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The second piece, "Boo, Forever," fares much better. This is Blackshaw in full-on fingerpicking mode, ripping out a lovely meditation that nods to both the otherwordly guitarscaping of Robbie Basho and the slightly country-fried twang of the Takoma school proper. Blackshaw's fingers weave nimble webs, threading in and out of consciousness the same way a memory starts to fade from mind. The feeling of loss is the same-regret tempered with beauty, the treasured memory slowly becoming cloudy and lost to the span of years, nostalgia as a haze, a flurry of notes painting a washed out portrait of loss and sadness. Here too Blackshaw adds instrumentation but it's in service to the song, rather than the overwrought bouquet of sonic ingredients that sinks "Holly" like a stone. "Boo, Forever" works as minimalist maximalism precisely because each element makes itself known for only as long as it has to. The guitar remains hyper and constant and everything else recedes into it, creating the blur that typifies Blackshaw's best work.
There's something kind of magical about this record. On the one hand it's a glut, overflowing with dead weight. On the other it's a reminder of why Blackshaw's name is spoken of so highly amongst guitarists, myself included (his early material still pulls pieces of me away from myself when i listen to it)-there's no one out there right now playing like this. Plenty of people can set the fretboard blazing, and still more can make notes and melodies that cut like knives, but i'm hard-pressed to think of anyone that can make the sound of a guitar feel like you're living in a memory. James Blackshaw is a guitarist, but he's also a painter, one who truly understands the importance of recollection and contemplation, the weight of regret and the haunt of sadness. All missteps aside, "Holly" is worth hearing. Very nice artwork as well.
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