Almost legend

Bob Jordan is reheated on Left Oeuvres

by John O'Neill

When most musicians go on the road, they generally map out a route that, at the very least, includes clubs to play in. When Bob Jordan went to Europe for a month in May, he tucked his 100-year-old guitarra (a 12-string Portuguese big-brother of the mandolin) under his arm, packed a bag, and hopped a bus in London. From there he went to Scotland and cut peat in a village of 75 people where the feudal system still exists ("Turns out my friend is a serf," he remarks), and got thrown out of a park in London for trying to perform for free. Eventually, he landed in Amsterdam and briefly lived the life of a street musician.

"London was terrible, everyone was plugged in and electric and playing `Hotel California' so I couldn't compete," he says. "But Amsterdam was very receptive. I found a park bench and just played. I made a little money and spent it at the coffeehouse. If the word coffeehaus begins with a K they just sell coffee, if it's a cafe they sell beer, and if it begins with a C, they sell hash. I mostly went to the houses with a C and drank my coffee there as well."

Thus began my first real conversation with almost-legend Bob Jordan. Known for his years of dedication to local music, from playing with and promoting various groups to stints as a WCUW programmer to his involvement with the Worcester Artist Group to his most recent venture as solo artist, Jordan has been an omnipresent entity for the better part of 20 years. Open up a local paper and Jordan's name will invariably pop up, whether it be hosting an open- mic night or working the coffeehouse circuit for donations. He's also a man who, like many of his influences, continues to ride his iconoclastic views on music all the way into self-imposed obscurity. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

"I probably sell one cassette a day on average," relates Jordan of back-catalogue sales of his past four cassettes. "It's a trickle type of marketing! I wouldn't mind getting orders, but I'm really too busy just trying to play music and do gigs. I set up 40 and hope I live that long, then when I'm out of shows I do it again."

Jordan took his first step toward a potential larger audience as well as mainstream legitimacy by releasing his first CD, Four Corners, and an accompanying cassette-only release, Left Oeuvres. Supported in part by the Worcester Cultural Commission and the Grafton Cultural Council, the CD format of Four Corners drags Jordan, however hesitantly, into the '90s.

"I'm really into the cassette format and having two sides, like records," Jordan admits. "It's just not possible to do vinyl so I decided to do a CD if I could get some [financial] help. And then they funded me. I had to work fast, because I realized I'd used up all my songs on my last tape!"

Jordan pulled together enough improves and "ethnic forgeries" to not only complete a CD but to also spend some of his windfall on a beloved cassette.

"I just started assembling things like a jigsaw puzzle. I didn't want just a bunch of songs, 'cause I'm really [a] . . . freak about how good albums hang together. The CD is largely original, and the tape is mostly other artists' stuff. I don't have permission for it, but it's people I can get permission from, mostly."

Though the idea of a mostly cover album acting as a complement to a release full of original material may seem improbable, or at the very least irrelevant, Left Oeuvres fits quite snugly alongside Four Corners, a tribute to both Jordan's ability to assimilate varying material and his willingness to trash convention and explore sounds. The real key is the knowledge of when to keep it simple and when to let it out. Jordan takes Tim Buckley's "Phantasmagoria in 2" and sends it on an acid-laced trip down a deep hole only to follow it immediately with a version of the Beach Boys' "In My Room" that retains every bit of innocence and purity laid out in the original. Both Four Corners and Left Oeuvres bounce around from straight-forward, though quirky, singer/songwriter fare (the excellent "x q z' me" and "Equipment") to more far-out spaces where Jordan employs less-orthodox (sometimes structure-less) improvisations that integrate eerie textures, moods, and hypnotic rhythm patterns. From the Sun Ra tribute "Music of Ganymede" to the almost out jazz of "Pork Pie Hat," and the guitar improv of "Space on My Hands," both albums offer an hour's worth of music that pleases far more than it disappoints. Which is a general reflection of his career.

"When I play bars, I get away with it about 80 percent of the time. The other 20 is a nightmare . . . for everyone," says Jordan who is aware of his cult status. "I just want to play. I practically drive off the road when I hear my song on the radio. Luckily, it doesn't happen very often."