Brian Eno - David Byrne
My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts

This "My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts" defies any attempt at control and categorization. The disorienting sensation experienced upon first listens creates bewilderment and destabilization: however, the contrast makes it all unique and unrepeatable. It's 1981, the punk intoxication is now fading, giving way to post-punk that will bring joy for decades, "pop" music is about to produce its worst offspring, and electronics are now established in almost every environment but will be used horribly for quite a few years. It's in this artistic melting pot that the non-musician Eno and the sophisticated David Byrne join forces to give the World a record that is actually more of an (accomplished) attempt to create something new, a cauldron in which to combine world music with more familiar sounds, in a creative process that's somewhat presumptuous but undoubtedly original. After all, there's almost no reason to be surprised: we're talking about two musicians who eat experimentation for breakfast soaked in coffee and milk.

An album with a continuous clash of styles and affiliations that are in antithesis to each other: East and West, the popular and the avant-garde impulse, guitar and synth scores and wild tribal sounds; even the vocal recordings used in the various tracks range from exalted preachers to "normal" voices gathered from all over the World. It opens with "America Is Weating," unsettling, edgy, with keyboards that seem like human laments, a musical jolt soon joined by what is the album's masterpiece, a song-nonsong-Manifesto, "Mea Culpa," simply extraordinary in its masochistic intent to hit us as much as possible with its continuous tribal loop, with its confused voices, with its sound threats; a piece that has its beginning, but then remains suspended, and you ask God (or fate, or whoever you like) to let it last forever. You will wish for anything, as long as it doesn't end. But alas, it ends, and then we lose ourselves in "Regiment," a synth carpet that evokes the sounds of the desert, the voice of Lebanese Dunya Yusin accompanied by a funky sound (thanks to an exceptional bass line). But then there's the frantic "Help Me Somebody," the almost blasphemous "The Jezebel Spirit" (with the recording of an actual exorcism contrasted, however, by a bouncing, mocking music), the curious "Very Very Hungry," an experiment in reproducing a night in the jungle, accompanied by a voice broken into a few syllables, or "Come With Us," a chilling condemnation of the most extremist and bigoted America.

There’s something for everyone in the Eno/Byrne cauldron, and each track is a small experience of its own. The album has been released in various re-editions with the addition of tracks, an operation that, although it neither adds nor takes away anything from the album, conveys the fascinating attempt to "update" the work rather than leaving it as it was at the beginning, as if wanting to gently accompany it through the passage of years.

It's pointless to dwell on the influence the record had on a multitude of artists (do you remember a certain Moby, who made millions with a certain album titled "Play" by sampling different voices with opposing musical styles?). It's also pointless to state that it is an absolute masterpiece, a milestone that pushes us to dream with open eyes, dreams that often transform into real sound nightmares. But in the end, you know, you always wake up.