I know what you're thinking: Bosco and Jorge are some new experimental ventriloquism act. Or maybe a revivalist vaudevillian comedy duo. Or possibly a Cheech and Chong cover band. But no. John Fahey casts a long, pitch-black shadow across the landscape of instrumental, finger-picked, steel-stringed acoustic guitar music from which few Guild-slingers can escape. And now that the man has passed away, expect a barrage of hero-worshipping imitators to try and fill his shoes. Needless to say, it ain't gonna happen. The nice thing about Chicago's Bosco and Jorge is that they seem to recognize this. They make no attempts to disguise their love for Fahey-- instead wearing it proudly like a badge-- and as ardent fans, they end up making something that rises slightly above a simple homage. Or in Oedipal terms: they try to kill the father by beating him at his own game.
It makes sense that Bosco and Jorge (actually Bill Lowman and Brad Gallagher) met as kids at a concert of Fahey protegé Leo Kottke. But far from third-rate Fahey, Bosco and Jorge is actually better than anything Kottke's put out in a long time. It's even better than a lot of Fahey albums I've heard. There are other touchstones here, of course: Bert Jansch, Nick Drake, and Fahey influences like Skip James, Mississippi John Hurt, and Bill Monroe. And if you wear your hipster shades, you'll be able to discern the ghosts of these predecessors within the overwhelming Fahey glare reflecting off this album.
For Bosco and Jorge, Fahey's best music was made from the mid-60s to the early 70s. They largely ignore his latter-day excursions into noise, and steer clear of his raga and Middle Eastern motifs, instead focusing on his Appalachian work. "Sorta Play That Sorta Stuff," the lead-off track, sees the duo at their most imitative. Other instruments are added elsewhere, but here, they use only two guitars which begin on a mournful note before picking up speed and interlocking. Fahey's Requia springs immediately to mind. "Two Steps Behind in the 1st Place" follows, opening with a very somber and hushed guitar pattern before flutes soar in and flirt atop. If there's such a thing as autumnal samba, this is it.
"Mikey's Pole" is the standout track. Bowed bass and cello provide the foundation for probably the most evocative guitar riff to be found here. Subtle but powerful, it uses harmonic taps in a way that isn't just mere claptrap-- a true rarity. Banjo takes the lead role for the first movement of the 11-minute "Lil' Smokie." A howling voice reminiscent of Tim Buckley (circa Lorca) soon takes over before returning to a halting and playful solo guitar interlude that builds to a frantic pace that would be sure to send Guitar World's readership to the Internet in search of tablature if they ever caught wind of it.
The Fahey-isms return in full force with "Niagara," as the two-guitar attack of the first track is resumed. But far from funereal, this piece is upbeat and vibrant. "17 Year Cicada" rounds out the album and comes closest to mapping out fresh musical territory, as Lowman and Gallagher branch out and add piano, drums, and an ever-so-slight touch of electric guitar that builds to a minor crescendo like a less bombastic Godspeed.
