Welcome back. Whether you're prepping for a creative
session today or catching up on the history of
global music, or maybe you're just someone who
thrives on understanding how wildly different
disciplines intersect, you're definitely in the
right place. Yeah, absolutely. Thanks for joining
us. So today we are doing a deep dive into a
really fascinating Wikipedia article. It covers
the background, the track list, and the critical
reception of a 2005 studio album called Music
from the Hearts of the Masters. It's a phenomenal
record. It really is. And our mission for this
deep dive is to explore what happens when two
master musicians from entirely distinct traditions
step into a New York City recording studio with
the goal of creating a completely new musical
language. We're basically unpacking a masterclass
and deep listening and, you know, spontaneous
collaboration. So, OK, let's unpack this. To
really understand the gravity of this recording,
you first have to look at the two individuals
sitting in that studio. We were talking about
Jack Dijonet and Foti Musasuso. And these are
not musicians who need an introduction in their
respective fields. But seeing them paired together,
that is an entirely different proposition. For
sure. Because Dijonet is this cornerstone of
American jazz drumming, right? is this massive
history of pushing the boundaries of rhythm,
of texture. Exactly. And then opposite him, you
have Suso, who is an absolute master of the Gambian
Chora. Which, and let's pause here for a second,
because the Chora is such a specific, complex
instrument. For those of you listening who might
only be familiar with standard Western string
instruments, it really helps to visualize what...
Dijonet was actually playing alongside. Yeah,
it's essential context. The Cora is a 21 -string
West African lute bridge harp. It's actually
built from a large calabash gourd that gets cut
in half, covered with cow skin to create a resonator,
and then it has this long hardwood neck. Wow.
And when a master like Suso plays it, he's using
his thumbs and his index fingers to pluck these
incredible polyrhythmic patterns. So it almost
sounds like two instruments playing at once.
Yes. You get this deep, cascading bass line going
right alongside a really delicate, intricate
melody. It has this shimmering, almost harp -like
quality to it, but with a rhythmic drive that
is deeply rooted in the Mandinka tradition. Putting
that shimmering, polyrhythmic string instrument
in a room with a full American jazz drum kit
is, I mean, it's a bold choice. Mildly bold.
And according to the source material, Dijonet
and Suso got together to record this in January
of 2002. Yeah. In New York City. Yeah. But interestingly,
the album itself sat for a few years. It wasn't
officially released until 2005. Right. It was
put out under the Golden Beams Productions label.
Catalog number GBP111 for the collectors out
there. Which is great because that release date
places it in a very specific, highly exploratory
era of Dijonet's career. How so? Well, if you
look at his discography, this album sits squarely
between his 2002 release Invisible Nature and
his 2005 album Music in the Key of Om. And both
of those records are really defined by this search
for ambient, atmospheric, highly textural spaces.
So music from the hearts of the masters acts
as a bridge. It's categorized broadly under the
genres of jazz and world music. But honestly,
those labels feel a bit inadequate when you consider
the actual method. methodology of the recording
session. Well, because there really was no methodology
in the traditional sense. None. They didn't walk
in with reams of sheet music or standard chord
charts to read down. Right. And what's fascinating
here is that these two operating without definitions,
restrictions or guidance is the entire point
of the exercise. Yeah. In traditional studio
settings, even in improvisational jazz, there's
usually an underlying framework. You have a head,
maybe a chord progression, some shared melodic
reference points. I'll ball back on. Exactly.
But here they stripped all of that away. They
entered the studio to have a real time dialogue
completely from scratch. Which requires so much
trust. Complete trust. Because when you remove
the safety net of a rigid roadmap, the artists
are forced to actively speak and listen to one
another through their instruments. They are negotiating
that shared space second by second. And since
you, the listener, can't hear the album playing
right now, looking at the critical reception
provides a really vivid map of what that trust
actually sounds like. The reviews are incredibly
telling. They really are. The reviewers highlight
something crucial about this pairing. Like, Michael
G. Nastos, writing for AllMusic, he pointed out
that Dijonette and Suso team up in duets that
do not juxtapose but complement the rhythmic
strengths. of the different instruments. And
that distinction between juxtaposing and complementing
that is a critical observation. Yeah, break that
down for us. So a lesser collaboration would
rely on juxtaposition. They'd play the heavy,
aggressive nature of the drum kit off the delicate
nature of the kora just for sheer contrast. Right,
like a gimmick almost. Yeah, and that creates
tension, sure, but it doesn't necessarily create
a unified language. And Nasta specifically notes
that they did create a language of their own.
He described it as a consistent and playful dialogue
that resulted in spare, soulful, diverse and
heartfelt original music. Playful is the perfect
word there. It is because it strips away that
sterile, overly serious academic vibe you might
expect from a quote unquote world jazz fusion
project. And John Kelman from All About Jazz,
he builds on that dynamic beautifully. He wrote
that both artists look for a nexus point, but
the key to the entire album is that neither of
them is prepared to give up his own disposition
to find it. That observation really gets to the
mechanical reality of the album. Suso isn't trying
to make his chorus sound like a jazz guitar to
fit Dijonette's background. And Dijonette isn't
abandoning his jazz sensibilities to strictly
play traditional West African accompaniment.
They maintain their artistic sovereignty. So
what does this all mean when you step back from
the musicology of it? There's a broader takeaway
here about how we approach shared endeavors,
isn't there? Oh, absolutely. The takeaway for
you listening is a fundamental redefinition of
collaboration. Often when people from vastly
different backgrounds come together, whether
it's in art, business, academia, there's this
assumption that a compromise must be made. You
have to meet in the middle. Right. The belief
is that both parties need to water down their
distinct identities to find common ground. But
Kilman's review refutes that entirely. He notes
that Suso's playing remains richly textured while
Dijonet's drumming is groove laden. They create
an inviting space entirely because they refuse
to compromise their defining characteristics.
The jazz drummer stays a jazz drummer. And the
Cora player stays a Cora player. True collaboration
isn't about merging into a single indistinguishable
voice. It's about actively listening to someone
else's rhythm and finding out how your distinct
rhythm complements theirs. Complementing without
compromising. I love that. It proves that friction
and difference, when handled with mutual respect,
are actually the materials you use to build something
new. And speaking of building something new,
the structural flow of this album... rejects
a lot of the conventions we typically expect
when we press play. Will Lehman from Pop Matters
wrote a review that isolates the specific narrative
architecture of the record. Lehman's piece is
great. It provides a brilliant lens for understanding
the pacing of the album. It really forces the
listener to recalibrate their expectations. Here's
where it gets really interesting. Lehman writes,
Unlike both jazz and European music, it does
not tell a story with a setup, development, and
a climax. Like a constantly moving spiral, it
draws us down to its essence rather than out
to its conclusion. Man, if we connect this to
the bigger picture, the concept of the moving
spiral is a profound departure from the teleological
way we usually consume art. Tell us more about
that. Well, in Western traditions, we are deeply
conditioned to expect an escalating narrative
arc. A sonata has an exposition, a development,
and a recapitulation. A jazz standard has the
head, the escalating solos, and then the big
return to the melody. We're always looking for
the tension to build until it finally breaks.
But Lehman is pointing out that this album doesn't
care about reaching a destination. There's no
finish line. Exactly. A spiral doesn't move forward
toward a finish line. It circles inward, going
deeper and deeper into a single, sustained state
of being. It demands a completely different kind
of attention from the listener. You aren't waiting
for the payoff. The sustained, circulating groove
is the payoff. Frenze Matzner also touched on
this in his review for All About Jazz. He called
the album a work of rare spiritual and musical
clarity. Matzner noted that the record has a
quiet strength that manages to ground Suso's
often abstract and esoteric excursions. The end
result is described as an almost meditative experience.
And that quiet strength is the direct result
of abandoning the need for a climax. Because
there's no pressure. Right. When you don't have
to manufacture an explosive finale, you can just
settle into the intricate details of the present
moment. Matzner's use of the word meditative
aligns perfectly with Lehman's spiral. In meditation,
the goal isn't to reach the end of the session.
The goal is to fully occupy the center of it.
Exactly. The grounding effect Matzner mentions
likely comes from Dejanet's drumming, providing
a deep, resonant floor for Suso's cascading choral
lines to dance over. It pulls the listener downward
into that essence. And to fully appreciate how
deeply they committed to this spiral, you really
have to look at the physical scope. of the album.
This is an immersive one hour one minute and
56 seconds of continuous dialogue. It's a massive
canvas. It is. They gave themselves so much space
to explore. And sustaining an unguided, improvised
conversation for over an hour requires immense
stamina. Without a traditional climax or a pre
-written melody to bail you out when the energy
dips, you have to rely entirely on your ability
to actively listen and respond to the other person
in real time. They break that hour down into
nine distinct tracks, and the source material
highlights the deeply collaborative nature of
the writing here. Rather than just trading off
solo pieces, the vast majority of their track
list consists of originals co -written by Dijana
and Suso. And instead of just listing off runtimes,
if you look at how the album is sequenced, you
see them playing with scale in a really fascinating
way. The variation in track length is a real
testament to the organic nature of the recording.
They let the conversation dictate the runtime
rather than forcing the music into, you know,
radio friendly boxes. Exactly. They anchor the
album with these sprawling, massive explorations.
The longest piece on the record is Voice of the
Kudrus, which stretches out to an incredible
nine minutes and 31 seconds. Yeah. You also have
Mountain Love Dance. Coming in at a luxurious
7 minutes and 58 seconds, these are tracks where
you can really feel that slow downward spiral
taking its time. But then they pepper in these
tighter, more condensed bursts of energy, like
Party is a punchy 4 minutes and 37 seconds. Right.
And Rose Garden wraps up at 5 minutes and 10
seconds. It creates a breathing effect across
the entire hour. They stretch out and explore
the outer limits of their shared language on
a track like Voice of the Kudrus, and then they
pull the listener back into a more concentrated
rhythmic space with a piece like Party. It keeps
you engaged. Yeah, it prevents the meditative
quality of the album from ever drifting into
just ambient background noise. It remains an
active dialogue. And while those co -written
originals form the core of the album, they also
make space for tradition. The track list includes
traditional Gambian pieces like Kaira, running
6 minutes and 45 seconds, and Sunjata Keita,
at 5 minutes and 43 seconds. Which is such a
great grounding element. It is. But the absolute
best part of looking at this track list is the
stark juxtaposition in the titles they chose
for the original compositions. Oh, the naming
conventions are incredibly revealing. They tell
you exactly how Dijonet and Suso viewed the work
they were doing. Right, because you have a traditional
piece like Sunjata Keita sitting right alongside
a 6 minute and 32 second original track called
Ancient Techno. I love that title. And then a
few tracks later, you get Worldwide Funk clocking
in at 6 minutes and 45 seconds. The sheer playfulness
of calling a song ancient techno when it is being
performed on a traditional acoustic gourd harp
and a jazz drum kit. It's brilliant. It highlights
the intentional blurring of boundaries. Ancient
techno sounds like an oxymoron at first, but
mechanically, the Quora is highly capable of
generating the kind of hypnotic, repetitive,
polyrhythmic loops that really form the foundation
of modern electronic music. That's a great point.
By giving it that title, they are drawing a direct
line between centuries -old West African musical
traditions and contemporary global club culture.
And worldwide funk does the exact same thing.
Exactly. They're taking local ancestral... sounds
and framing them in a modern global context.
It proves Nastas' point about it being a playful
dialogue. They are doing high -level, spiritually
clear meditative work, but they're also having
a lot of fun exploring the intersection of their
culture. Without a doubt. And for listeners who
want to actually see that joy in practice, the
release includes a fantastic bonus feature. The
album comes with a short video documentary of
their studio recording sessions. Having a visual
document of an unguided session like this is
invaluable. Music of this nature relies so heavily
on nonverbal communication. The physical cues.
Yeah, the micro expressions, the eye contact,
the physical breathing, the subtle nods. These
are the actual mechanics of the shared language
they were building. Watching them in that New
York studio allows you to see exactly how two
masters hold on to their individual identities
while remaining entirely locked into a shared
groove. It turns a theoretical concept into a
tangible reality. You can literally watch the
dialogue happen in real time. And that brings
us to the core value of unpacking this Wikipedia
article today. Music from the hearts of the masters
is far more than an obscure 2005 Jazz World fusion
record. It is a blueprint for deep listening.
It demonstrates how to maintain your own unique
voice while fully engaging with someone whose
background is entirely different from your own.
It is a masterclass in finding a nexus point
without compromise. Will Lehman captured the
overarching sentiment perfectly at the end of
his review. He concluded that Jack DeJohnette
has more than earned the right to play with whomever
and however he likes. Yeah. When you achieve
that level of mastery over your craft, you earn
the freedom to completely throw away the rulebook
and trust your instincts. You earn the right
to step into a room with no definitions, no restrictions,
and just see what happens. This raises an important
question. Throughout this deep dive, we've focused
heavily on the profound value of the moving spiral
art that requires patience, deep listening, and
over an hour of sustained attention without relying
on a manufactured climax or a catchy hook to
keep you engaged. But when you look at the modern
landscape of digital streaming, we are increasingly
surrounded by algorithms that optimize for immediate
gratification. They prioritize 30 -second viral
hooks and rapid -fire engagement. The exact opposite
of a spiral. Exactly. As our media consumption
becomes relentlessly linear and climax -driven,
how do unguided, hour -long musical dialogues
survive? More importantly, I'd ask you listening
to think about what happens to our own capacity
for deep, meditative listening when the digital
world constantly demands we skip to the end.
Where are you forcing a rigid, traditional setup
and climax narrative in your own life when you
could instead allow yourself to be drawn down
to an experience's essence? That is a phenomenal
thread to pull on. How do we protect the art
of the moving spiral in a world obsessed with
the immediate hook? Something for you to chew
on long after this ends. Thank you for sitting
down with us today to explore this incredible
piece of musical history. Always a pleasure.
We always appreciate you carving out the time
to unpack these topics with us. Until next time,
keep exploring, keep listening deeply and we
will catch you on the next deep dive.