Matt LaJoie “On Garudan Wing” LP Blue Vinyl (Flower Room)

“I wooed the breeze, blowing gently on me in my heat; the breeze I waited for. She was my labour’s rest. ‘Come, Aura,’ I remember I used to cry, ‘come soothe me; come into my breast, most welcome one, and, as indeed you do, relieve the heat with which I burn.’ Perhaps I would add, for so my fates drew me on, more endearments, and say: ‘Thou art my greatest joy; thou dost refresh and comfort me; thou makest me to love the woods and solitary places. It is ever my joy to feel thy breath upon my face.’” – Ovid, The Metamorphoses

The five-album, element-themed arc that began with 2019’s debut The Center and The Fringe reaches its concluding sweep with the air hymnal On Garudan Wing. More than four years has elapsed in the interim, yet the two albums act as natural mirrors of one another: like the debut, On Garudan Wing features one side of acoustic 10-string guitar and one side of 6-string electric guitar improvisations (the other three albums in the cycle each feature a single instrument). Recorded during the prolific “Colander” lockdown sessions, the three tracks on this LP—and additional 10 tracks spread across the companion Flight Path and Lilac of the Valley bonus albums—make frequent use of the backwards, sped-up “music box” guitar loops that were first employed on The Center and The Fringe’s “Venusian Ballroom”. There is a sense of the miraculous in these manipulated clouds of tonal sparkle: I have no idea what I’m creating until the moment the loop is reversed and sped up, and I still remember the joy, wonder, and excitement of hearing the loop that became the foundation of “Venusian Ballroom” as I was recording, my awe audible through the rest of that track. On Garudan Wing stretches this sensation out over the length of an album.

Fans of Everlasting Spring or last year’s “Trine” entry into the Longform Editions listening gallery will find most harmony with the sidelong acoustic A-side. Edited from a 40-minute improvised session, “Garudan Wing” is a devotional, windswept journey, a skybound pilgrimage that pushes against gravity until held aloft by its own momentum. The effect is akin to a perpetual exhalation, a release of burden and an elevation of earthly density to ethereality. I don’t remember the act of recording this piece, but do vividly recall listening back to it immediately afterwards, being held in the presence of friends without bodies at the vertiginous climax. It calls to mind the fragrance of incense smoke extending the bounds of an altar infinitely, or perhaps a gentle breeze blowing through a forested path, deciduous leaves fluttering in a way that suggests a friendly wave from the Mother Herself.

The two tracks on the electric B-side are painterly in the sense of inspired motion, a blending of shades, and a vision and structure that emerges only from a resonant perceptual distance. “Brushstroke” attains form across its (relatively) brief six-and-a-half minutes in a way similar to much of my visual art: dots and curves placed intuitively, playfully, inquisitively, guided yet naive of its final image, meaning arising primarily from the audience’s insight. Final track “Portrait in Violet”, built upon a spontaneously induced four-chord progression, is the rare song in my catalog that has more than a single chord in its structure. I typically prefer a raga-influenced drone backdrop, as this is inherently more freeing to me as an improviser, but the wonder of “Portrait in Violet” is that the movement of the chords inspired a similar guided flight with the lead lines. When, about halfway through the track, the backing loop is flipped and sped up, the structural chord progression inverted and elevated to a higher octave, I step back and watch, the image of giant wings redirecting swirls of effortlessly moldable stratocumulus overtaking my field of vision as the record comes to a close.

Perhaps this music exists purely for me to encounter, uniquely honed to my particular constitution, yet I don’t endeavor to keep these automatic composition experiences to myself. Each who connects with it—positively, negatively, or indifferently—adds a new, novel layer of meaning, impossible without that being’s singular presence and unique perceptual awareness. I deeply appreciate this communion, as integral and essential a part of the creation process as having a guitar in hand and looping pedal underfoot. Thanks for being here.

-ML