Carousel Corner.

The trouble with the "newgrass" generation is that they don't know their place. Just when you think they're safely pigeonholed, they stage a breakout, determined to further blur the lines among genres. Bluegrass/newgrass aficionados know well the likes of Mark O'Connor, Mike Marshall, and Bela Fleck. Over the past few years they've gotten to know better classical contrabassist Edgar Meyer, whose periodic forays into bluegrass, rock, and jazz have become as endearing as enlightening. In this installment of Carousel Corner, bluegrass, newgrass, and chamber music collide with ragas, the tango, and just about everything else -- and come out swinging.

Yo-Yo Ma, Edgar Meyer, and Mark O'Connor, Appalachia Waltz (Sony Classical).

"The Green Groves of Erin/The Flowers of Red Hill," which opens Appalachia Waltz, highlights what has become a bluegrass truism: there is no mistaking bluegrass's origins in Irish and Scottish dance music. The difference with this disc is Mark O'Connor's celebration of the country bowing style that has become known as "Texas fiddle" music, the likes of which have been bluegrass and country staples for generations, from Bob Wills to Byron Berline, Sid Page, and O'Connor. And perhaps that is the magic in this disc, regardless of the musical genre, O'Connor's bowing technique commands with a vengeance.

But if you're expecting a rousing bluegrass shout from Appalachia Waltz, you're in for a surprise. Meyer, Ma, and O'Connor have fashioned an odd triplet, a classical trio plying any number of tunes in a decidedly non-bluegrass style, opting to accent how the stylings of Texas fiddle coincide with that of more traditional chamber music. "F.C.'s Jig" is a case in point, where O'Connor opens with the dance, but soon transforms it into a neo-classical duet with Ma. "College Hornpipe" -- Popeye's theme -- is similarly "classicized": the main theme undergoes multiple contortions, but is always recognizable. O'Connor's "Butterfly's Day Out," with O'Connor on mandolin, allows Ma one of his few chances to become fully involved in the arrangement. In fact, if this disc has one -- albeit minor -- flaw, it fails to integrate Ma's astonishing range on the cello into too many of the songs. There is a simpatico between O'Connor and Meyer, borne of years of association and recording, that inadvertently relegates Ma to second-banana status. But for all of this, Ma's and O'Connor's duet on Meyer's "First Impressions" is a marvel of delicate beauty. Otherwise, Meyer's bass and O'Connor's fiddle dominate the proceedings, especially on their own compositions.

Appalachia Waltz is in the end an enigma, a classical trio plopped down amid the cider and sawdust of a barn dance and a fascinating excursion that overlaps genre boundaries with abandon. Its variations on classical forms and country themes are intriguing, even beguiling. Still, I'd like to see these guys set the genre-bending aside, let their long hair down, and do a straight bluegrass album.

Edgar Meyer with Bela Fleck and Mike Marshall, Uncommon Ritual (Sony Classical).

If there is a glue to this eclectic set of instrumentals, it is Meyer, Fleck, and Marshall's love of adventure. The disc mixes classical compositions (Pablo de Sarasate's "Zigeunerweisen," Contrapunctus XIII from "The Art of the Fugue" -- rescored for this most unlikely of classical trios) with a host of Meyer and Fleck originals, and explores them with unique dynamic shifts. Meyer's title tune churns a faintly classical melody among the three while punctuating its "movements" with bold chording. Meyer bows with abandon, venturing into the cello's and viola's octaves with some exacting up-neck fingering. Styles and moods abound. Meyer's and Fleck's "Chromium Picolinate" departs like a traditional bluegrass barn burner, with Marshall's mandolin and Fleck's banjo blazing away, before the trio starts trading off slips of phrases which eventually cohere into a restatement of the original motif.

Meyer's "Contramonkey" is a whimsical melody arrayed among the trio like a Bach fugue. On "Zigeunerweisen," Meyer again ranges into the upper octaves with flawless precision, accompanied by Marshall's carefully meted baroque mandolin. Meyer's "Barnyard Disturbance" summons preening roosters as they face off to a rock-inflected chord sequence. No tune in this lovely collection, from the Appalachian lilt of Fleck's "Travis" to Meyer's neo-Gaelic "Old Tyme," avoids Meyer's keen linkage of bluegrass's thematic improvisation with Bach's measured counterpoint. "The Big Cheese" explodes the disc's stylistic themes with a raucous Kenny Ball/Earl Scruggs/ Gershwin/Irish Chieftains/Andy Statman excursion whirling furiously around a pre-Baroque fantasia by William Byrd. Uncommon Ritual ain't your pappy's bluegrass or your father's classical.

Edgar Meyer, Quintet; Ned Rorem, String Quartet No. 4; Edgar Meyer/Emerson String Quartet (DGG).

Edgar Meyer teams with the Emerson String Quartet for his Quintet (1995), an eloquent piece of descriptive prose, at once a chamber composition of the highest caliber and another Appalachian incursion into traditional music forms. Meyer eschews traditional descriptions, labeling his movements I-IV. The pastoral first movement opens with a motif flowing from the first violin, reminiscent of Smetana and Copland. Philip Setzer and Eugene Drucker (second violin) twist the melody like butterflies surrounding an unwitting iris before Meyer titters his first growl. The quartet-plus-bass unfolds images of forested quietude with Lawrence Dutton's viola and David Finckel's cello managing the greater portions of development before Meyer takes off, like the flitting butterfly, on a wind blown escapade. After Meyer lands, the five voices peek and play tag before chasing the theme back home -- Meyer's sinewy ensemble writing in this passage dearly acknowledges his debt to Copland.

Appalachia these days is far from pure country, as visits to Wheeling or Martinsburg will attest, and the second movement is urban with a vengeance, its theme as much jazz dance as rock parody -- one can imagine Elvis' gyrations in the hands of Alvin Ailey. The Emersons display their own versatility, handling the syncopated pace with a light touch. Meyer and Setzer pedal notes as the remaining trio plays with the theme's fragments in a swirling undercurrent before Meyer regains the foreground with a barking solo bridge, handing the theme back to the violins as he plucks out an enigmatic coda.

Nightfall descends on the third movement, a largo of dark moods punctuated with hollow cries from the violins. The wayward threads coalesce into a languid pool of indeterminate activity, Meyer's bass piercing the dank evening with amphibian grunts. The fourth movement bursts open with the renewed industry of daybreak and Coplandish expanses. The pace teems with images of group activity, an anthill or a construction site -- or both. Meyer builds the tension among the five players, each grabbing a portion of the theme -- expressed in both major and minor keys -- like carpenters, plumbers, and electricians, each contributing something unique to the finished product. It isn't until the last 1:10 that Meyer allows his disparate players to join forces for the finale.

Meyer's themes are modern without resorting to clever tricks or succumbing to experimentation at the listener's expense. The quintet is both graceful and imaginative, not a small achievement in this century's chamber literature, and one you'll find yourself going back to -- often.

Ned Rorem's String Quartet No. 4 (1994) is more forthwith in its evocations. Rorem leaves little to the imagination with titles like "Acrobat on a Ball: very fast," "Head of a Boy: massive, very legato," and "Three nudes: like the wind, whispered and slippery." The quartet is an energetic, perplexing piece, its 10 movements ranging from 4:53 to 0:53. And while Rorem would rather you didn't guess, the Emersons translate his themes with smoldering accuracy. It is a fitting companion to Meyer's petite masterpiece.

Mark O'Connor, The Fiddle Concerto, The Concordia Orchestra, Marin Alsop, cond. (Warner Bros.).

Mark O'Connor's Nashville sideman credits number in the hundreds, such has been his virtuosity on guitar and fiddle. Like any well-trained musician, O'Connor's talent ranges into multiple genres. His newgrass work with David Grisman, jazz sessions with Grisman and Stephane Grappelli, stand aside his unassailed finger technique in more conventional bluegrass venues. And like Roy Clark, another virtuoso multi-instrumentalist equally at home in a honky-tonk or symphony hall, O'Connor fashions new personal territory with The Fiddle Concerto.

O'Connor grafts a hoedown and waltz into the traditional form of 19th-century concertos. His objective is to remove the barriers between the fiddle and the violin (q.v., Carousel Corner, Issue 60), and his technical interweaving of the hoedown's fiddle and the waltz's violin is masterful. But the distinction between fiddle and violin is semantic, not musical, and, if anything, The Fiddle Concerto bows too much to the technical: if the forms of hoedown and waltz are ideal; their musical ideas seem, well, ordinary. One would hope that a prodigious talent such as O'Connor would seize the concerto form by the throat and give it a good shaking -- Kreisler, Tchaikovsky, and Mendelssohn rattled it to death while forging musical and technical innovations -- but he's content, at least in this first try, to resolve the linguistic tension between the fiddle and violin without breaking new musical ground.

Still, The Fiddle Concerto is lovingly crafted and a listener's delight. Marin Alsop wisely lets the piece speak for itself, and offers the Concordia Orchestra's accompaniment as a complement in lieu of a challenge. And O'Connor's bowing displays remarkable skill and versatility. And in this age of wanton atonality, the Concerto blows a fresh breath of haysweet air into a form dominated by aural thugs and endless reiterations of stuff by dead guys.

Bela Fleck and the Flecktones, Left of Cool (Warner Bros.)

What a relief! The Flecktones have added saxman Jeff Coffin to their instrumental array, replacing the departed Howard Levy, and the effect is to expand broadly their tonal palette. No one can quarrel with Fleck's banjo virtuosity, but for all his innovation, the banjo's thin timbre is too often swamped by Victor Wootten's bass and Future Man's synthaxe percussion. The Flecktones stretch into funk ("Let Me Be the One"), the Bhagavad Gita ("Sojourn of Arjuna"), Afro/Carribbean polyrhythms ("Train to Conamarra") and vocal arrangements (Future Man sings!) while serving up the requisite doses of extended Slavic-jazz/proto-Catalan improvs and bluegrass takes. However, one can quarrel with Fleck's lyrics: "Communication is the only way/Start saying what you mean to say ..." Uh, Bela, I hear that Robert Hunter is available for a gig.

Yo-Yo Ma, Soul of the Tango, the Music of Astor Piazzolla (Sony Classical).

While it is refreshing to witness classical artists stretch their senses and venture into novel musical genres, it's the rare occasion that an artist of Yo-Yo Ma's stature can take on a genre such as the tango with its hackneyed, almost trivialized heritage, and force the listener to revel in its rhythmic complexities -- indeed its visceral sensuality. For those of us accustomed to Ma's classical repertoire and his penchant for revisiting Dvo ak's or Schubert's greatest hits, this foray into the smoky depths of the Argentine soul is a voluptuous delight, like one's introduction to cool, satin sheets.

Like Cuba's mambo and Brazil's samba, the tango embodies the vitality of the turbulent Argentine spirit, originating as a folk expression in Buenos Aires' barrios and emerging as a nation's heartbeat after exultant reception in the ballrooms of fin de siecle Paris. Ironically, its French adoption was so complete that some arrangements, notably "Milonga del Angel," reek of low-rent courtesans at a sidewalk cafe. Astor Piazzolla applied a classical musician's temperament and compositional skills to the tango's cafe ambience, wedding it to Bach in "Fugata" and Casals in "Le Grand Tango." Ma's adoption of its sonorities is remarkable, as he wrenches nicotine stained droplets of emotion from each note. Even his "duet" with Piazzolla -- a la Natalie/Nat King Cole and Paul, George, and Ringo/John -- is from the gut, as Ma's formidable cerebrum has taken a brief holiday. Yo, el Tango!

Astor Piazzolla, Luna (HEMisphere/IRS).

Daniel Binelli and La Camerata Bariloche, Piazzolla Classics/Tango Sensations (Milan).

The very idea of an artist suffering for art's sake is ludicrous, but arguably the "best" art is the product of examining life from the bottom up. Piazzolla's initial reception in his homeland was no exception. His classicizing of the tango was universally reviled, a national rejection replete with muggings, death threats, and media blackballing. The enthusiastic embrace of international acclaim -- especially the French, unencumbered by the tango's cultural baggage (the tango was originally performed by two male dancers, and grew up drenched in machismo and homoerotic overtones) -- eventually led to domestic acceptance. Still, Piazzolla, like Mingus and Hendrix, found his warmest receptions away from home, especially in Europe. Luna was Piazzolla's last public concert, recorded in Amsterdam in 1989. The appreciative Dutch audience spurs The New Tango Sextet through a set of Piazzolla classics, notably "Hora Cero," "Tanguedia," and "Milonga del Angel," with an energy and effervescence that is quite breathtaking. The Sex-tet is one tight band and this night is clearly in control of its chops. The extended suites "Sex-tet" and "Luna" are tours de force of dynamics and rhythmic nuance -- not to mention, the tango.

Daniel Binelli, Piazzolla's fellow bandoneonista (the bandoneon is an elongated, German button accordian) and Sex-tetist, has enlisted the support of La Camerata Bariloche, Argentina's premier chamber orchestra, to explore the more classically oriented of Piazzolla's compositions. As Ma found, Piazzolla would draw on a host of influences, from Bach to Casals to Nelson Riddle, embracing each for its ability to crystallize his musical ideas. Piazzolla Classics/Tango Sensations is interesting because the orchestral sections are delicately framed, eschewing the difficulties of 20th century literature for a more popular, contemporary feeling. "Three Minutes with the Truth," for example, has more in common with "Route 66" or "Un Homme et Une Femme" than Paul Bowles or a young Copeland. Still, the striking emotional extremes of "Tango Sensations": Asleep, Loving, Anxiety, Despair, and Fear bear witness to Piazzolla's range as a composer.

V.M. Bhatt, Jie-Bing Chen, and Bela Fleck, Tabula Rasa (Water Lily Acoustics).

Vishwa Mohan Bhatt, Jerry Douglas, and Edgar Meyer, Bourbon & Rosewater (Water Lily Acoustics).

V.M. Bhatt's series of associations with Western artists has taken various twists and turns. A Meeting by the River with Ry Cooder was a celebration of ideas and instrumental virtuosity. Mumtaz Mahal with Taj Mahal emerged after difficult labor pains. Tabula Rasa is a patchwork affair, with Fleck and percussionist Poovalur Srinivasan the only constants among all the cuts. Included are Chinese erh-hu mistress, Jie-bing Chen, and the Indian bansuri/ violin duo, Ronu Majumdaar and Sangeeta Shankar. The pastoral quality of the music is unmistakable, from Bhatt's "Carukesi" to Fleck's "The Jade Princess," edenic in their peacefulness.

Tabula Rasa's first star, however, is Srinivasan, who displays an uncanny ability to emulate rhythmic patterns that span cultural biases -- his single-drum (mridangam) backbeat to "John Hardy" is staggering, and his opening solo to Fleck's "Geocentricity" rivals John Bonham's "Moby Dick" for the force of its dynamic shifts. The other is Chen. She patiently coaxes notes of meticulous depth from the single stringed erh-hu, carefully avoiding its tendency to sound squawky to at least one set of Western ears. On the title song, with Fleck and Srinivasan, her quavering vibrato saves an otherwise sparse affair.

After the relatively sedate Tabula Rasa, Bourbon & Rosewater crackles with vitality. Clearly, like his partnership with Cooder, Bhatt is energized and challenged by a slide virtuoso, this time Jerry Douglas and his dobro. From the title cut through Bhatt's "Gypsies from Rajasthan" and "Bent Notes of the Bauls" through Douglas' "Overtones & Stained Glass" to Douglas' and Meyer's "Resurrection," Bhatt and Douglas trade ideas, licks, and challenges in the best tradition of juke joint cutting duels. Unfortunately, Meyer's presence is barely noticeable, and while his staccato bow underscores the frenzy of "Many Miles from Home," his plucked introduction is one of the few chances to hear him as his best. The disc's highlight is Douglas' solo, "Mississippi Mud," an acoustic explosion of delta blues, the likes one would hear from Keb' Mo', Cooder, or Clapton in his prime.

Jerry Douglas, Restless on the Farm (Sugar Hill).

Like Mark O'Connor, Douglas has become known as the quintessential Nashville sideman, popping up as player, producer, or both on a landslide of country and bluegrass recordings that would require a Cray supercomputer and an Oracle database to track. For his first solo effort in years, Douglas has enlisted a pantheon of bluegrass, blues, and rock cohorts: Tim O'Brien, Russ Barenberg, Viktor Krauss, Sonny Landreth, Sam Bush, John Gardner, Edgar Meyer, Bryan Sutton, Steve Earle, John Cowan, Bela Fleck, and Maura O'Connell. More than some session guy's solo gig, Restless on the Farm is a celebration of Douglas' own musical upbringing, from Reinhardt, Grappelli, and `Trane to his father's own bluegrass band.

Restless starts out with Don Stover's "Things in Life," a kick-ass bluegrass burner, before putting the set into overdrive with his own Norteno-tinged "Turkish Taffee" and a blazing set of dobro exchanges with Landreth on "Passing the Bar." The mood shifts with Johnny Cash's "Don't Take Your Grins to Town," Earle's threatening vocal, and Douglas' crash-and-burn lap steel solo. Douglas' touring sidemen, Meyer and Barenberg, join on Donal Lunny's poignant "A Tribute to Peador O'Donnell" and the locomotive "Takarasaka." Paul Brady's "Follow On," featuring O'Connell and O'Brien on lead and harmony vocals, prefaces Erroll Garner's "Like It Is," a gentle swinger that could have come from Danny Gatton or Saint Bob Wills. Restless closes with "For Those Who've Gone Clear," homage to Gatton, Owen Bradley, Stover, Grappelli, Roy Huskey, Jr., and others who didn't live to witness Jerry Douglas' triumph.

The List: It's the American bison, but we still call it the buffalo, as in nickel, inspiring a curious mixture of admirers.

Buffalo Springfield, Again (Atco). Steven Stills, Neil Young, Jim Messina, Richie Furay, Dewey Martin, Bruce Palmer -- a super group before there was such a thing. From "Bluebird" to "Broken Arrow," a masterpiece.

Donna the Buffalo, Rockin' in the Weary Land (Sugar Hill). See full review last ish. A scorching gasser from start to finish.

Buffalo Tom, Sleepy Eyed (Eastwest Records America). With a fine collection of accessible pop songs in the Lemonheads/Counting Crows mode, this overlooked Boston trio eschews hooks for consistency and musical honesty.

Grant Lee Buffalo, Jubilee (Slash/Warner Bros.). On their fourth offering, trio Grant Lee Phillips, Joey Peters, and Dan Rothchild throw off bassist/producer Paul Kimble and the quirky, low-octane trappings of 1994's Mighty Joe Moon and push the pedal through the floor-board. Truly, truly, truly a leap forward.

Norton Buffalo, Lovin' in the Valley of the Moon (Edsel). Fresh from the Doobie Brothers' Minute by Minute sessions, the longtime Steve Miller sideman croons and blows through a series of plaintive originals. Edsel has packaged it with Buffalo's second album, Desert Horizon. You can also find him burning up the NorCal R&B circuit with axeman Roy Rogers on Travellin' Tracks (Blind Pig).

Buffalo Daughter, Captain Vapour Athletes (Grand Royal). This Japanese trio throws test tones, noise, a variety of exotic electronica and some straight ahead pop into the cosmic blender. -- KE