A recording from 2018 already feels like it’s from another lifetime ago, and a world far, far away, but the music from Karel Barnoski’s ‘Tiny Telephone Sessions’ has aged like a fine wine, its themes and musical motifs growing more resonant as we try to hold on to the joy we once found in art and music and the creation of something that shows us how we live when we are in the throes of it all. Originally released on vinyl, Barnoski is re-releasing it digitally at long last – check it out here on Spotify.
Rushing along like a stream in the aftermath of winter, ‘I’m on My Way’ cascades down while beginning its aural ascent on the opening track. The idea of water accompanies my thoughts as I listen to this music – perhaps inspired by the photos I’ve seen of Karel’s fishing trips, or his recent painting endeavors which shimmer with watery movement.
This was where he was before the world shut down, and this collection of songs is a reflection of a place that may no longer exist, in the same way a section of a stream is different from moment to moment. (It also illuminates the transfixing beginnings of themes he would go on to further explore in 2020’s resplendent ‘Welcome Home’.)
While the moving ‘Dad’s Song’ evokes contemplative musing in the still and slow moments between its rolling arpeggios, ‘Kathryn’s Waltz’ is full of pretty hopes and hopeful wishes, a whimsical dance fit for dandelion seeds on the wind. That wind shifts a bit, and there is a dark and mysterious undercurrent running through ‘In Between’, but every time it seems ripe for a bit of brooding, the melody turns and the pace changes. This ebb and flow pushes and pulls within the space of sound, contracting and releasing as if acting as some beating heart debating whether to survive by consistency or adventure ~ the ultimate crux of the in-between.
Another gem in three-quarter time, ‘Lola’s Waltz’ makes its turns in fanciful form tinged with the slightest touches of melancholy, approaching the precious but veering just shy of the cloying with a masterful restraint from indulgence. Further confounding this sweetness, the exhilarating ‘Polish Dance’ is a fun romp that starts off at a gallop and ends in an absolute mad dash. ‘Spanish March’ begins where one might expect, then quickly takes a detour – a river that bends and throws curve after curve until you’re certain it’s doubled in on itself and there’s only space for splashing and silliness.
With ‘Move That’ the album shifts from its classical leanings on the grand piano into something more casual and loose, finding Barnoski swinging along on an upright piano, electric keyboard and organ. The split makes more sense when you realize that ‘Tiny Telephone Sessions’ was first released as a two-sided vinyl record. This second side, nostalgic both for its initial vinyl inception and its ragtime-roots, shouldn’t work as well as it does, but Barnoski’s skill at bringing a bit of grace and elegance to the songs here, coupled with his skills as pianist, ultimately creates a work of cohesive unity.
The sugary-funk of the bluesy ‘Banana Split’ is pure fun – the first notion of release and abandon, while ‘Coming For You’ and ‘Barrelhouse Rag’ descend into even bluer territory, the sound river growing a little more rollicking ~ the stuff of rafts and raw energy, enervating and driving, the way water doesn’t want to stop in its run. ‘In the Trunk’ hops along gently, reminding of another stream, another fishing expedition, another interesting journey back through a childhood memory.
Finishing things off with ‘Lowell Street’, we seem to tilt out of the water and right into the nightlife of some magical city that’s as gritty and grimy as it is fascinating and filled with the flotsam and jetsam of inspiration. Seeds that carry on the wind again. Music that moves along like water, in all its varying forms and moody incarnations. In an all-too-brisk half hour the world of ‘Tiny Telephone Sessions’ has come and gone – a world we all once inhabited, brought to life again in the way only an old favorite tune can wheedle out faded memories as it’s played on a piano in a darkened room that now feels empty, and all the more beautiful for it.
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