75 Dollar Bill are like something from a musicologists’ parlour game: without looking at the label, where are these guys from? The lulling, circular riffs are reminiscent of the lo-fi electric guitars played by Tuareg artists like Tinariwen or Mdou Moctar; the rhythms are sometimes like Moroccan gnawa; the harmonium-like drone underneath the 17-minute title track seems to hint at Indian devotional music. And then when you’re sure they must be a bar band from Tennessee on the blues-rock knees-up Tetuzi Akiyama, it turns out the song is named after a Japanese guitarist they admire.
This fascinating, deeply involving record is more than just catnip for record nerds, though. The New York instrumental duo are comprised of guitarist Che Chen and percussionist Rick Brown, who beats out his rhythms on wooden boxes and is credited as playing “crude horns” – he gives the record its occasionally Alan Lomax-y feel. His is a loose yet robust rhythm section that offsets Chen’s tight and dextrous playing, oxygenating and hypnotic on the likes of WZN3. They’re augmented here by a host of supporting musicians, such as Cheryl Kingan on sax and Karen Waltuch on viola, who bolster the melody of Every Last Coffee Or Tea, lifting it to a mythic musical space somewhere between Appalachia and New Orleans. There’s something quietly political about their exploded view of the blues: this is music that exists across cultures and borders, something innately human.
