Rediscovering the Lasting Appeal of American Primitive Music

On the last Sunday in October, the atmosphere in Sanders Theatre resonated with a mixture of mystery and anticipation. The audience was a mixture, as well—of old and young, rustic and intellectual, neophyte and old believer. When the man that they were all waiting for, that had brought them together under those timbers that night, took the stage—burly, black shirt, slightly stooped with guitars in both hands—that hum of anticipation burst into a roar. Without a word, he sat down at his stool in the spotlight, adjusted the microphone towards his instrument, and began to play.

There are few living guitarists who could consider themselves equal to Leo Kottke. Over the last four decades, he has established himself as an innovator, not only of the acoustic guitar but of a movement whose interlocking eclecticism and traditionalism have informed generations of music makers. The novel musical themes of his 1969 debut—an entirely instrumental album called “6- And 12-String Guitar”—are only surpassed by the technical skill necessary to execute them. Kottke is the most recognizable living American associated with acoustic guitar performance and not without good reason. His career straddles the divide between the independent, underground performer and the performer who brings his gifts to the mainstream. His early-70s image as the acoustic guitar’s fresh young face gave way to a late-70s foray into that of the “singer-songwriter,” though to little success. The 80s brought a more experimental flavor to Kottke’s music, as he incorporated an even wider variety of sounds into his acoustic tableau. In the early 1980s, after sustaining chronic injuries to his hands due to an aggressive playing style and taking a brief hiatus, Kottke reinvented his technique and returned to the guitar. Since then, his two most high-profile recordings have been collaborations with Phish bassist Mike Gordon—2002’s “Clone” and 2005’s “Sixty Six Steps.”

The man’s talent as a performer, especially in light of his age—he’s in his 60s—and his history of ear injuries, is nothing short of astonishing. Kottke’s playing is like storytelling. Even with the limitations of the six-string guitar, every song, however wordless, has a sort of narrative that unfolds in its own sonic atmosphere. The complexities of both, to the untrained observer, would hardly seem possible coming from one man. His hands seem fixed, while the tips of his fingers rush across the frets and strings, creating a polyphony of rhythm and melody that would put all but the most accomplished fingerpickers to shame. While his instrumentals are undeniable, the vocal accompaniment he provides on songs like “Corrina, Corrina” is pleasant, even moving, if not a little rough around the edges.

About a quarter of the way through the show, Kottke actually began to speak—first about how he never knows what to say to his audience, then about the ideal acoustics and intimidating decor of Sanders Theatre. Every digression or anecdote evoked a strange and enigmatic vision of the man and the movement he symbolizes.

The strain of music that Kottke helped make famous—a hybrid of blues, folk, country, and bluegrass traditions known as “American Primitive”—was pioneered by John Fahey, an eccentric and reclusive guitar composer. Fahey’s prolific and varied catalog—including “Blind Joe Death,” “The Yellow Princess,” and “Fare Forward Voyagers”—comprises perhaps the first substantial discography of “outsider” music in the 20th century. His second album, 1967’s “The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death,” is a miracle of acoustic innovation, showcasing peculiar compositions and idiosyncratic arrangements. That album’s bizarre, esoteric liner notes became one of Fahey’s many trademarks. It was Fahey who, in effect, discovered Kottke, when the latter mailed his demo recordings to Fahey’s nascent label, Takoma Records; to this day, Kottke’s debut remains Takoma’s best-selling record.

While Kottke may have been Takoma’s star—his music is the most accessible of any of his contemporaries, and he’s arguably the most technically skilled among them—Fahey was the label’s creative center. His early discography is an unparalleled example of American Primitive, but his later albums depart strongly from that movement in search of ambient and drone-oriented experimentalism. Two of his final albums, “The Mill Pond” and “Womblife,” go as far as abandoning the language of acoustic guitar in favor of churning, feedback-heavy noise-passages. Fahey’s relentless creative antagonism made him a figure of inspiration for artists like Sun City Girls and Six Organs of Admittance.

But these two seemingly divergent forces—Kottke the acoustic virtuoso, Fahey the ambient experimenter—came together with Peter Lang to record an eponymous 1974 LP. Because of Takoma’s relatively limited financial clout and semi-dormant status in the wake of Fahey’s death, this album remains nearly impossible to find, but what thin documentation exists indicates that it’s one (if only one) highlight of both careers. In a way, the album represents the meeting of two tremendously important careers, whose oeuvres owe much to the same influences but whose trajectories and legacies are unique. At the same time, the album’s scarcity is indicative of the near-universal oversight of this rich and rewarding musical niche.

—Staff writer Ryan J. Meehan can be reached at rmeehan@fas.harvard.edu.