By Bob Tarte

"Kan Marau La" rocks to what may be the heaviest riff that humans have every played. Fanfare Ciocarlia's monstrous, growling locust buzz of brass blots out the sun as the Romanian heirs to Mothra circle, circle and descend to the ruined ground in an aggressive paean to unrequited love that's as catchy as a field of thistles. Forget electronic instruments. Only the acoustic variety could make such an unholy howl as saxophones, trumpets and tubas clash over clattering drums. Early recordings by this Gypsy brass orchestra were exclusively instrumental. More recent releases have added a smattering of voices, but on Queens and Kings (Asphalt Tango) an all-star cast of Romany royalty steps behind the mike. Bucharest's Dan Armeanca slips between the blasts, blats and throbbing to deliver the aforementioned tale of hurt. On "Que Dolor," members of French gypsy ensemble Kaloome merge flamenco-inflected North African flavors with Balkan bombast, and the two halves fit together so neatly, you want to hear it done again. So we get "Cuando Tu Volveras," too, but its brass edge is smoother than the earlier cut.

"Sandala," sporting rapid-fire vocals by soulful Serbian Saban Bajramovic, sounds remarkably like klezmer, suggesting cross-pollination between certain Yiddish and Gypsy styles. It's barely a notch removed from oldtime circus music, too, and I’d wager that a significant percentage of the European circus population of the 19th and 20th centuries was comprised of Gypsies. The manic tempo, clashing instrumental textures and loopy violin and cymbalon solos of the same song also conjure up cartoon soundtracks, but I'm at a loss to explain the connection, unless Jewish musicians played key roles in the pioneering days of animation, just as they did in early jazz.