Crossfade: A Big Chill Anthology Edited by Pete Lawrence and Vicki Howard Serpent's Tail 218 pp. ISBN: 1-85242-875-9 Available from Powell's Books.

Each chapter focuses on a particular musical style or an aspect of popular subculture. All of the authors are ardent observers of the particular scene about which they write, but many are also formidable practitioners, such as Mixmaster Morris and DJ Derek; still others are music journalists and academics. One of the editors of the anthology, Pete Lawrence, is a full-fledged triple threat -- a performer, former Cooking Vinyl Records founder, and current writer for various publications. Lawrence's essay, "Folk: the Tide Flows In, the Tide Flows Out", benefits from his multifaceted background. He is able to detail the various factions within the recent past and fractured current English folk scenes, delineating the arguments of traditional song fans, dance music enthusiasts and those seeking a rapprochement between folk and more mainstream English popular music. As both a witness and a participant, Lawrence has a fascinating story to tell about folk in England, and his essay sets a very high bar for his fellow contributors.

As in any compilation, some of Crossfade's authors will inevitably catch your interest more than others. I found that my own interest seemed to gravitate toward those who were doers rather than spectators. DJ Derek's insightful essay "Reggae: Sweet Memory Sounds" takes various pop and reggae songs as section headers, jumping off variously from Bob Marley, the Everly Brothers, Toots and Slim Smith into a wide-ranging catalogue of influences on his artistic philosophy and DJing approach. Mixmaster Morris does a similar thing for jazz, chronicling both historical facets of the genre and his own process of discovering its music. A large part of his discussion focuses on the recent confluence of hip hop, electronica and remix projects with the larger jazz language, both detailing its important figures and briefly discussing some of its broader implications.

Other authors focus more on the cultural aspects associated with particular musical genres. Tony Marcus looks at the relationship between nostalgia, ecstasy and rave culture, drawing some surprising connections between drug-induced temporary states of consciousness and the broader nostalgia craze that has infiltrated dance music. Another dance music essay, Hillegonda C. Rietveld's "House Music: the Hacienda Must be Built", combines a look at disco and house culture from an anthropological viewpoint with Rietveld's own recollections of her DJing experiences at the Hacienda club. This blend of academic musings with a personal journal seems to be exactly the type of hybrid approach that seems to flourish in the pages of Crossfade (as well as on the message boards at Bigchill.net).

While the necessarily limited scope of each of these essays will make connoisseurs say, "but what about that ... you forgot to mention ..." a lot, it's amazing how much ground Lawrence, Morris and Derek are able to cover in their respective pieces. What's more, each of the essays includes a discography of suggested listening, a tantalizing shopping list for those who want to delve further. As such, many of the essays can serve as a primer for the uninitiated. The readable style and enthusiasm of many of the authors should serve to encourage musical exploration.

Some of the essays by scenesters rather than practitioners are equally enthusiastic, but tend towards a bit more amateurish tone. Susanna Glaser's essay on electronic music -- or, as she likes to call it, "Bleep" -- focuses too much on her own conservative classical music background and the hurdles it posed for her in branching out into IDM and electronica, rather than thoroughly discussing the music itself. Ally Fogg falls victim to overuse of superlatives in "Stripped Pine and Swedish Furniture: a Defence of Chill Out", presenting far too many instances in which things are described as "the greatest, most significant, most beautiful, perfect" exponents of musical art. This is made doubly suspicious when these superlatives are ascribed to artists like Zero 7 and Lemon Jelly, who are fine and all, but aren't so far along in their respective careers as to be handled with such cloying praise. Methinks Fogg doth protest too loudly, perhaps because he is on the defensive about all of the comps that have pillaged his beloved Chill Out artists' catalogs.

The occasional brush with this type of fan prose and a somewhat loose editorial hand are both caveats worth mentioning; in particular, Lawrence and Howard should have given more careful attention to redundant use of words -- some adjacent sentences repeat the same adjective three or more times (where's a thesaurus when you need one?) (Hopefully in the trash, where it belongs; show me a writer who makes regular use of a thesaurus to spice up his prose and I'll show you someone who routinely misuses words he doesn't quite understand. -- Ed.). It would be nice if more of Crossfade was written from a vantage point other than first person recollections -- perhaps their next effort might try to shake things up and provide a few "outsider" or at least more objective essays. That said, these are minor gripes. The anthology's catholic spirit, as well as much of its content, is quite admirable. May subsequent Big Chill books retain the same enthusiasm as Crossfade, and cover even wider musical terrain.

-- Christian Carey

Serpent's Tail is committed to publishing extravagant outlaw voices neglected by the mainstream.