#lloyd thayer

One thing that Thayer does have in common with Indian music, as well as country blues, is an appreciation for the expressive qualities of a bent note. The album’s extended performances (four out of seven run over 12 minutes) visit and revisit well-timed swoops up and down, then follow them with atonal flourishes that could spice a Sonic Youth tune or trills that would make sweat break out on a Hollywood gunfighter’s forehead. Another is patience; each bluesy amble or countermanding slide passage gets enough time to let you get familiar with where it’s at or where it’s going. And one thing they have in common with a lot of Fahey’s music is a guerilla recording approach that enhances the music’s atmosphere. The low notes of “Wollaston Avenue Meditation” may be a bit more than his microphone can handle, but Thayer follows them where they need to go anyway, ambling through a pathway for limited tones and overtones on their way to a clear place in the listener’s mind.  

While each track on this album has its rewards, they also muster a cumulative impact. Even though the album runs over 70 minutes, it leaves you wanting more. Here’s hoping that Thayer tests the markets of other major metropolitan subway systems.

Thayer is a longstanding resident of Boston, where you are more likely to find him playing outdoor arts festival and or teaching music than gigging in a club. His music feels correspondingly direct. He places country blues gestures into pieces that are long and winding. But even though the tracks on Limitation Is Necessary last between 12 and 17 minutes, they never overstay their welcome. Expertly paced and expansively recorded, they enclose the listener in bright, enveloping streams of sound. They’re close kin to the epics that John Fahey made in the 1970s, when his chops were at a peak, but their intent is a bit different. Instead of taking the listener on an emotional trip informed by psychological conflicts and prankster impulses, they bypass storytelling to vividly evoke states and conditions.

“Limitation,” for example, deals with a mandate that Thayer dealt himself while working the piece out. Developed on the heels of Twenty20, an album-length performance, he refused to allow himself that much room.  Instead, the composition’s contrasting segments exemplify the use of available space. “Rumination” starts with a series of harmonics, each permitted to decay before the music resolves into patiently stated melody that flowers, closes, and flowers again, each time a bit different. The lap steel showcase “Deviation” places dissonance swoops and voluptuous bends over cadences that surge and subside, while “Cultivation” arises slowly out of layers of (probably digitally) sustained tones. Delays and samples also bolster “Celebration,” whose bucolic theme arises from a chorus of chirping crickets on its way to a bluesy sway.

2024 has been a slow year for recordings that reference the Takoma school of guitar playing, so it might seem like faint praise to say that Thayer’s currently at the head of the class. But even in a more crowded annum, Limitation Is Necessary’s transcendental vibe would make it a shining example of what this music can do.

            Gauvain moved over to the first shrouded figure, nodding to his uncle. They each took one end of the cloth, carefully lifting the body and then lowering it into the ground.

            “Thayers,” he said, his voice ringing strangely clear in the damp air, “y’are from the earth.” They lifted the next figure, and lowered it beside the first. “An as y’came from it, y’shall return.” Third figure. “We’ll remember ye in this life.” Fourth figure. “Remember us in the one t’come.” Fifth, and—thank the gods—for now the last. Lloyd nodded to his nephew before moving to stand beside his daughters.

            Gauvain returned the nod, then turned his back to them and closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of the rain hitting the trees, the earth. He could smell pine, rich soil, and just a hint of decay. He felt the bit of Earth he carried, let it seep down into the ground where it found seeds and roots, and called to them. The ground shifted, vines slowly easing forth from the damp earth and half-nudging, half-dragging it into the large grave. There was a rhythm to it, to everything. It was… It was like a song just out of the range of hearing. If only he could do more than pluck out a few faltering notes…

            He started at Lloyd’s hand on his shoulder, blinking a few times as he took his bearings. There was a tree before him, now, large and solid. Gauvain shuddered once. He was soaked through, freezing. A glance over his shoulder revealed that his cousins were gone.

            “How long was I…?” Gauvain asked.

            “Few hours.” Lloyd was succinct even at the best of times.

            Gauvain looked up at the tree, letting out a low whistle. “I think Da’ helped.”

            “Could be.” Lloyd gave Gauvain’s shoulder a squeeze. “Come inside; ye’ll catch sick.”

            Gauvain nodded. “Jus’ need t’finish it, aye?”

            Lloyd nodded, turning to trudge back towards the small cabin occupied by what remained of his family. “Be quick, then.”