BRION GYSIN
SELF-PORTRAIT JUMPING

In an effort to offer the possibility of a deeper understanding of the Made to Measure series distributed by Crammed, we propose here an absolutely forgotten album, despite the existence of several reasons for which it deserved a very different destiny. Brion Gysin (1916-1986) belongs to the list of eclectic artists who profoundly and for a long time traversed the so-called "beat generation" era; yet among so many 'family' artists, Gysin stands out for his versatile activity as a storyteller, performer, poet, composer, and painter. Do not be misled by the number of artistic fields he covered, as the refinement and interest of his artistic achievements surpass his (modest) fame.

In "Self-portrait jumping" we find a kind of synopsis of the multifaceted versions of Gysin's art, undoubtedly indebted to the teachings of William S. Burroughs - of whom he was a pupil and friend - but also to a certain experimental jazz spread especially in the 1960s and 1970s, the American tradition of "speaking song" and a curious and amused passion for any expressive instrument that seeks to break free from tradition and banality.

The experimental operation from which the album is born owes to Ramuntcho Matta (son of the great Chilean post-surrealist artist Roberto Sebastián Antonio Matta) most of its realization and musical conception, but also the collaborations that enrich the album are, in some cases, astonishing. "Kick," for instance, opens the record with a 'jazzy' rhythm ensured by the wonderful pocket trumpet of Don Cherry; you catch your breath for a few seconds only to find yourself immediately in a kind of abstract "wave" which we wouldn't be surprised to find on a Talking Heads record; "Junk," in fact, thanks to the guitars of Matta and Yahn Leker and the muttering of Gysin himself, even induces us to rhythmically tap our feet, while from the window, whatever our usual view is, the Manhattan landscape slides by.

Latin, playful, and slightly raspy is Gysin’s voice (in counterpoint to a sensual Elli Medeiros) as he syllables his "Stop Smoking," while we can easily imagine the microphone wrapped in the smoke of a Chilean cigar (provided by Ramuntcho Matta, of course), but between coughs, the soundscape dominated by congas is captivating and original. "Sham Pain" has a catchy and appealing introduction, but from the enjoyment of the piece emerge notable cues both in the 'funky' texture of the bass and in the electronic emphasis that recalls some of the delights of the penultimate Miles Davis. "V.V.V." and "Baboon" continue the tropical-urban dialogue, still steeped in deep self-irony in the lyrics and composition. "All those Years" is a piece recited by an alluring and profound voice transmitting nostalgia and regret ("...& then again/ When I sit here & thing/ & thing of nothing/ Sometimes/ Your face appears/ When I Lie here/ & look ahead/ Ahead at/ Where I'm going..."), only slightly muffled by a moderately cadenced underlying structure.

Now we come to the substantial, endless suite "Dreamachine" (about 30'), whose title alludes to one of Gysin's bizarre psychedelic inventions, a sort of non-chemical hallucinogenic machine, but all focused on 'emotional development'; the artist's recitation is accompanied by an obsessive and hypnotic rhythmic backing, making it an experience, for example, to drive on a highway or sit with eyes closed on a windy day. There is also a corresponding painting by Gysin, an acrylic from 1962, whose chromatic and compositional texture is intended to evoke visions and dreams in the viewer without taking their eyes off the same point; the sonic experience of Dreamachine is no less. Listen to believe.

The album concludes with two more traditional tracks: "Somebody special," sung by Matta, owes much (almost everything) to certain impure and gritty sounds of the Velvet Underground or early Lou Reed solo work; "The door" closes the album in a decidedly 'free' manner; it is no coincidence that the masterful Steve Lacy is called upon to transform the game of electronic reiterations - which are nothing more than the sound of a door closing - into something lunar and metaphysical.

Why take an interest in this album, then? Because it fights banality. Because it is the result of a significant effort of creativity and experimentation. Because it might incredibly enchant you. Because if you are enchanted, you will want to delve deeper not only into Gysin's understanding but into the entire tribe akin to him. Because it is not necessarily a demanding listen: it depends on the listener's mood. Because it’s part of a collection that expects a pleasantly surprised look from you. And perhaps a visit to your favorite store (retrieving the CD will be a daunting challenge, but if you insist, you will be rewarded).