Jon Hassell
Fourth World, Vol. 2: Dream Theory in Malaya

Emerging through a shroud of water vapor and clouds of mosquitoes, the listener of this masterpiece by the fourth world trumpeter Jon Hassel, atop an ebony canoe, a silent Malaysian slowly leads us down a river in the sweltering equatorial forest. There is no place for human voices and noises here; silence is the respect owed to the wild flora that engulfs us and watches over us from the heights of ancient trees; we, busy metropolitan ants, are now intruders and strangers in the original idea of the Holy Father and Mother Nature.

From here, the world flows on chromatic shades that change mimetically from green to brown, the air is dense and laden with humidity, the sun finds laborious gaps between the branches, coiled snakes, colorful birds, and gigantic insects hiss, chirp, and buzz over the rushes of water rivulets and shining waterfalls in the perfect symphony of creation.

You can find yourself lost within here, when the awe that the majesty of the forest inspires gives way to wonder, our overwhelmed senses welcome primordial smells and flavors and channel them towards our repressed animal being.

And thus the river becomes life, we, like new Aguirres, glide hopefully toward the unknown while dancing monkeys, never so similar to us, dangle vines over our heads in a fraternal purifying act, the memory of our previous vacant existences gently disappears, our breath becomes labored, and our sweat strips us of our wet clothes.

One last dive into the crystal-clear water, farewell silent Malaysian ferryman, farewell distant artificial world, I rejoin my family, I found my home today.

Primitive!