MASTER MUSICIANS OF JAJOUKA ~ APOCALYPSE ACROSS THE SKY

1. GABAHAY
2. A HABIBI OUAJEE T'ALLEL ALLAIYA
3. EL MEDAHEY
4. BUJIOUDIA “BUJIOUDIA DANCING WITH AISHA QANDISHA”
5. ALALILLA “ABOUT THE NIGHT”
6. THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
7. BUJLOUDIA
8. JAJOUKA BETWEEN THE MOUNTAINS
9. MEMORIES OF MY FATHER
10. MOHAMED DIHA UTALLA FIHA (TAKE CARE OF HER OR LEAVE HER)
11. SBAR YAGELBI SBAR
12. ON HORSEBACK
13. TALAHA L'BADRO ALAINA

"Pan, BouJeloud, the Father of Skins, dances through eight moonlit nights in his village, Jajouka, to the wailing of his hundred master musicians. Down in the towns, far away by the seaside, you can hear the wild whimper of his oboe-like raitas; a faint breath of PANIC borne on the wind.
Inside the village, the thatched houses crouch low in their gardens to hide in the deep cactus-lined lanes. You come through their maze to the broad village green where the pipers are piping; fifty raitas banked against a crumbling wall blow sheet lightning to shatter the air. Fifty wild flutes blow up a storm in front of them, while a platoon of small boys in long belted white robes and brown wool turbans drum like young thunder. All the villagers, dressed in best white, swirl in great circles and coils around one wildman in skins.
BouJeloud leaps high in the air on the music, races after the women again and again, lashing at them fiercely with his flails. He is wild. He is mad. Sowing PANIC. Lashing at anyone; striking real terror into the crowd. Women scatter like white marabout birds all aflutter and settle on one little hillock for safety, all huddled in one quivering lump.
BouJeloud, is after you. Running. Over-run. Laughter and someone is crying. Wild dogs at your heels. Swirling around in one ring-a-rosy, around and around and around. Go! Forever! Stop! Never! More and No More and No! More! Pipes crack in your head. Ears popped away at barrier sound and you deaf. Or dead! Swirling around in cold moonlight, surrounded by wildmen or ghosts. BouJeloud is on you, butting you, beating you, taking you, leaving you. Gone! The great wind drops out of your head and you hear the heavenly music again. You feel sorry and loving and tender to that poor animal whimpering, grizzling, laughing and sobbing there beside you like somebody out of the ether. Who is that? That is you."
-William S. Burroughs and Brion Gysin

recorded at Jajouka, outside in the foothills of the Rif mountains of Morocco on November 8, 9 and 10, 1991.