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  Наименование CD :
   From The Ashes

Год издания : 1999

Компания звукозаписи : Waterlily Acoustics

Время звучания : 45:08

Код CD : WLA-CS-59-CD (7 0772-30059-2 2)

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CD, стоящие на полке рядом : Jazz (Violin)      

L. Subramaniam & Larry Coryell

This work is dedicated to Django Reinhardt and Stephane Grappelli

A stunning improvised collaboration for fans of any kind of string instruments, From the Ashes brings together Dr. L. Subramaniam and Larry Coryell.

All Music Guide

========= from the cover ==========

From the Ashes

Everyone finds a tremendous appeal in music, yet the reason for this remains a mystery. Why should the ordered arrangement of sounds create a pleasurable experience? Why should it evoke images and emotions in our minds? Perhaps Beethoven had the answer. "Music," he said," is a higher revelation than all of wisdom and all of philosophy." But a revelation of what? The great Sufi teacher Hazrat Inayat Khan suggests an answer. "(A)mong all the different arts," he states, "the art of music has been specially considered divine, because it is the exact miniature of the law working through the whole universe." He is not alone in this view. Indeed, musicians and philosophers from remotest antiquity to the present day have affirmed the power of music not only to charm the mind, but also to unfold deep levels of knowledge about the nature of life and of the world.

The performances on this recording are prime examples of this power. They belong to the growing genre arising out of collaborations between Indian musicians and jazz artists. In many ways they advance this genre, whatever name we may want to give it, if only because it is one of the few collaborations involving a musician from the Karnatak tradition in duet with a jazz artist. Beyond that, they draw upon an Indian ethos to convey emotion through music, a power that transcends musical boundaries. Here is an example of an artist who draws upon Indian tradition to capture one overwhelming and powerful effect, accompanied by another artist who demonstrates how mature the language of jazz has become by drawing on it to meet the same aesthetic challenge. But the effect of this music only serves to underline the mystery; how can ordered sounds create an emotional response? One solution is suggested in the Indian theory of sound and music.

In India, sound is considered to be the fundamental constituent of the universe. What is referred to as sound here is the cosmic vibration emerging directly from the mind of Brahma, the Creator in the Hindu triad. Alone in the universe, Brahma, who is pure being, pure intelligence, becomes aware of his own existence. Thus, intelligence becomes consciousness, and unity divides itself into the trinity of observer, observed, and act of observation. Flowing within itself, consciousness gives out the primordial sounds that are the roots of language and music, as well as the very source of the created universe. (This concept is also reflected in the gospel of Saint John where it is written: "In the beginning there was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.") Emerging from such a world view, music holds a place of enormous importance in Indian life and culture. This is reflected in Hindu iconography where the goddess Saraswati is portrayed holding a book, a rosary, and a vina. Saraswati presides over music / sound, the arts, and knowledge. The name Saraswati means the flow (sr) of the Self (sva). Thus, she symbolizes the flow of consciousness that constitutes the primordial sound responsible for all of creation on both the individual and cosmic levels.

Indian theories of sound (nada) and music flow directly from this cosmology. The great cosmic vibration is known as Nada-Brahman, and the theory details the various levels through which it passes in the process of creation. The unmanifest, unbounded value of Brahman begins to vibrate within itself, giving rise to anahata nada, literally "unstruck sound." This is said to be a vibration on the level of akasha, the cosmic ether, and represents the level of creation to which saints and yogis try to attune their minds and nervous systems. This is the level at which Saraswati resides and where the Vedic hymns can be discerned by the great seers or rishis. As Alain Danielou writes, "The vibration of ether, which cannot be perceived by the physical senses, is considered the principle of all manifestation, the basis of all substance. It corresponds to what the Neo-Pythagoreans called the 'Music of the Spheres'. It forms permanent numerical patterns which are the basis of the world's existence." From this level of sound, the physical world emerges and with it, fully formed, audible vibrations of the air known as ahata nada, or struck sound. Some of these sounds are structured in such a way that they perfectly mirror the virtual vibrations of anahata nada. These are known as madhura nada, or musical sound. Other sounds are mere noise, known as pratyahata nada. For this reason, as Danielou writes, "(M)usical sounds have it in their power to reproduce the first creation of the Primordial Intellect." Rabindranath Thakur puts it this way, "For us, Hindu music has above all a transcendental significance. It disengages the spiritual from the happenings of life; it sings of the relationship of the human soul with the soul of things beyond."

Thus, if sound is perceived as the very source of the universe, and music defined as the particular arrangement of sound that most clearly reflects its order, then music acts at the most subtle level of communication to link cosmos and mind and is, thus, "a higher revelation than all of wisdom and all of philosophy." Such a notion runs as a common thread through ancient music traditions not only of India but also of China, Greece, and elsewhere, and has influenced European musical thought until recent times. This view has two aspects: the idea of music's ethical power to affect man's soul and that of the presence of cosmic harmony. Such notions have resulted in theories linking musical notes and modes with specific deities, planets, seasonal and diurnal cycles, and aspects of human affective states. Thus, in India for example, the basic melodic forms, or ragas, are designated for a specific time of performance and associated with a particular rasa, the essence of the emotional and aesthetic ethos. It is this portrayal of emotion that is best illustrated by the artists heard on this recording.

Dr. L. Subramaniam is one of the most distinguished performing artists in the Karnatak tradition. Yet he is much more than that. His virtuosity as a violinist, and his command of his idiom, has brought the classical music of south India to an ever wider audience in recent years. Furthermore, his collaborations with artists from a variety of traditions have brought his art to a level where it frequently transcends boundaries of style and genre, and have garnered him international acclaim.

Born in Tamil Nadu, Subramaniam began his musical studies at a very early age with his father, Professor V. Lakshmmarayana. His mother, L. Sitalakshmi, was also an accomplished musician. Their influence led to his mastery of the fundamentals of Karnatak music while still quite young. Encouraged by his father, Subramaniam also pursued in parallel a rigorous course in formal education, which culminated in his obtaining a degree in dentistry. This was followed by his attending the California Institute of the Arts where he obtained higher degrees in Western classical music theory and composition. Since then, apart from his extensive concertizing and recording of Karnatak music, he has also engaged in collaborations with north Indian or Hindustani artists such as Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, Ustad Bismillah Khan, Prof. VG. Jog, and Pandit Ravi Shankar; jazz musicians such as Herbie Hancock, Stephane Grappelli, Maynard Ferguson, Hubert Laws, and Stanley Clarke; and Western symphony orchestras such as the Moscow, Oslo, London, New York, and Los Angeles Philharmonics, the Kirov Ballet and Berlin Opera Orchestras, as well as the Orchestre de la Suisse Romande. He has also worked with George Harrison, Mauricio Kagel, Svend Asmussen, and Sir Yehudi Menuhin. He was presented the highest award by the Government of Tamil Nadu while still in his teens, and received the prestigious Padma Sri award from the president of India twelve years ago. While in the East, a critic impressed by his technique compares him to Paganini, a Western critic, moved by his music, writes: "In the West, I have heard only one other music as meditative, serene, powerful and yet equally joyful - that of Johann Sebastian Bach." Whereas his many awards and accolades speak of his virtuosity as a violinist, it is this recording that, above all others, embodies his greatest skill, that of synthesis. The distillation and blending of numerous styles and genres have seldom before been taken to this high degree. This is a groundbreaking recording in that, like its companion issue (Southern Brothers with Kadri Gopalnath and James Newton, #WLA-CS-56-CD), it is the first to capture a Karnatak musician in duet with a jazz artist, in a purely acoustic setting. Transcending the boundaries of style and tradition, Subramaniam, through his virtuosity, frees himself of the constraints of aesthetic calculation and performs the artless art growing directly out of the unconscious.

Joining him in this effort is another musician whose work has transcended boundaries. Larry Coryell started out as a rock guitarist in Seattle before moving to New York and working in a jazz environment with Chico Hamilton, Gary Burton, and Herbie Mann. By 1970 he was recording with the likes of John McLaughlin, Chick Corea, Miraslov Vitous, and Billy Cobham, later with Charles Mingus, John Scofield, Stephane Grappelli, and Sonny Rollins. But Coryell's talent is such that he cannot be contained in any one genre and he has kept moving on - acoustic duos with the French guitarist Philip Catherine, trios with John McLaughlin and Paco de Lucia, classical recordings of Rimsky-Korsakov and Stravinsky, and more recently, collaborations with the Hindustani flute master Hariprasad Chaurasia. Like Subramaniam, he has reached the point where he transcends categories, even of World Music, to arrive at a place where he is capable of responding directly to the musical and emotional demands of this encounter. His playing also says something about the jazz-centered improvising musician who, by opening himself up to the whole world of influences, starts to synthesize a style that transcends them all, giving him, like McLaughlin, the ability to work in the realms of classical music, jazz, rock, and both the Hindustani and Karnatak genres.

Apart from the musicians on this session, two other components add immeasurably to the results. One is the Chapel of Christ the King in Santa Barbara where the recording took place. Many producers try to find ways to overcome the cold atmosphere of the average recording studio. Water Lily's Kavi Alexander transcends the problem by recording in this beautiful old chapel whose atmosphere puts artists into a rare mood of settled comfort, and whose acoustics add warmth and depth to his recordings. The other contributor and catalyst is Kavi himself, whose approach to recording plays a significant role in the end product. Holding that the digital medium and solid-state electronics destroy such essential components as subtle shadings and overtones of the music, Kavi uses a custom-designed all-analog setup based on vacuum-tube technology. The results are particularly striking on high-quality playback systems, but any equipment will reveal an unmatched purity of sound, in which every nuance of the performances and the warm acoustics of the chapel are very clearly available to the ear. This approach is particularly important when recording purely acoustic music, to preserve the timbral accuracy of the instruments, as is the case here and with virtually all Water Lily productions.

Karnatak music is one of the two main branches of the Indian classical tradition and is a courtly art music born of the ancient Dravidian culture. For centuries the Indian tradition was a unified one, but around six hundred years ago, Indian music treatises began to speak of two separate performance styles, one in the north of India and one in the south. These have come to be called Hindustani and Karnatak music, respectively. Of these, the Hindustani style is currently much better known in the West, because the first major ambassadors of Indian music were from the north, among them Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, Pandit Ravi Shankar, Ustad Vilayat Khan, Ustad Bismillah Khan, and Prof. V.G. Jog. Karnatak music, while enormously popular among the Indian population in the U.S. and Europe, has remained little-known among Western audiences. With the possible exception of Subramaniam, who has given concerts at Royal Albert Hall, the Bolshoi Theatre, Lincoln Center, Madison Square Garden, and the Salle Pleyel, there are few Karnatak artists whose names are as well known on the international concert circuit.

It is useful to clarify the ways in which Hindustani and Karnatak music differ, keeping in mind that they both stem from the same historical source. Thus the similarities are as important as the differences, which are primarily stylistic. Both Hindustani and Karnatak music are microtonal systems in which melody and rhythm are exploited at an extremely high level of sophistication. Improvisation within defined melodic and rhythmic frameworks, known as raga and tola in the north, ragam and talam in the south, is the main feature of both systems. Many of these forms are, in fact, shared by both traditions, although they may have different names. Thus the Karnatak ragam Mohanam is identical to raga Bhupali in Hindustani music. Performances in both systems also follow similar outlines, with preludes either in free time or very slow tempi, followed by various kinds of fixed compositions set to a variety of rhythmic cycles. In the north, these are called alap, jhala, jhor, and ghat; in the south they are known as ragam, tanam, pallavi. Ragam in this particular case refers to the alapana section, that free melodic improvisation that commences the exposition of every mode. In the alapana, the musician attempts to reveal the various melodic elements of the chosen mode and to establish its mood. This part of the progression has no rhythmic accompaniment. In tanam - a continuation of the free melodic improvisation still unaccompanied by percussion - a rhythmic pulse is introduced, which, at the end of each phrase, concludes in a cadence. Pallavi is a short, pre-composed melodic theme (with lyrics, in the case of a vocal interpretation) generally set to one cycle of the accompanying rhythmic pattern or talam. It is at the beginning of this section that the percussionist enters into the musical dialogue. The pallavi further has three features known as niraval, trikalam, and swara-kalpana. Niraval involves filling up portions of the pallavi line with new musical ideas. The soloist improvises on new melodies built around the pallavi which are fixed in relation to the talam. In trikalam, the pallavi line is played in three tempi, while keeping the talam constant. The three are: half the original tempo, the original tempo, and double the original. Swara-kalpana is an improvisation based on the solfa syllables in medium and fast tempi, with each phrase returning to the beginning of the pallavi theme. This complicated melodic improvisation is concluded by an equally impressive rhythmic improvisation in the form of a percussion solo known as tani avartanam.

The Islamic thrust brought Persian, Arab, Afghan, and Turkish elements into the music of India in the north, while also creating a courtly tradition that was to veer more towards a secular and romantic aesthetic. The Karnatak system, on the other hand, closely allied to the temple tradition until quite recently, tends to be more austere, although its intricate and complex rhythms have appealed especially to jazz musicians. Given this, it may seem hard to understand the relative lack of interaction between jazz and Karnatak musicians. One feature of Hindustani music that has made it more attractive to jazz artists is the freedom of improvisation within its instrumental genre. All of Indian music is ultimately based on the human voice. This is illustrated by a famous story in the ancient Indian text, the Visnudharmottara Purana. Approaching the great sage Markendeya, a certain king named Vajra asked to be taught the art of image making. "But how will you understand image making without the knowledge of painting?" asked the sage. 'Instruct me in the techniques of painting, O Wise One," requested the royal student. "But," continued the teacher, "you cannot paint without knowing dance." "Let me then learn the laws of dance," prayed the king. The guru replied, "Dance can be learnt only if you study deeply the art of instrumental music." "Instruct me, then, in the art of instrumental music," said the king, to which replied the guru, "You can't expect to learn instrumental music unless you have mastered the art of vocal music," at which point the king surrendered to the sage and began the study of vocal music. Karnatak music still reflects this viewpoint even to the extent that purely instrumental performances follow the forms of vocal music and instruments are valued for their ability either to accompany the voice, as with the vina, or to mimic the voice, as with the violin. While the same value is placed on the voice in the Hindustani tradition, a separate genre of purely instrumental music has evolved in recent years. This has been centered on the stringed instruments, such as sitar and sarod. But performers on other instruments, such as the bansuri, or bamboo flute, previously considered part of the vocal tradition, have now also adopted instrumental performance practices. This style provides considerable freedom for improvisation, and it is this that has allowed for collaboration with jazz musicians. The Karnatak repertoire, however, revolves much more around fixed compositions, particularly those of the famous composers Tyagaraja, Muttusvami Diksitar, Syama Sastri, and Purandaradasa. Within the Karnatak tradition, Subramaniam has single-handedly made a breakthrough by introducing a similar degree of flexibility, allowing the instrumental soloist to improvise much more freely.

The East meets West phenomenon began as early as 1958. Bassist Ahmed Abdul Malik, best known for his work with Thelonious Monk, made a recording on the Riverside label called Jazz Sahara with tenor saxophonist Johnny Griffin, on which Ahmed played the ud and experimented with Arabic scale forms. This was followed by sessions on Richard Bock's Pacific Jazz label in 1962, featuring sitar master Ravi Shankar, flutist Bud Shank, and bassist Gary Peacock. Another milestone occurred in England in the mid 1960s, when the West Indian alto saxophonist Joe Harriot and Indian composer John Meyer released the two seminal recordings, Indo-Jazz Fusion and Indo-Jazz Suite. Subsequently, alto saxophonist John Handy worked with the legendary Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and Dr. L. Subramaniam, while flutist Paul Horn recorded with a north Indian ensemble, accelerating this process. Soon, other jazz artists, such as Joe Pass, Don Ellis, Tony Scott, Gabor Szabo, and Emil Richards, began to work with Indian counterparts or experimented with Indian instruments and rhythmic patterns. While Buddy Rich recorded duets with tabla maestro Alla Rakha, others, such as John Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders, began to absorb the Indian influence directly into their playing. In the early 1970s, a high point was reached when British guitarist John McLaughlin formed the group Shakti, which included three Indian musicians. Later, McLaughlin collaborated with Norwegian saxophonist Jan Garbarek and the Indian flutist Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia. Chaurasia continues to perform with McLaughlin, as well as Larry Coryell, who is heard on this recording.

It is not a new thing for Indian classical music to adopt instruments from the West. The clarinet has gained some degree of acceptance, while the harmonium (to the chagrin of this writer) is used a great deal to accompany singers, particularly in the North. Hindustani musicians Brij Bhushan Kabra and Vishwa Mohan Bhatt have been able to successfully adapt the guitar into their genre of music. Two other instruments have been borrowed by the Karnatak musicians U. Srinivas and Kadri Gopalnath, who have mastered, respectively, the mandolin and the saxophone.

The violin was first introduced into southern India by Portuguese missionaries in the sixteenth century. There is an irony to this because, according to some scholars, the precursor of the violin was originally an Indian invention, a bowed instrument called the ravanahasta vina, introduced to the West by the gypsies. As the name implies, this instrument is closely tied to the god-king Ravana, the protagonist in the Indian epic, Ramayana, thus indicating the antiquity of the instrument. Be that as it may, the Western violin finally gained popularity in India in the early nineteenth century when Balasvami, the brother of the famous Karnatak composer Muttusvami Diksitar, heard a chamber concert presented by the British governor of Madras. Impressed with its affinity with the human voice, Balasvami introduced it into the vocal based Karnatak system. It is important to mention here that Subramaniam, who learned the violin from his father, is able through him and his teacher, to trace his lineage of tutelage directly back to Balasvami Diksitar. Balasvami's innovation was so successful that the violin has become an ubiquitous part of Karnatak music, both for accompanying singers and as a prominent solo instrument. The Hindustani system, having its own bowed instruments, such as the sarangi, dilruba and esraj, was slower to adopt the violin. However, from the 1920s onward, the violin began to make its appearance in the Hindustani tradition, through the efforts of the legendary Baba Allauddin Khan. His student, Prof. VG. Jog, and others, such as Sisirkana Dhar Chowdhury and Dr. T.N. Rajam, continue that tradition. While the violin used in both Hindustani and Karnatak music is the same Western instrument, there are differences in the way it is tuned and played. In India the performer sits cross-legged and holds the violin with the back of the sound box placed below the collar bone while resting the scroll on his heel. The tuning preferred by most Indian players is open fifths and octaves. The lowest string is tuned to D, while the next is tuned to A and the two higher strings an octave above. Subramaniam, however, prefers a slightly higher tuning: E,B,e,b.

Although Subramaniam and Coryell have been working together since 1987, these compositions were new and they had never played together on acoustic instruments. When they got together in Santa Barbara on the evening of September 13th, 1995, it took but a few hours for them to be ready, after discussing frameworks for improvisation, tuning, and so forth. Then the music you hear unfolded and was recorded in a five-hour session involving no rehearsals. What was uppermost in the minds of these artists were not the technicalities of scale or ragam but the feeling of the moment, because this was the first recording that Subramaniam had made since the death of his beloved wife Viji. In fact, Subramaniam had with him a small bag that he kept very close to him all during the session. At the end of the recording, he finally revealed that this bag contained Viji's ashes; he was scheduled to fly the next day to India where, in the traditional manner, he was to scatter the ashes on the sacred Ganges. Yes, of course, he was aware of the groundbreaking nature of the recording and, at most times, he would be enthusiastic about advancing musical expression. But on this occasion, his intention went beyond such concerns in order to find the means to express what was in his heart. It is remarkable that he was able to do this with such directness and simplicity and that Coryell was able to empathize sufficiently with his friend that he could go to the same source of inspiration and provide emotional, as well as musical, accompaniment.

The emotional center of the first piece comes directly from Karnatak music, even if the manner of performance goes beyond the norms of that tradition. The piece is an improvisation beginning with an introductory chord derived from the Karnatak ragam Shubapanthuvarali, a mode associated with morning and centered on the notes E, F, Ab, Bb, Db, and Eb. This is offset by the violin, which introduces a simple motif against the guitar chord and, with the two basic elements introduced, the improvisation unfolds out of the pure chemistry of their interaction. Subramaniam delineates the potentials latent within the original motif, approaching it from numerous sides. It is almost an alapana but not quite, as the interaction of the guitar voicings pulls the violin lines into an East-West no-man's land that is universal in direct emotional appeal. This is not intellectual music, but music of pure feeling. When Coryell steps forward, he is, for the moment, a soloist in the true sense of the word: he has no accompaniment other than the drone. He exploits the vina-like sound of the twelve-string, until a sudden piquancy is added with the entrance of the violin in pizzicato. The original motifs begin to make their reappearance, signaling the gradual end of the improvisation, although both players find more to say before the final notes die away.

The vina-like timbre of the twelve-string guitar and the use of a drone added to the Indian quality of the first improvisation. However, at the beginning of the second piece, the drone disappears; Coryell enters playing a nylon-string guitar, and the feeling shifts decisively in a Western direction. This feeling is reinforced by the harmonic framework of the piece, a simple i, iv, VII, V sequence in D minor (i.e., dm, gm, C, A). Speaking to Coryell about the session, I learned that Subramaniam had suggested this framework, derived from his interest in Western classical music. He improvises a simple and tender melody against the repeated chords until Coryell enters and enriches the harmonies from a jazz angle, adding altered chords, chromatic runs, and a walking bass. As the violin re-enters, it is, once again, in pizzicato that eerily matches the timbre of the guitar. Picking up the bow again, Subramaniam segues smoothly into a restatement of the theme to bring the piece to a conclusion. With its harmonic patterns and pizzicato technique, it is a remarkable performance by Subramaniam that no other Indian violinist could quite match, while the use of Western techniques is here exploited solely for the purpose of emotional effect.

As the D minor tonality dies away, the drone reenters to reestablish the Eastern feeling, mitigated again by the harmonic implications introduced by Coryell, now once more playing the steel-string guitar. If this creates a mingling of East and West, the ragam's feeling hovers between north and south, as it is Sivaranjani, which is popular in both parts of India. It exploits the contrast between natural and flatted thirds, as can be heard in the opening theme. It is given a tender statement in the hands of Subramaniam, but Coryell brings out its blues potential when his turn comes to reiterate it. Quickly the improvisation moves into more abstract areas, exploiting artificial harmonics on guitar that match the high register of the violin. The variations and interactions build in intensity until the complexities suddenly fall away to reveal the basic theme or motif as the third piece comes to an end.

Abstraction and intensity quickly return for the final improvisation. Coryell, once again playing the twelve-string, sets the tone with his solo. As the violin returns, it is with a plaintive quality that is quickly contrasted by aggressive guitar chords, and the rock idiom shows itself for the first time. As before, the duet builds in rhythmic intensity until this dies away, to leave us with the theme. But this time, both players linger here, caressing the final motif as though they do not want to let it go, until at last the final notes die away, leaving us with the drone and then with silence.

Producer Kavi Alexander always makes a significant contribution to Water Lily productions, conceiving the projects, bringing together diverse groupings of musicians, creating the most conducive atmosphere, and making the recordings. As usual, he also came up with the titles for the four pieces that appear on the recording. As these were new compositions, conceived the day before the recording, the artists had not yet thought of any Subramaniam's previous Water Lily recording {Electric Modes Vol. I and II #WLA-ES-4&5), having been already dedicated to his wife who had passed away before its release, Kavi decided to honour her memory through the titles of the pieces. The first one, The Way You Placed My Bow, refers to the loving way in which Viji would help her husband at concerts and recording sessions, often unpacking his instrument and selecting the bow for his use. Beyond the Flames clearly refers to the cremation that resulted in the ashes Subramaniam was guarding so carefully at the sessions, while Love is Stronger than Death is a quotation from the Song of Songs. The final piece, Alone by the Ganges, depicts Subramaniam at the water's edge of the great river, performing the final funeral rites for his wife.

While few instances of creative expression have occurred under such poignant circumstances, the most important aspect of this recording is how suffering can be mitigated through art. There is no doubt of the depth of feeling expressed by the musicians here, directly from Subramaniam and indirectly through his colleague. Yet by filtering the feeling through the techniques of musical expression, the end result for the listener is, ultimately, to be uplifted rather than depressed. This ability touches upon that same mystery of musical expression. Not only can arrangements of tones convey feeling, but because they come from the level of anahata nada, the pain of personal tragedy is offset by contact with the Universal. Because, no matter how it is reached, the universal aspect of consciousness is sat chit ananda, being, consciousness, bliss. Thus the level of expression that conveys the pure value of any human feeling also contains an element of universal bliss-consciousness. As a result, great art, and especially great music, has these two qualities that have been cherished in all cultures for many centuries: the ethical power to affect man's soul and, simultaneously, the power to indicate the presence of harmony in the cosmos.

-Peter Westbrook (Musicologist)

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   1 The Way You Placed My Bow         0:12:58  
   2 Beyond The Flames         0:09:08  
   3 Love Is Stronger Than Death         0:10:20 Johnson
   4 Alone By The Ganges         0:12:42  


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