Roots, bloody, roots indeed. I suppose I can understand half of this packaging. The 1928 Balinese recordings of one of my most cherished instruments seems about the right time and place. But New York 1941? Was their some proto-hipster thunkin' a gamelan in his Park Slope loft just after a short ride on his fixy (p.s. these bikes are lame). New York is always trying to take credit for everything and it's one of the 10, 373 reasons why I hate that city. I suppose the more accurate number is 18,897,109 but I'm sure there's one or two decent folk who unfortunately reside in the most arrogant place in the world. Even though these recordings confuse my sense of history, they are still crucial listens. In summation, New York=lame, gamelan=awesome.