LARRY TYRRELL
Floating Clouds
(c) (p) 1995 Moonbridge
11tks/46mins

Floating clouds aloft
Sky pilgrims and wayfarers
Echo in the wind

Hardly any words will be able to say about Larry Tyrrell's music more than those lines of the Japanese haiku printed on the album's cover. And in fact I could stop here. Those words are enough. How you can explain meditation? One should just be in it.
Music of Larry Tyrrell is deeply meditative. It has beauty and pease. It is very harmonious. Sounds of Larry Tyrrell's fluite are so natural as a sound of the wind, a rustling of the leafs or a rain ringing.
The musician plays the shakuhachi - a Japanese bamboo fluite. There are several knds of those fliutes differing by their size - a length of shakuhachi changes according to a strict rule. And each of them has a unique timbre.
Larry Tyrrell uses different fluites. And uses brilliantly! He has lived in Japan for many years and learned playing shakuhachi from the famous masters Kohachiro Miyata and Katsuya Yokoyama. If there would no name of Larry Tyrrell at the cover, I would say that there plays a Japanese artist, the music is so deep and penetrative. One can feel there a flight of inspiration. Besides, it creates a harmonious environment for a listener. Except of shakuhachi Larry Tyrrell uses synthesizers for arranging his compositions. He performs the traditional Japanese melodies (An Offering, Road from Esashi) adapting them to the modern sound, and also his original works (Tree Spirit, Wishing Well), in which you can note the musician's inclination to improvisation.
I'd like to say that the album Floating Clouds has become an unexpected and very pleasant acquaintance with the independent American studio Moonbridge. Just the companies of that kind, uniting West and East, contribute to transforming the planet into the unity, a place, where each culture is unique and they all exist together, into a place with no separating lines and where beauty and harmony are really the values.
One listens Larry Tyrrell's music and is just together with it. And one feels the moonlight reflected into a night lake's water. Hoarsely cries a troubled bird. Autumn wind plays the tops of trees. A plucked leaf whispers his farewell song...

Serge Kozlovsky