"I try not to think of myself as a musician. I hate the idea of being that," says Jim O'Rourke, who counts among his titles composer, producer, performer and remixer. "I think I'm more of an engineer than anything now. I don't like the word 'producer.'"| O'Rourke may be finicky about job descriptions, but he's also just exceedingly modest.

In the past decade, the Chicago-born artist has played in the avant-garde rock bands Gastr Del Sol (which he hates to discuss) and the Red Krayola, produced records for Faust, Smog and Edith Frost (he's currently working on the new High Llamas and Stereolab albums), collaborated with Will Oldham and Sonic Youth (among others), remixed the likes of Sea & Cake and Tortoise and composed music for the legendary choreographer Merce Cunningham (picking up where John Cage left off). Quite an impressive resume for a self-described non-musician who has yet to turn thirty.

"I like working, and I'm not into self-aggrandizing," he continues. "I like producing because I like being in different situations constantly because that's really the only way that you learn. It's a process of learning."

O'Rourke has always had a thirst for knowledge. While all the other teenagers were listening to hair bands in the mid-Eighties, little Jim was busying himself at the local library, sifting through volumes of King Crimson and Frank Zappa, and cross-referencing liner notes that subsequently brought him to Karlheinz Stockhausen, Philip Glass, Derek Bailey and John Cage. "I would go to the library every day after school and I would take records out, usually based on the covers. If I found the album interesting, I would study the names; if I found one on there that I didn't know, the next day I would get something of that person's," he explains. "It rolled from there. I mean, I was into the Beatles, but I have always been a real cross-referencer."

His latest project to hit record stores is only his second solo album, but Eureka reeks of a man who has chosen the road the less traveled, despite all forces guiding him in the other direction. "Women of the world take over/Because if you don't the world will come to an end/It won't take long," he repeats on the prelude to the album, over a crescendo of circular chords. From there, Eureka launches into intricate, subtle melodies that incorporate horns, pianos, strings, brushed drums and, occasionally, O'Rourke's gentle and unaffected voice (a new addition to his solo work). Perhaps most impressive, though, is the fact that O'Rourke's vast textures of sounds and influences never dip into structural or lyrical clichT.

Avoiding them, actually, has always been his main focus, and to do so, he simply confronts their meanings. "I don't believe that music has an indigenous meaning," explains the horn-rimmed glasses-wearing guitarist/ethnomusicologist. "It's only cultural baggage. Whether people acknowledge it or not, music isn't some abstract sound in the air. It has history, and you have to address that. Like a sax solo isn't just a sax solo, that particular sound means something specific. And you can put it in a different context and draw attention to that fact."

The fourth song on the album is a clear example of what O'Rourke is trying to do with his music. Listen to "Through the Night Softly," and the mournful saxophone is neutralized by the cheerfulness of steel drums, and then brought down again by the repetitive chords of a piano. Then it all takes an upward spin, with a Clarence Clemens sax turn and a chorus of open throats, then into a cacophony of plucked strings and organs, then back down to barren guitar chords. It's a myriad of musical genres -- from island, to lounge, to carnival, to ambient, to pop -- coexisting in one concise, five-minute package.

Now that the album has hit the shelves (though it's been taken down from many due to a somewhat disturbing image of a man forcing a stuffed bunny's face into his genitalia on the cover), O'Rourke has washed his hands of it and has moved on to other projects. His main instrument of choice is his Powerbook, for which he writes software that will make the found sounds and noises he uploads play in real time with artists like Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo. He still looks to Cage and his scores as a huge influence, and tries his best to avoid falling into the cultural trappings to which music often succumbs. Gravity, he insists, is the secret ingredient. "Music can be validly performed by anyone if they take it seriously," he notes, and with that, he's off to program his MAC.

HEIDI SHERMAN(May 5, 1999)