Tribal Rites

Before there was Saturday Night Fever there was underground disco. DJs across America went out and found the music to play; dancers went out and found the clubs. At this point, in the early seventies, the disco was the venue and not a genre of music.

Pretty nice tribal ambient. Not busy to the point of calling too much attention but not spacey enough to be boring. And the best thing: Not as cheesy as other tribal stuff.
This enigmatic multi-instrumentalist draws from the diverse culture and history of his Mexican homeland, as well as his early experiences playing in progressive-rock bands south of the border. Reyes combines flute, pre-Columbian instruments, and percussion with synthesizers and voice to cast a spell of ritualistic intensity. Like shadows from Mexico's sultry and savage past, his music has a dark quality to it that sometimes scares off the unprepared, but adventurous listeners will find plenty to admire in his evocation of jungles, jaguars, and Aztec rites.

The follow-up to the pioneering Australian art pop duo's 2012 comeback LP Anastasis, Dionysus dispenses with the more song-oriented approach of its predecessor in favor of an atmosphere-driven bacchanalian oratorio inspired by the Greek god of wine and ecstasy. Split into two tracks with a sum of seven movements, Dionysus unfurls like a guided ayahuasca trip; a curl of aromatic smoke that develops into a roaring, pre-Byzantine bonfire replete with primeval chants and ancient rites. Opener "Sea Borne" tracks the outsider God's arrival via a slow build of tribal beats and a sinewy, unfolding melody that suggests "Misirlou" by way of "Kashmir" – the album continues to eschew the European folk proclivities of the duo's early work in favor a more Mediterranean and North African aesthetic.

This enigmatic multi-instrumentalist draws from the diverse culture and history of his Mexican homeland, as well as his early experiences playing in progressive-rock bands south of the border. Reyes combines flute, pre-Columbian instruments, and percussion with synthesizers and voice to cast a spell of ritualistic intensity. Like shadows from Mexico's sultry and savage past, his music has a dark quality to it that sometimes scares off the unprepared, but adventurous listeners will find plenty to admire in his evocation of jungles, jaguars, and Aztec rites. Though his albums are often difficult to find, most of his imported releases are well worth the extra effort and expense involved.
Reyes died Saturday, February 7, 2009, of a heart attack at his recording studio in Mexico City, he was 57.