NOW THAT TUCSON'S conservative winter visitors have abandonned our sun-drenched city, the coast is clear to talk about a slightly subversive motivation for sticking around after the thermometer hits 100 degrees. The psychedelic effect of heat is, after all, the desert dweller's best kept secret.

In that brief window of time before the monsoons hit and the humidity rises, the temperature outside is the same or greater than your own body. Yet those hot dry winds make sure the slightest drop of sweat evaporates before you even know it's there. Without that thin layer of moisture coating your skin, it's difficult to tell where you stop and the rest of the scenery begins, which contributes to a strange and liberating feeling that you're expanding in all directions.

Certain kinds of music can profoundly enhance this drugless altered state, but you can't get much of a rush from anything that relies on standard song forms. The "verse-chorus-verse" format is a classic way of translating into sound the way the human mind in our culture perceives things, which is perfect for certain kinds of expression.

But if you're craving some sort of alternate reality, you need music that steps outside conventional boundaries. This doesn't mean you want something completely formless. Let's just say that there are certain composers who have a gift for translating the way the mind of nature works into essays of sonic ecstacy. Like those searing afternoons, when the habits of logic seem to fizzle out in the trances of an unbridled sun, certain types of music can capture the subtle rhythms of waves rising from the desert floor, or the movements of those indescribable colors that transmute through the sky in all directions as the earth slowly turns toward night.

In fact, listening to this type of music is a lot like watching a sunset. A warm breeze is blowing through your hair. Shadows are moving slowly across the mountains. The whole time, your own feelings, thoughts and memories are flowing vivdly through each other. Most of these sensations can't possibly be singled out or consciously acknowledged. Yet as you sit there and let everything wash over you, your mind begins to perceive things in a new way. Capture this effect in music and play it back during those peak summer days, and the impact on your brain is often powerful enough to be declared illegal--if the powers that be could figure out a way to outlaw sound and sun.

The new recording by the English trio TUU works nicely in this context. The first vaporous tendrils of Martin Franklin's tibetan bells condense into flowing rivers of modal imporvisations that finally evaporate into a single, spellbinding tone as All Our Ancestors (1995 Waveform) unfolds like a ceremony taking place in the hidden recesses of the mind.

Mykl O'Dempsey synthesizes ambiguous shapes that stretch and evolve with the unpredictable movements of clouds floating across a perfect sky. Rebecca Lublinski's flute doesn't so much play melodies as chant incantations over steady drones and softly undulating trance rhythms. The longer the drones and rhythms persist, the more solid they become until they seem to create a sonic bridge into another dimension.

The members of another English group like to hang out in the same, vast, altered state of mind, only the view from where they stand is a little more menacing. O Yuki Conjugate's Equator (Staalplaat) is not for the uninitiated, however. In fact, this recording probably won't make much of an impression unless you're willing to immerse yourself in it completely.

The TUU disc, on the other hand, builds slowly, logically, like an intricately-designed shamanic rite that draws you into dream-like states and then sets you gently back down at your doorstep.

The members of O Yuki Conjugate, however, aren't about to hold your hand. On Equator, they jump right in and swim through deeper, more alien waters where the mythical mindset isn't quite as recognizable--or amenable. Aggressive tribal rhythms convey a sense of urgency. Synthesized sounds ooze out like bloody apparitions, then churn with the relentless machinations of fate. Yet no matter how grim it gets, there's always an underlying feeling of grace, a kind of dangerous beauty that makes this music irresistible, if you have enough nerve to take the plunge.

Several other recent releases are right up there with these two: Kenneth Newby's The Ecology of Souls (Fathom/Hearts of Space) is filled with seductive flute melodies, sparse Indonesian gamelan rhythms and haunting synthesized textures. Vidna Obmana's The Spiritual Bonding (Extreme)draws listeners into a quiet, dimly-lit world of simmering emotion, swirling against a background of suspended time.

And finally, the group Trance Mission mixes heady tribal beats, odd bass clarinet and didgeridoo grooves, siren-like female vocals, and snatches of psychedelic poetry on Meanwhile (City of Tribes). Happy Trails....
--Linda Kohanov

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