Ghost Train Orchestra With Kronos Quartet
‘Songs and Symphoniques — The Music of Moondog’

The new album by the Ghost Train Orchestra in collaboration with the Kronos Quartet, “Songs and Symphoniques — The Music of Moondog,” opens with street noises. Of all the aspects of the remarkable career of Moondog, who was born Louis Thomas Hardin (1916-99), this is perhaps the most difficult to fathom. His music itself was almost inconceivable, under any circumstances, but the notion that he spent the majority of his career as a street performer makes even less sense. 

Indeed, a 2019 compilation of Moondog’s music was titled “The Viking of Sixth Avenue” — this piece is also on the current album — and the cover shows him on the Avenue of the Americas during the “Mad Men” era. Buttoned-down executives gaze incredulously at the bearded composer in full “Das Rheingold” regalia, looking as if he just stepped out from an intermission at Bayreuth or was about to play Thor’s demented uncle in the latest Marvel saga. 

It’s astonishing that Moondog was able to create this music at all — without any viable support system, neither commercial nor institutional, but only using the spare change he was able to raise as, essentially, a street busker. It wasn’t until near the end of his life, when Moondog settled in Germany, that he began to be accepted as a “serious” composer and received commissions from ensembles like the Kronos Quartet.

Now, the quartet has teamed with Brian Carpenter’s Ghost Train Orchestra for what must be the most thorough exploration of the Moondog oeuvre ever, even during the composer’s lifetime. Indeed, it kind of makes sense that it would take at least two distinct, brand-name ensembles — both of which are devoted to celebrating offbeat composers — as well as an ambitious roster of guest performers and vocalists to tackle Moondog’s music.  

It’s generally been bruited about that Moondog doesn’t fit into traditional categories. Actually, though, the issue may be just the opposite. His music can be described as belonging to too many categories: You could call it classical, jazz, folk, pop, or even theater music — all at once, no less — and you wouldn’t be wrong.    

In addition to the new album, New Yorkers have enjoyed the opportunity to enjoy this music live twice in the last few months, when the Ghost Train Orchestra played Roulette at Brooklyn in November and then again at Town Hall — around the corner from where the composer himself was long a familiar site — a few weeks ago, wherein they were joined by the Kronos.

Apart from belonging to multiple genres, this music somehow is also both vocal and instrumental at the same time; most of the compositions here employ human voices and words, but somehow the word “songs” doesn’t do them justice.  

The second track on the album is “Be a Hobo,” performed by Rufus Wainwright in the studio and David Byrne live. It consists primarily of one line, “Be a hobo and go with me,” which is repeated before the second and final line, “From Hoboken to the sea.” Likewise, “Why Spend a Dark Night with You?” is also essentially that one line over and over, chanted by a performance artist named Joan As Police Woman. In both cases, the words are less like lyrics than mystical incantations.

Both the opening theme, titled simply “Theme,” and “Be a Hobo” feature reed solos; on the first is swing-style clarinet from Dennis Lichtman, and the second has Matt Bauder playing tenor saxophone over an exotic Caribbean rhythm, accented by tuba. Much of this music is beyond quirky or even playful; a lot of it is downright mischievous.  

“Enough About Human Rights,” performed by Karen Mantler, is a provocative enough title, but it turns out the author is merely teasing us: “Enough about human rights. / What about whale rights? / What about snail rights? / What about seal rights? / What about eel rights?” And so on. 

“Choo Choo Lullaby” comes closer to being a traditional song — rather like a bluegrass ode to locomotion — with a traditional lyric. It’s sung by the leader, Mr. Carpenter, who also plays harmonica, and he employed a bullhorn at Town Hall. 

Some numbers are melancholy, like “All is Loneliness,” sung by Joan Wasser, which concludes the album in a dark, moody fashion, with lower-register string parts. Yet most of the album is more optimistic and cheerful. “Down is Up,” featuring the violinist and singer Petra Haden, reiterates the thought: “Down is up and so up is down / Because the earth is round / There is no such a thing as up or down.” 

Mr. Carpenter and his arrangers, Curtis Hasselbring, Andy Laster, David Cossin, Maxim Moston, and the leader himself, were inspired by the composer’s many albums — he was prolific both as composer and recording artist. They wrote all new charts, and they are very much in the spirit of Moondog and in sync with each other. Much of the new writing here dovetails with the composer’s own 1969 album for Columbia, titled simply “Moondog,” which might be my favorite of his many original albums.  

In both cases, they underscore the point that Hollywood missed a good bet when it passed over Moodog, whose costumed appearance was no less cinematic than his music. Both Philip Glass and Steve Reich dubbed him the “Father of Minimalism,” and much of his music prefigures the understated scores of Carter Burwell and others.  

As difficult as it was for Mr. Carpenter to bring all these musicians together — it was somehow mostly recorded during the pandemic — let’s hope there’s a sequel on the way. There’s a lot more to be said about this unique musical prophet whose works were neither strangely conventional nor conventionally strange.