By Isa Jones
By Mary Willson
By Brian Turk
By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
If so, Willey's heart is a vagabond, a collector of impressions rather than a purveyor of souvenirs. On his 1996 solo CD, the primarily instrumental Songs From the Hamster Theatre (on Denver's Prolific Records), he wanders wide-eyed through a stylistic landscape dotted with prog rock, modern classical music, improv, country-and-Western, klezmer, zydeco, techno and the sounds of the carny--and while he never stays still long enough to be identified with any of these destinations, his music is touched by them all. Even better are the sounds Willey makes with a band version of the Theatre: keyboardist/trombonist John Stubbs, guitarist Mike Johnson, drummer Raoul Rossiter, bassist Mike Fitzmaurice and wind and reed expert Mark Harris. Together these players exude a joyful heat and density far different from the restrained twang and oompah associated with Willey's previous group, the Denver Gentlemen--or with any other act, for that matter.
A tour of Willey's formative musical enthusiasms can be likened to emptying the pockets of a Niagara Falls suicide victim: No matter how significant the contents seem, they cannot help but present an incomplete picture. The best one can hope for is the occasional glimmer of insight, which Willey readily supplies. "Most of the stuff that I listened to--after I got over listening to progressive rock in high school--was twentieth-century classical music or bands that used that as an influence, like Thinking Plague or Henry Cow or Fred Frith," he recalls. "I was really into Fred Frith for a long time and the people that he plays with. You know--that whole subculture, if you will, of art fags. For a long time I didn't play anything but improvised music. I had this duet with a cello player, and we would just find somewhere to play every weekend and drive everybody away. I wouldn't play anything that was composed or in a time signature or with a melody, because I thought it was capitalism. You're not going to tell me what to do!
"Then," he goes on, "my taste changed--mainly after I went to a few festivals in Western Europe where there was a lot of that kind of improv going on, and it just turned me off. After that, the things that I liked were more melodic." This shift prompted Willey to realize that "there's nothing wrong with being accessible. You can be accessible and interesting and challenging all at the same time, hopefully."
Hamster Theatre is the fulfillment of these aspirations; its music is inviting in spite of fractured time signatures, pockets of controlled chaos and a refusal to devolve into predictability. Perhaps its most prominent characteristic is an Eastern European feel that Willey attributes to a year he spent living in the Czech Republic. "I went there because I was in love with somebody," he reveals. "Why do you do anything? Everything else is a sideline." When not involved in romantic pursuits, he delved into the music of the region--and he continued doing so even after returning to the States. Among the acts he grew to respect was Tarafs de Haidouks, whose playing is featured in the gypsy documentary Latcho Drom.
Such influences are felt to this day. While many of Willey's compositions build or collapse into ravaged, frenetic polkas, the harmonic intervals he favors conjure a variety of Eastern European forms. "It is just my taste, my flavor," he says. "And also part of trying to invoke that spirit or vibe of...not necessarily that culture, but what music from that culture made me feel." He notes that many of the Theatre's songs were penned during his travels: "I needed something to focus on other than just making a living, so I hauled a four-track around in my backpack. I worked on stuff whenever I could, and I ran into some situations that allowed me all the instruments I needed."
Back in Colorado, Willey fleshed out his four-track creations using the myriad instruments at his disposal: guitar, bass, percussion, marimbas, xylophone, accordion and keyboards. "My intention was to make a cassette for my friends to give them for Christmas," he admits. "I've been making tapes most of my life. But then the guy at Prolific said he wanted to make it into a CD."
That "guy," Arnie Swenson, is a former member of Big Foot Torso, as is Stubbs, who assisted Willey on Songs From the Hamster Theatre. "He didn't help me with the recording of it, but he helped me with the mastering and cleaning it up," Willey points out. "It was really noisy, so we had to go in and sample the noise at the beginning of the track and get it all out.
"For instance, I live in this cabin up in the mountains right next to a big road where there are cars going by all the time. You can still hear cars going by on that if you listen. It's real low-tech--you can hear all the punches, especially on the drum track. But it doesn't bother me. I kind of like it when I hear that in other people's music." Of course, such imperfections sound more prominent to Willey than they will to average listeners, most of whom will find the recording an unmitigated pleasure. Each number is singularly absorbing--a difficult mission for recorded instrumental music to achieve.