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**Moondog - H'art Songs**
★★★★☆

The story of Louis Thomas Hardin—better known as Moondog—reads like something conjured from the fevered imagination of a Beat Generation novelist. By the time H'art Songs emerged in 1978, this enigmatic figure had already cemented his reputation as one of New York City's most fascinating street performers, a blind composer who spent decades stationed at the corner of 54th Street and 6th Avenue, draped in Viking regalia and dispensing his singular musical vision to anyone willing to listen.

H'art Songs represents a curious chapter in Moondog's sprawling catalog, arriving during a period when the composer was transitioning from his legendary street corner performances to a more reclusive existence. The album captures him at a crossroads—no longer the ubiquitous presence haunting Manhattan's sidewalks, yet still wrestling with the urban rhythms and cosmic philosophies that had defined his earlier work. It's an album that feels both like a summation and a departure, a meditation on the themes that had obsessed him for decades while hinting at new directions he would never fully explore.

Musically, H'art Songs occupies that strange territory Moondog had made uniquely his own—a place where medieval counterpoint crashes into bebop jazz, where Native American percussion meets European classical traditions, and where the cacophony of city life transforms into something approaching the sublime. The album's title track opens with Moondog's characteristic vocal delivery, that weathered baritone intoning cryptic verses over a hypnotic interplay of percussion and strings. It's music that defies easy categorization, existing in its own parallel universe where the rules of conventional songcraft simply don't apply.

"Bird's Lament" stands as perhaps the album's most affecting piece, a haunting tribute to Charlie Parker that showcases Moondog's ability to distill complex emotions into deceptively simple musical gestures. The track builds from a solitary flute melody into a rich tapestry of overlapping voices and instruments, creating the sense of a musical séance where Parker's spirit hovers just beyond reach. It's vintage Moondog—deeply felt, utterly unique, and slightly unhinged in the best possible way.

The album's experimental edge comes into sharp focus on pieces like "Cosmic Meditation" and "Street Scenes," where Moondog layers field recordings of urban soundscapes beneath his composed material. The effect is disorienting and strangely beautiful, as if the listener is experiencing the city through Moondog's heightened sensory awareness. These aren't songs in any traditional sense, but rather sonic portraits that capture something essential about the American urban experience circa 1978.

What makes H'art Songs particularly fascinating is how it documents Moondog's evolving relationship with his own mythology. Gone are some of the more overt Viking affectations that had characterized his street persona, replaced by a more introspective voice that seems to be taking stock of a life lived entirely on its own terms. The music feels more personal, more vulnerable, as if Moondog is finally allowing listeners glimpses behind the elaborate costume and carefully cultivated mystique.

The production, handled by Moondog himself with minimal interference, maintains the raw, unvarnished quality that had always distinguished his work from the increasingly polished sounds dominating late-70s popular music. Instruments bleed into each other, voices emerge from unexpected corners of the mix, and the overall effect is of music being born in real-time rather than carefully constructed in the studio.

Today, H'art Songs occupies an interesting position in Moondog's legacy. While it lacks the immediate impact of earlier classics like "Moondog" or "The German Years," it reveals new layers with each listen, functioning almost like a musical autobiography for those willing to decode its mysteries. The album has found new life among contemporary experimental musicians and bedroom producers, who recognize in Moondog's boundary-crossing approach a precursor to today's genre-fluid musical landscape.

In many ways, H'art Songs serves as the perfect encapsulation of what made Moondog such an enduring figure—his refusal to compromise his vision, his ability to find beauty in unexpected places, and his understanding that the most profound art often emerges from the margins of society. It's an album that demands patience and rewards curiosity, much like the man who created it.