Pitchfork

Five years after his death, John Fahey continues to loom large over the underground landscape-- and not solely through his legendary work as a musician. Inquisitive listeners also draw benefits from Fahey's activities as a record collector, music historian, and label operator via the ongoing works of his Revenant imprint and the numerous archival labels it has inspired. Yet oddly, these projects-- coupled with Fahey's truly breathtaking virtuosity as a guitarist-- have often served to obscure his significance as an innovative American composer. It's this curious imbalance that co-producers M. Ward and Stephen Brower clearly intend to address with I Am the Resurrection, a collection that features 13 current indie folk/rock acts paying homage to Fahey and his brilliant, eccentric creations.

As a composer, Fahey's initial source material was the primitive folk and blues culled from his vast collection of vintage 78s. But his distinctive style rapidly expanded to reference Bartok, Indian ragas, Gershwin, musique concréte, and whatever else happened to attract his voracious curiosity. And as with many such 20th century innovators, Fahey's true genius was in making his wild stylistic unions seem not only organic and logical but virtually inevitable. However, his intricate compositions do pose unique challenges for the covering artist, primarily because there are so few guitarists who possess the technical ability to faithfully interpret his work.

Nevertheless, I Am the Resurrection is resolutely a guitar players' album, with 12 of its 13 tracks centered upon Fahey's main instrument. (Only Howe Gelb has the horse sense to transpose the ragtime of "My Grandfather's Clock" to an upright piano, noting astutely that Fahey played guitar like a piano player.) In addition, the collection possesses an air of reverent nostalgia that likely would've irritated Fahey to no end. Nearly all of the songs gathered here originate from his classic 60s Takoma albums, ignoring the more dissonant, abstract material of his later years almost entirely.

Thankfully, the album includes appearances by some of Fahey's most gifted acolytes. Peter Case acquits himself nicely on his solo acoustic version of "When the Catfish Is in Bloom", in the set's most fearlessly literal interpretation. Guitarist Jack Rose, playing here with his trio Pelt, contributes a dazzling take on "Sunflower River Blues", a piece that also appeared on Rose's 2005 album Kensington Blues. Cul De Sac deliver a reprise as well, offering a 1997 live version of "The Portland Cement Factory at Monolith, CA" from their debut album, with Robin Amos adding concussive electronic effects to Jones' immaculate guitar arpeggios. Lovely as these two pieces are, attentive fans might wish that Rose and Jones had instead taken a new crack at alternate works from the Fahey catalog.

Considerably less successful is Sufjan Stevens, whose typically fussy arrangements prove an ill match for the contours of Fahey's "Commemorative Transfiguration & Communion at Magruder Park". In his original version, Fahey incorporated portions of the traditional hymn "All Creatures of Our God and King", and here Stevens has reversed the process, ignoring Fahey's song as much as possible to focus on the hymn, torpidly stalling the album's quiet momentum. Likewise, M. Ward's electric rendition of "Bean Vine Blues No. 2" here falls completely flat. A slight tune that Ward claims to have selected for its sense of humor, it's a track that in this context appears decidedly frivolous and perfunctory.

Elsewhere on the album, Calexico do an admirable job on "Dance of Death" by adding upright bass and marimba to enhance the melody's simmering core. And Devendra Banhart submits a slow, thoughtful version of the exquisite "Sligo River Blues", getting his performance across with fervent passion rather than pristine chops. Though Lee Ranaldo does mutely acknowledge Fahey's late-90s work with the impressionistic "The Singing Bridge of Memphis, Tennessee (Brooklyn Bridge Version: The Coelcanth)" one wishes that the compilation's architects had roamed further afield to include more experimental, non-American, or non-idiomatic voices. Such an approach would've been a truer representation of the scope of Fahey's work, and perhaps a better indicator of his actual influence. As it is, the best that can be said of I Am the Resurrection is that it makes one want to go spend some serious hours listening to John Fahey records-- an accomplishment that might be tribute enough in itself.

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