THU., SEPTEMBER 01, 2005
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Chant Encounters
by Robert Phoenix
My first experience with overtone singing was listening to David Hykes and the Harmonic Choir's Hearing Solar Winds, soon after its release on Ocora in 1983. I was unprepared for the sheer sonic intensity of Hykes and his troupe. The otherworldly ululations sounded like a choir of ghosts jamming the ethers from the other side. I wasn't even sure if I liked it or not, but I knew it was by far some of the most startling music I had ever heard.
A few years later, I sat in on a workshop led by a woman who had written a fantastic book on Mandalas and was now turning her attention to overtone singing and sound healing. For two days I did my best to curl and bend my tongue, while trying to listen to the overlapping sounds emanating from an area between my chest and the bridge of my nose. I later had a private session with the instructor. Ensconced in a multi-million dollar home in a prestigious San Francisco neighborhood, she sat down with me and basically toned throughout the entire session. It was my first direct experience with sound healing, and was almost as disturbing as my encounter with the Harmonic Choir, but for different reasons, about three-quarters of the way through the session, my instructor started moaning and cooing in a rather suggestive fashion. I didn't know whether I should make a pass at her or simply let the strangeness unfold in its own accord. I chose the latter and then wrote her a check for what I would call the first out-of-body sex I had ever experienced.
Some years after that "up-close-and-personal", I met David Hykes in Mexico where he was performing at a festival put together by Jorge Reyes. I had mentioned my encounter with the instructor and Hykes dismissively condemned her as he took offense at the way she had stared into his mouth, trying to see how he was contorting his tongue. Later in the week I got to know Hykes a little closer, literally as he was crammed next to me in a Vanagon with 12 other people as we sped off into the night, searching for festive graveyards on Mexico's hallowed "Noche de los Muertos" or "Night of the Dead." While we traversed the haunted countryside, I exchanged some pleasantries with Hykes. But he was a difficult person to know and an aloofness and detachment not unlike the sonorities associated with his music surrounded him. While we traipsed through gardens of the dead, lit with candles and brimming with song, Hykes stayed in the van and slept through the magic night.
But the elements would be unkind to Hykes' sense of order. The Mayan god of thunder Cauac would wreak havoc on Reyes' festival, pouring torrents of rain down upon the open air amphitheatre, while saber-like winds slashed at banners, awnings and signs. When the festival resumed a week later, Hykes was in no mood for the mañana vibe that had settled into what was once a promising three days of music with Glen Velez, Reyes, Elmar Schulte, Wim Mertens and Hykes. It was the day of the last show, the skies were grey and the stage was a swamp. Hykes took one look at the proceedings and lost it — let's just say that he was equally good at summoning the demi-urges of four letter deities as well singing in ancient tongues.
It rained that night, Huichol Indians flopped around a slippery stage, smiling from ear-to-ear, uncoiling their serpentine peyote dance, tossing buttons to the crowd while they bounced gleefully off the stage.
By the time Hykes was ready to hunker down, the skies had calmed. He and his percussionist took everyone in attendance on an unusual journey, his voice opening wide swaths of space completely enveloping the cool, Meso-American night sky — stars appeared and glistened after days of rain, and then the crowd descended upon him, forming a circle, huddling together for heat, while Hykes shivered and sang, recreating the primal intimacy of shamans singing the praises of their ancestors from the dawn of time. And just like the instructor who strained to see inside his mouth, so did they, wondering how a universe could fit into a space occupied by teeth and tongue. His European refinement worn down by the elements and time, Hykes delivered a raw and powerful performance, emotionally naked and cold, surrounded by curious eyes and amazed ears. Everyone in attendance walked away that night with a new meaning of the word "enchantment."
For listeners new to Hykes and his unique fusion of lyrical overtoning, his latest release, Harmonic Meditations, is a great introduction. Tracks like "Silent Ground" rumble with the rolling thunder of his multi-dimensional delivery, while "Unity Meditation One" is more representative of his later work, where he blends words into sounds, creating a vocabulary for a style of post-modern incantations and lyrical magic.
A few years later, I sat in on a workshop led by a woman who had written a fantastic book on Mandalas and was now turning her attention to overtone singing and sound healing. For two days I did my best to curl and bend my tongue, while trying to listen to the overlapping sounds emanating from an area between my chest and the bridge of my nose. I later had a private session with the instructor. Ensconced in a multi-million dollar home in a prestigious San Francisco neighborhood, she sat down with me and basically toned throughout the entire session. It was my first direct experience with sound healing, and was almost as disturbing as my encounter with the Harmonic Choir, but for different reasons, about three-quarters of the way through the session, my instructor started moaning and cooing in a rather suggestive fashion. I didn't know whether I should make a pass at her or simply let the strangeness unfold in its own accord. I chose the latter and then wrote her a check for what I would call the first out-of-body sex I had ever experienced.
Some years after that "up-close-and-personal", I met David Hykes in Mexico where he was performing at a festival put together by Jorge Reyes. I had mentioned my encounter with the instructor and Hykes dismissively condemned her as he took offense at the way she had stared into his mouth, trying to see how he was contorting his tongue. Later in the week I got to know Hykes a little closer, literally as he was crammed next to me in a Vanagon with 12 other people as we sped off into the night, searching for festive graveyards on Mexico's hallowed "Noche de los Muertos" or "Night of the Dead." While we traversed the haunted countryside, I exchanged some pleasantries with Hykes. But he was a difficult person to know and an aloofness and detachment not unlike the sonorities associated with his music surrounded him. While we traipsed through gardens of the dead, lit with candles and brimming with song, Hykes stayed in the van and slept through the magic night.
But the elements would be unkind to Hykes' sense of order. The Mayan god of thunder Cauac would wreak havoc on Reyes' festival, pouring torrents of rain down upon the open air amphitheatre, while saber-like winds slashed at banners, awnings and signs. When the festival resumed a week later, Hykes was in no mood for the mañana vibe that had settled into what was once a promising three days of music with Glen Velez, Reyes, Elmar Schulte, Wim Mertens and Hykes. It was the day of the last show, the skies were grey and the stage was a swamp. Hykes took one look at the proceedings and lost it — let's just say that he was equally good at summoning the demi-urges of four letter deities as well singing in ancient tongues.
It rained that night, Huichol Indians flopped around a slippery stage, smiling from ear-to-ear, uncoiling their serpentine peyote dance, tossing buttons to the crowd while they bounced gleefully off the stage.
By the time Hykes was ready to hunker down, the skies had calmed. He and his percussionist took everyone in attendance on an unusual journey, his voice opening wide swaths of space completely enveloping the cool, Meso-American night sky — stars appeared and glistened after days of rain, and then the crowd descended upon him, forming a circle, huddling together for heat, while Hykes shivered and sang, recreating the primal intimacy of shamans singing the praises of their ancestors from the dawn of time. And just like the instructor who strained to see inside his mouth, so did they, wondering how a universe could fit into a space occupied by teeth and tongue. His European refinement worn down by the elements and time, Hykes delivered a raw and powerful performance, emotionally naked and cold, surrounded by curious eyes and amazed ears. Everyone in attendance walked away that night with a new meaning of the word "enchantment."
For listeners new to Hykes and his unique fusion of lyrical overtoning, his latest release, Harmonic Meditations, is a great introduction. Tracks like "Silent Ground" rumble with the rolling thunder of his multi-dimensional delivery, while "Unity Meditation One" is more representative of his later work, where he blends words into sounds, creating a vocabulary for a style of post-modern incantations and lyrical magic.
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