Gabor Szabo - Dreams

You don’t find this album. It finds you.

design by David Stahlberg

Gabor Szabo: guitar

Jim Stewart: guitar

Gary McFarland: piano

Julius Schachter: violin

George Ricci: cello

Louis Kabok: double bass

Jim Keltner: drums

Hal Gordon: percussion

Ray Alonge, Tony Miranda, Brooks Tillotson: horns

Produced and arranged by Gary McFarland

Author’s Note: This post corresponds to the Dreams episode of Vinyl Monday, originally posted 12/16/2024. Save for audio/editing jokes that cannot be included in a text format, this is a faithful adaptation of the review chapter. To watch the full episode, scroll to the bottom of this post or visit my YouTube channel here.

I was in my third year of college at the very onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. I went from a bohemian art school paradise, living in a dilapidated apartment with 6 other people, to alone in the shell of my childhood home. At a certain point up north in the bitter winter cold, all the days just became one. So I couldn’t tell you when exactly Dreams arrived in my life. I couldn’t forget seeing the belladonna pupils in the album art, though.

pictured: John Austen, Vision (illustration, c. 1919)

You think that's trippy? Check out the back cover, taken from Austen's illustrations for Hamlet!

pictured: John Austen, Hamlet: Act 1 Scene 5 (illustration, 1922)

Lucky for me, the music was just as striking and beautiful. This was around the time in my life I was listening to Santana’s Abraxas a lot. I instantly clocked their shared DNA; ethereal atmosphere, broader Latin influence, and delicate use of feedback.

For a year or so, while the world was so closed, I thought Dreams was my little secret. In my mind, it was thissuper rare jazz album by this complete unknown! The album’s absence from Spotify at the time onlybolstered the myth. Looking back, it was a very special time. I held Dreams close, like a locket around my neck. Many candles were lit to it, and many full moons observed from tobacco fields with it as the soundtrack. When the world opened up again, I met other people who’d been graced with this album’s specter. Those few of us hunted for Dreams like our white whales, and none of us knew how to say its creator’s surname. (The accents and Z thrown into the Americanized pronunciation threw me off for a long time; from what I’ve gathered, it’s something like SAH-bo.)

Dreams has been in my life for almost 5 years now. It feels surreal to talk about it; I’m speaking a language I understand, but have never spoken myself. Only recently did I learn about its creator, and it’s all thanks to Mike Stax at the legendary Ugly Things. (Thank you, Tony, for connecting us!) Stax ran three phenomenal features on Szabo in issues 54 and 56: a ’60s discography overview, a feature on Szabo’s return to Hungary, and an extensive interview with bassist Louis Kabok. It’s the most we’ve ever heard from him; his insights proved crucial for this episode.

“We all knew then that this was the beginning of the end...With my father’s encouragement, and the companionship of two young friends, I decided to leave. I took all my worldly possessions; my last month’s salary, and my guitar.”

quoted from: Leonard Feather, “Gabor Szabo: A Fresh Guitar Sound From the Hungarian Plains” Jazzscene via Melody Maker, 7/1/1967

Gabor Szabo been playing guitar since the age of 14, but only casually. Everything changed when he discovered jazz through Voice of America’s Jazz Hour broadcasts. It played music by and hosted interviews with the likes of Eartha Kitt, Chet Baker, Duke Ellington, Dizzie Gillespie, Tito Puente, Max Roach, Gene Krupa, even a five hour broadcast with Louis Armstrong. Young Gabor modeled his playing after Django Reinhardt and Charlie Christian. “His style was very different in those days,” Louis said to Ugly Things about their early days as musicians in Budapest. “You wouldn’t recognize him. A very modern and very American-style guitarist. It was nothing like he ended up.” You can imagine how hearing so much variety in music would blow a young person’s mind. It was refreshing. It was dangerous, too. Anything Western – movies, music, any media – was illegal in Hungary at the time. As Szabo described in the Rising (1977) documentary, he grew to resent Hungarian folk music as it was the only music legal to listen to. He’d save up a month or so of pay to buy American albums off the black market. If one were to be caught with any black market American albums on you, you’d be thrown in jail. Gabor was caught with an issue of DownBeat once; he was very lucky to be let off with a warning.

When the Hungarian Revolution forced Gabor from his home country, he found home in music; though it took some time for him to find his style. He had a hiccup with his gig with Chico Hamilton; he was trying too hard to sound like American players, and the bass player “psyched (him) out.” Chico encouraged Gabor to explore though, and the result was nothing short of a fireworks show He landed a profitable deal with Impulse! Records, releasing an eye-watering six albums in two years. And that’s just his solo stuff: if you count collaborations, the grand total is nine! Across these nine(!) albums’ travels, Szabo added new styles and techniques to his treasure chest. A little classical, a little flamenco, raga, pop, and psychedelic rock. It was true fusion; daring, exciting, radical. Covering the Beatles, the Stones, Nancy Sinatra, and Sonny and Cher? On Impulse?! He found merit in it all, and refused to be bound by genre. As he stated to Melody Maker in 1967, “I don’t want to sell out, but I don’t want to be a jazz snob either.” I guess jazzheads never change: Szabo ruffled feathers when he made a classic “jazz is dead” comment to a member of the press. It caused enough of a scene to warrant a response in DownBeat!

The rock-and-rollers got it, though. Johnny Echols of Love was blown away when he saw Szabo play: "The sound he got from (his) unusual setup was pure magic. His style can best be described as awe-inspiring. A melding of Hungarian folk music and Indian ragas, with a tinge of jazz-rock fusion.” (Johnny Echols, “Gabor Blew My Mind” Ugly Things 54, summer 2020) After a string of lucrative gigs: Monterey Jazz, Newport Jazz, television appearances, and mainstay status at Shelly Manne’s and El Matador clubs, Szabo jumped ship from Impulse! to start Skye Records. There, he would release Bacchanal (1968,) 1969 (you should know what year that was released,) and the album in question.

Full disclosure: I am not a musician. I’m always at a steep disadvantage with jazz. I can’t really tell you what’s going on with Szabo’s scales. All I have is what I feel. This review will focus more on images, sounds, atmosphere, and feel. I’ll reference super-basic technical stuff when I absolutely must.

Thankfully, Dreams doesn’t lack in atmosphere or feel.

We drop the needle on the feather-light trill of Szabo’s guitar. From the jump, Dreams is heavy on the Spanish influence; these tiny, intricate motions that rise and fall upon themselves, and shadows of root notes underneath. Around the time of Dreams production, Szabo was taken by the work of composer Manuel de Falla. Szabo’s opening notes dim and flicker, like the last rays of light before the sun dips below the horizon. He already plays with such impossible precision, I find myself holding my breath. This coil of sound gently unwinds with two perfectly-placed notes, and the cello emerging from its shroud. We hear a tentative dance between guitar and George Ricci’s cello as they get to know each other. They step in time, they stand in opposition, weaving in and out of each other. Szabo repeats the core motif, but the bass skips over a couple notes; giving the feeling of these two settling into each other. Szabo sets off in one of his hypnotic guitar states, catching shortened notes on a melody which ascends, but not at the rocket-pace I’m used to. It’s like watching a swan spread its wings in slow-motion; slow and majestic.

The piano and second guitar step in. Stewart hangs behind Szabo, while our producer and pianist Gary McFarland establishes the repeating motif that will be the root of this song. Bum! ba-duh-ba-ba-bum. The low and high notes are long, allowing themselves to ring out into the night air; at least until they’re interrupted by the staccato notes in the middle. Lou drops in on that same motif an octave below. He's both the shadow and lamp on Dreams.

Jim Keltner is so soft, I hardly notice he’s here until a rim tap breaks through. Given how this song slowly awakens from its slumber, it’s time I mentioned its title: Galatea’s Guitar. Galatea, if you’re not familiar, is from the myth of Pygmalion; the artist who fell in love with his own sculpture. “Galatea’s Guitar” astonishes as it awakens; like watching a statue come to life. This song feels so old, old as myth; with itsdancing twin classical guitars. Szabo and side man Stewart’s chemistry is at its best here. They don’t just respond to each other, they add new elements to the motif in a playful manner until it’s totally transformed. One questions, the other answers with another question. There is no “lead” and “backing” here. They guideeach other. And yet “Galatea” feels so modern, with its sparse percussion. Percussion so much personality to the songs on Dreams; the maracas and guiro layer and progress as McFarland’s piano transitions into tense chords. Only as the song fades out do we hear Keltner’s snare and some jungle-noise-like electric guitar experiments.

Where “Galatea’”s mood was tantalizing and inquisitive, Half The Day Is The Night is a deep, gentle slumber. Listen to the arpeggio Stewart and Kabok form together; two halves of a whole. They fill in each other’s spaces, as delicate as snowflakes dancing in the air. I have no idea what this percussion instrument is, but it’s metallic and sharp; cutting long curves in the song like skates on ice. Szabo’s playing is warm and sweet in front of cello and forlorn violin. A sturdy and noble – but not imposing – tapping drum enters. When the song loosens, Szabo takes the opportunity to solo. More hand drums drop in, playing cool, syncopated beats. Keltner loosens up, making use of more of his kit; he’s been playing very conservatively so far. The drummers also push the song from waltz time (with some measures of two) into I think 6/8 time? Szabo’s solo begins in winding, solitary notes, which split into two, and then three, cresting and falling gently until...yes! The first Szabo feedback solo of the night! Szabo didn’t use feedback like say Jimi Hendrix did. It’s not this uninhibited piercing wail, not a weapon to use. Carlos Santana described Hendrix’s feedback like aurora borealis. Szabo’s is like incense smoke. Translucent. Long, thin, and straight in still air. He doesn’t carve shapes into a slab, he allows the smoke to bend slightly in the breeze. It’s like the drone in classical Indian music, or in psych rock.

Other players painted wild colors with feedback. Szabo practiced calligraphy with it.

One of my favorite things about guitar playing in the ’60s is that it established the guitar as an extension of the body. You’d turn your body and your instrument in to the amp to create that sound. We find ourselves back in that gentle rock, and the song ends with stately and very pretty measures of two.

Song of Injured Love is the first de Falla cover, and Szabo stays true to the song’s Spanish roots. Hearing this instance in Szabo’s phrasing, I know exactly where Santana got it from. I immediately thought of “Samba Pa Ti.” “Injured Love” also transitions from a delicate, contemplative melody to a bright, sunny dance. It illustrates happy times found after heartbreak. Getting the skip back in your step, feeling the smile return to your face. Stewart helps get it there with his subtle countermelody. The triangle and Kabok’s playful bass help things along too, putting punctuation on the ends of lines in the guitarists’ extended duet. It’s simply gorgeous; it feels medieval in how upheld and composed it is, and that particular spacing between notes. Here’s where I have to admit I’m having trouble counting what time sig “Injured Love” is in. It’s mostly in 6/8, but there’s a measure in there that breaks that rhythm and it’s throwing me off. My thought was that it’s in 8/8: two groups of three beats and one group of two. It’s worth noting that, once he put some space between himself and Hungarian folk music, Szabo’s resentment faded. It’s also worth noting 8/8 is commonlyused in Hungarian folk music. (Take all of this with a grain of salt, though: it’s common knowledge that I cannot count.) Szabo pulls out another tool from his box: his ability to craft a line that fills both a melody and harmony role. When he’d do this, he’d wrap his upper body around his guitar; as if to form a protective cocoon.

Unlike “Samba Pa Ti,” “Injured Love” returns to its mournful shadow core. The memory of the heartbreak continues, the bruise still aches. But in time, it’s left behind for good, dancing back to the sun as the sun fades out.

If Dreams was getting too terminally chill for you, side one closes with the Szabo-Kabok-penned The Fortune Teller. This is the folksiest cut on the album, with its jaunty, danceable melody. I didn’t like this one when I first heard Dreams, it was a bit in-your-face for me. But I’ve since felt its swishy-skirted charm. It’s quite mischievous, like a plucky clairvoyant. She smirks at you as she engages in call-and-response with her friends on the other side, those who tell her your future. Do you trust her?

I think “Fortune Teller” feels so jarring because 1. this is the fastest song on the album so far (and somehow push it even faster at the end!) 2. because it ascends and descends so fast, and 3. because so many guys are playing it at once. We’re so used to melody and harmony becoming one that to have Szabo, violinist Julius Schachter, Kabok, and Keltner all on this stocky motif is quite arresting. Even the bass and drums follow that back-and-forth. Szabo soon slips into a trance state, while Stewart borrows heavily from Django Reinhardt’s rhythm playing. Django was a big influence on these guys: Szabo modeled his early playing style after him, and Kabok’s uncle played violin in a group with him! They’re very quiet, but you can hear these high-pitched guitar plucks and scratches hidden away in the bass layer of the song. If “Fortune Teller” moves like a dancing girl, these textural touches are her heels in the ground. Of course, it’s topped off with a tambourine. This subgenre was once called “gypsy jazz,” after all.

It’s worth noting Fire Dance was one of two songs (the other being a cover of Donovan’s Ferris Wheel) recorded at least twice during Dreams sessions. One was used for the album and the other “Fire Dance” used for a single; pitched lower, with heavier drums and cut down by two minutes. “Fire Dance” ranks similarly to “Fortune Teller” for me. It never strays too far from its core, the guitar playing is exciting, and it possesses Szabo’s most memorable melody by far. It flicks at your fingertips. But what takes “Fire Dance” to the next level is the brass. Gary went off with this arrangement. It’s one of the only things that firmly places this album in 1968. It conjures up images of a spy movie scene where the hero dashes through the streets of Spain in pursuit of the villainess in disguise. At the very end, we get more feedback soloing combined with gentle flits.

Dreams saves its best for last with The Lady In The Moon and “Ferris Wheel.” These were my first twofavorite songs off the LP. According to Mike Stax’s write-up on Dreams, “Lady In The Moon” was based on a theme by a Hungarian folk composer. 8/8 mystery aside, I guess Szabo didn’t resent Hungarian folk music all that much. Not to be too on-the-nose, but “Lady” has this utterly beguiling, celestial feel. It takes time to reveal itself to you; like how your eyes get adjusted to the night sky. Szabo dances around his fretboard for a while before the stately march, set by Lou’s walking bass. This is the Lady of the Moon, mind you. She deserves a royal procession. It soon falls again into those loose, airy excercises; a great showcase for Ricci’scello. He’s the MVP of Dreams, giving the album a necessary earthy depth to counteract Szabo’s airy playing. “Lady” is a reflection of all the eclecticism of the late 60s. Soon, you can find constellations in it; connecting the dots between all of Szabo’s influences. It’s a melding of Spanish music, heard in Szabo’s lead, Stewart’s classical guitar, and a broader Latin influence from Keltner’s drums and Hal Gordon’s percussion. “Lady” is positively groovy, but not “groovy, baby!” There’s a certain intangible emotion to it; I find my heart swelling as I hear Szabo’s fingertips on his fretboard. The myth that once clouded him in my mind has evaporated. Here, he is real. The suspense builds until Gabor produces more swirling feedback. It’s cheeky; he bumps out a note here and there. He knows this is his moneymaker note, and he’s gonna milk it.

Of all Donovan’s songs, “Ferris Wheel” was the very best for Szabo to cover. It wasn’t his first go-around with a Sunshine Superman tune; Szabo and Co. tested the waters with a mind-bending, hypnotic, exotic take on “Three King Fishers.”

Donny played his “Ferris Wheel” on guitar, with a bassist, hand drums, and a sitar. The circular instrumentation, drone, and lilting melody translate perfectly to Gabor’s style.

Deadass, because I heard Dreams before Sunshine Superman, I thought “Ferris Wheel” was a Gabor Szabo original.

This is such an effective cover that I thought Donovan took some obscure jazz song and wrote lyrics for the melody! It takes a true artist to leave your fingerprint on someone’s song like that. I’d love to ask Donovan what he thinks of this cover. I feel it highlights all the best things about his psychedelic folk era. It’s all the wonder, spirit, and pure, uninhibited inspiration.

Szabo songs – even when they’re not Szabo songs – venture from their cores. They build the central idea gradually, until they crest into something totally new. Szabo tunes aren’t like a psychedelic jam that goes too far out into the weeds, but it has the same sense of adventure. I love the new expanded middle section written into his “Ferris Wheel.” The violin blossoms like a morning glory. The night is almost done. When you least expect it, the original song comes wandering back. Returning to the “Ferris Wheel “melody feels so welcome – even if you didn’t really miss it in the first place.

The 60s moved, man. Old ways of living were breaking down. The barriers between high and low culture, east and west, were eroding. Ray Manzarek of the Doors cited Coltrane’s “My Favorite Things” as inspiration for how “Light My Fire” was constructed. Africa/Brass and Impressions inspired fathers of psych The Byrds to play that delightfully weird solo on "Eight Miles High." Grace Slick listened to Sketches of Spain so many times, she wrote “White Rabbit.” There was a jazz drummer in Cream. “Beck’s Bolero” would inspire a hundred after it. Miles In The Sky and The Soft Machine were on their way. Jazz Magazine renamed itself to Jazz and Pop, and put Jimi Hendrix on the cover! The barrier between jazz and rock-and-roll is thinner than a lot of jazz snobs would like to think. At the center of it all is Dreams. It’s not timeless so much as it’s without time. The late ’60s were also a time for exploring what’s beyond us. Whether that was the unconscious mind, the moon, or some spiritual mumbo-jumbo. There are just some records that reach past the veil which separates the mortal plane from whatever is beyond us. The Doors does that. Dreams too. Abraxas did after it. You can smell the incense off Dreams – it practically begs for the ritual.

Let’s round this out with some album title analysis. What are dreams? They can be aspirations in life, sure. But in this sense, dreams are our mind taking us on little trips to other places as we sleep. Sometimes they “make sense.” Most times they don’t. Some believe those little trips are to other places within ourselves. Jungformed a whole branch of his philosophy around analyzing dreams; he saw them as windows into our unconscious. So did Freud. Plenty other philosophers analyzed them too. Dreams are what our minds fill thespaces between consciousness with. We wake up longing to remember them, only clinging onto the ghost of the feeling. The more romantic of us spend the rest of our lives finding the face we saw in our sleep. They’re breaks in between days; half-there, half-not.

The music of Gabor Szabo exists in the in between, too. He would never release another album quite like Dreams; after this he’d retreat to the realm of pop and fusion. As much fun as I have with Nightflight, and as positively cool as earlier effort Jazz Raga is, Szabo was at his best here. It's his most beautiful album. Where east and west, tradition and modernity, pop, rock, and jazz met. Not many players have found comfort in that perpetual in-between, but Gabor Szabo did. Not only that, he made it his masterpiece. Dreams is supernatural and completely spellbinding.

Personal favorites: “Galatea’s Guitar,:” “Half The Day Is The Night,” “The Lady In The Moon,” “Ferris Wheel”

– AD ☆

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