate "head" album, made with stoned listening in mind, and was one of the favorites of those who were dabbling. The second album, Inventions, was more of the same, including a spicy version of Chuck Berry's "Memphis," which featured Bull playing bass and two electric guitars, by virtue of overdubbing. The album was recorded in Bull's own apartment with equipment borrowed from Vanguard. "I knew it was gonna take a while to do," Bull explained. But as Bull's experiments with music got increasingly eclectic, as did experiments with body chemistry. It was a mixture of romantic ideals and surrounding contexts that led bull to heroin; "Most of the musicians I really admired in jazz seemed to be using, and of course Charlie Parker and Billie Holiday were heroes too--." Bull began with weed, moved on to speed, practicing for days at a time, until his fingers were black--"I burned out on speed pretty soon--I saw that I could never realize the ideas and techniques obtainable on speed without years of discipline and practice. To lessen the harsh come-down after a speed run, Bull started sniffing heroin, eventually graduating to shooting speedballs, a particularly vicious mixture of heroin and cocaine. "Heroin killed that thing I was aiming for, that excitement and spontaneity of improvision--it keeps you from getting carried away with yourself while you're playing. It's the stupid way to..." But knowing wasn't enough--for the next several years Bull was strung out on various evil combinations of drugs, playing with the life-death thing. "I never was out to kill myself, but I was interested in death," Bull recalls now. "I just hung around the lip of the crater for a long time--I thought the inspiration would be purer there--". Bull traveled overseas, and in 1964 he met Hamza El Din in Rome; Hamza is an oud player who was hanging around an American university studying music and supporting himself by bit parts in movies like "Cleopatra" that needed Nubians. Bull and Hamza hit it off immediately, and though neither spoke the other's language they soon became fast friends. A time later Hamza and Bull shared an apartment in New York, and Bull says he considers Hamza his biggest influence. "Even though Hamza was a bit secretive about some of the subtle tricks of his oud technique...I guess I'm the same way about my stuff!" Later Bull moved west, doing various gigs with increasing difficulty (he would show up, tune interminably, play a short confused set, then split abruptly), and dropping in sporadically at classes in Indian music conducted by Ali Akbar Khan in Berkeley. In 1969 Vanguard released his third album, E Pluribus Unum--it consisted of two long pieces, one per side--and began a long process of rehabilition. He was in and out of various treatment groups without much real success, then he returned east and got on the Methadone Maintenance program. "It was an old lady who finally helped turn me around," Bull says. Not only is Bull looking a lot healthier, his music is more together. As is reflected in his fourth and newest album, which Vanguard will release in a month or so--it has more, and shorter tracks. "I'm getting more economic," Bull says. "I don't have to play a tune for 20 minutes, I can get it out in 3-- and hopefully say a lot more." Again, the new album is widely eclectic; besides Egyptian and Indian influences, country and latin music show up as well. "Latin has a strict format," Bull says. "But the freedom and rhythms inside that strictness are just incredible." Also included are a long Bull-styled version of the Floyd Cramer classic, "Last Date," a vocal rendition of "Tennessee Waltz" and a riff piece played on steel drums. Bull's influences are wide, as you might guess, but surprisingly, he doesn't listen much to other guitar players. "I try not to," he explains. "I don't want to be just a guitarist, I just want to play music..." Some of his favorite musicians include country singers George Jones and Willie Nelson, jazzmen Milt Jackson and Thelonious Monk, soul singers King Floyd and James Brown, latin favorites Joe Cuba, Johnny Pacheco and El Gran Combo, and Indians Ravi Shankar and Ali Akbar Khan. Now it seems that most of Bull's agonies are behind him, and one of his main problems now is moving his equipment from gig to gig. He has a thorough concept of the sound he wants, and is working with various means to get it. In performance Bull appears with oud, three guitars, pre-recorded tape backing and several amplifiers, but he uses electricity as an accomplice, rather than a henchman. "I'm trying to get a natural sound," he says. "A combination of acoustic and electric." The signal from his guitar is split into treble and bass components, then fed through reverb and vibrato amp on the treble side, and bass amp on the other. "Since I work alone, I want to get the full spectrum," Bull says. "That's why each has to be boosted separately. Those high sounds, even the non-musical ones like the metallic sound of the string against the fret; and the bass--it should be the kind that you can feel when it hits you in the stomach." Bull is very close to achieving the sound he wants and his performances reflect his growing capabilities. He has a growing roster of college concerts on tap (he books himself through Vanguard's NYC office), and his new album will receive special promotional attention from his record company--so maybe at last Bull will get some of the recognition long over-due him. But recognition or not, Bull has already won a bigger battle--he not only survived one of the most destructive of contemporary hells, but has surmounted it to make music that speaks in many tongues to many different kinds of ears. It's awful nice to have you back, Sandy...
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