John Convertino
Ragland

I remember that day in May well. We were the usual itinerant crew: me, the trusty Volvo, the beloved iPod, and the satnav faciadimerda in the deserted Veronese countryside, more precisely between the Transpolesana and the Brenner motorway. I got lost, wandering aimlessly, from Minerbe I was supposed to head towards Mantua. A road closure and the faciadimerda went into crisis. I quickly fell into a crisis too. What a bummer! What to listen to? My fingers came across "Ragland" by John Convertino, the cornerstone and founder of the beloved Calexico and the rhythmic section of the equally loved "Giant Sand." I pressed play and immediately we acclimatized to the desolation that the endless cultivated fields, geometrically carved by the ditches, infused into the surrounding landscape. John entertained us with isolated piano touches, melancholic, evocative, solitary. Few words, not even a shout, only, occasionally, a drum roll or brush that gave the pieces a mysterious pathos of a dark-jazz style. Outside the windows, everything flowed slowly; nothing seemed to matter. However, our wandering towards the beautiful Virgilian homeland began to have a meaning. We could enjoy "Ragland" published in 2005 by the German label Sommerweg. Twelve pieces recorded on an eight-track, as John writes, in his very dusty house, with two microphones, a piano, a vibraphone, and a drum set, mixed by Jim Waters.

Hyper-reflective music for those who truly have little to do, an album for tired ears awaiting well-deserved nightly rest, music for those wanting to reckon with themselves. Inert and idle songs like boundless prairies crossed by slow rivers that are not eager to reach the sea.

Experimental and timeless sounds where jazz sensations struggle to resurface.

Depressed music suited to the times we live in.