from The Maine Times

By GARY CHAPIN

THE WONDER
F.B. White
Cavern Recording, Waterville

The Instrumental Rock Experience is an odd musical artifact. It's got a history as long as rock 'n' roll itself and a pedigree that includes the most respected (if not best known) names of 20th-century music. As a prehistory, you've got jazz and swing. Then comes jazz/rock fusion, that fuzzy monster of the early '70s, led by Miles Davis's Bitch's Brew. Psychedelia gave us Pink Floyd in England, with their Saucerful of Secrets, Ummagumma, and Atom Heart Mother; and the Grateful Dead in San Francisco, whose hour-long improvisations were inspired not only by acid, but aesthetics. Eventually, we scaled the heights (or descended into the excesses) of Progressive Rock. Yes, Jethro Tull and King Crimson created compositions that demanded great skill and then performers who could execute them. This, along with the corpus of Frank Zappa, was some of the most well-constructed and interesting music of the Cold War.

This is great stuff!

But it's odd.

Unless it's the soundtrack to a movie, nine out of ten rock fans will still look at you funny if you play a record with no lyric. "This is boring," you'll hear.

"That's weird."

"That guy is really a musician's musician."

Or, "I really like this, but I couldn't listen to it all the time."

So why am I saying all of this? Not to lay out one of those self-defeating disclaimers. Not to artificially tie the three discs I'm reviewing here to a false sense of tradition. I am running at the mouth out of genuine excitement. I love this stuff. I've spent many years listening to and enjoying it, and I was really excited to receive The Wonder by F.B. White, and two discs by Kevin O'Reilly, Acidiron and The View From Left Field.

Now you know where I stand.

F.B. White (a.k.a., Floyd) is the owner of Cavern Recording, a respected studio in Waterville. The Wonder is apparently a long-planned labor of love. Nine instrumental pieces make up the disc, all composed by White, all filled with great melodies, great rhythms, and a subtle sense of harmony. White makes music that can be heard in a bar, but which is also genuinely interesting. He plays all instruments "except where noted," which means he's on all the core sounds, bass, drums, and - wonderfully - electric guitar. Those "except where noteds" make up an interesting mix of instruments. Mary Jo Carlson's viola is such a specifically lovely sound. Its alto song brings a melancholy to the music that a fiddle might miss. Peter Re's Hammond organ sound on "Bigcat Walk" has the whole history of rock built into it, bringing up the Doors, Jimmy Smith chicken-shack funk, and any number of pre-Moog California bands. Bruce McDougal does well with his flute, particularly in combination with Janice Erickson and Harry Vayo. Vayo's hammered dulcimer is a sound I've never heard in a rock setting. I'd love to be wrong about that because Vayo's playing is effective in every way. It serves as an accent in places, creates an atmosphere in others, and, at all times, supports the compositions wonderfully.

And as much as I enjoy the playing on this disc - there's not a bum performance in the lot - it's the compositions that shine. White has taken any number of elements - rock, funk, jazz, and folk - and brought them together seamlessly and with a consistency of vision. Without being clever, they appeal to the head. Without being sentimental, they explore sentiment. This is F.B. White's music, and it's enormously satisfying.