When you listen to a trio that consists of clarinet, piano and bass you
can’t avoid thinking of the legendary Jimmy Giuffre 3 with Paul Bley and
Steve Swallow, and milestones like Fusion, Thesis and Free Fall. However, Der Lange Schatten (German for “the long
shadow“), featuring Michael Thieke on clarinet, Håvard Wiik on piano, and
Antonio Borghini on bass doesn’t only focus on the jazz tradition on their
second album. There are several references to our present, and not just as
to the music. One of the tracks is called “Post Truth and Pre Desaster“, another one they named “Stendhal Syndromes“ (the Stendhal
syndrome is a psychosomatic disorder caused by cultural stimulus satiation)
- all of them phenomena we have to deal with nowadays.
Concurrences
is also a programmatic title, since improvisation and pre-conceived
material concur indeed. Although most of the music is composed on Concurrences, there are improvised parts as well. On the one hand, Der lange Schatten display a strong sense for compositional form, motives
are unfolded, explored and transformed, often slowly and patiently like in
“Serenata Maledetta“, the opening piece, sometimes joyous, swinging and
concise like in “And Then He Dances“. On the other hand, they develop their
communication spontaneously and gradually, for example in the last part of
“Drunk Octopus Wants To Fight“. Like subliminal currents, contrasting
textures rough up a mildly undulating sea. The beauty of this music comes
from the friction between these approaches, and none of the musicians retreats
to the comfortable position of mere accompaniment. Improvisation is always
collective on this album, even if all musicians use the same rhythmic and
harmonic raw material. The above-mentioned “Stendhal Syndromes“ is a
perfect example of this. The first two minutes seem to be a complete chaos
between hectic piano sketches, growling bass, and flaring clarinet runs
before the piece takes a completely different direction. In a calm sequence
the musicians set only small marks here and there, they explore microtonal
areas, but then the piece becomes a swelling wave before it finally breaks.
One of the trio’s specialties is their dense and dark sound, it changes and
evolves constantly, a true shapeshifter.
In “Leaps of Faith“ Borghini’s versatile, warm, and imaginative bass
dances around Thieke’s wide melodic clarinet arches, while the piano swings
and refers not only to Paul Bley (Wiik is also part of a trio called Free
Fall) but also to Bill Evans. In a mysterious way, the musicians always
keep order, there is no chaos or arbitrariness, the music never goes
astray, no matter how nimbly their fingers flutter over keys and bridge.
Sometimes the music suddenly falls from a dominating, hammering piano
ostinato into a slow two-tone clarinet melody, as if a tranquilliser reveals its full effect. There’s always a latent excitement left, a
shimmering under the surface, a stimulus that cannot be completely erased
and which sooner or later will reappear. Recommended, and not only for fans of
chamber music jazz. Concurrences
is available as a CD and as a download.
On July 5, 2015, two of the most forward-thinking horn-players met at the KoncertKirken – Blågårds Plads in Copenhagen, Denmark. The first one is Nate Wooley, the prolific and omnipresent trumpet-player from New York, the other is equally progressive Norwegian saxophonist Torben Snekkestad, who is also a member of the Danish Saxophone Quartet, a classical ensemble. On this album is also plays reed-trumpet, a hybrid instrument consisting of a trumpet with a sax mouthpiece.
The encounter between both musicians is a very organic dialogue of sonic discovery, sometimes confrontational, sometimes coagulating in a common lyricism. The sound can go in all directions, from abrasive staccato bursts to pure stretched tones, but the real fun is to hear the dynamics between both, the tempting approaches, the echoing of each others ideas, the creation of space and the building up of intensity.
Things becomes even more interesting on the second track, when they find a more solid rhythm of mesmerising repetitive sounds initially, evolving into more sparse sounds, possibly the "Breath Droplets" suggested by the piece's title, resulting in a strange and uncanny atmosphere. The third track repeats the repetitive concept with circular breathing on the reed-trumpet, laying the foundation for the deeper and darker single tone by Wooley, melting into a fragrance of deep yearning and sadness.
The album's overall result is one of intimate sound explorations, fragile, vulnerable and sensitive yet determined at the same time.
Recorded on the last date of a demanding 2016 South American tour, Rio is Full Blast’s 4th album (if you don’t count the 2
Full Blast & Friends records) and if you were hoping to see their
gentler side this time around you’re going to be very disappointed. For the
unedified, Full Blast is a thermonuclear reeds/bass/drums device consisting
of Peter Brötzmann, Marino Pliakas, and Michael Wertmueller. True to their
name they play like a force of nature, something substantial to be reckoned
with akin to an aural tsunami. Pliakas and Wertmueller play as a single
organism, the rattling/rumbling molten core is one of the key elements that
make Full Blast’s sound work as well as it does. Their blistering tempest
is well-suited to Brötzmann’s fiery playing and he joyfully supplies
lightning slashes for their ominous thunderclouds, electrifying the
proceedings with his pungent tenor squall. Rio1
jumps off instantly with Pliakas and Wertmueller following the lead of
Brötzmann’s gruff war-horn. Pliakas’ bass lines are a blur of low rumbling
tremors matching the frenetic intensity of Wertmueller’s drums. Brötzmann
on tenor plays with his characteristic fervor; it’s amazing at his age that
he is capable of so much energy. Wertmueller’s sound is absolutely
impenetrable, blackening the sky with snare and kick drum clusters. Rio 2 starts with a rattling drum intro which is met at full force
by the unyielding bassline and Brötzmann’s crowing tarogato (I think). The
bass and drums build to an overwhelming swell, increasing in speed and
power until the sound is absolutely punishing and physical, eliciting
audible praises from the audience as they are besieged by the aural mayhem. Brötzmann unleashes yowling trills and growls, galvanized by the
impassioned roar of the rhythm section and the audience’s howls of delight. Rio 3 begins with a two minute build up from Pliakas and
Wertmueller before Brötzmann enters with rough clarinet shapes and reed
squeal. The track ends in a dizzying two minute run from Pliakas and
Wertmueller, who absolutely pummel the audience with their low frequency
shock waves. On Rio 4, Brötzmann is back on the tenor, alternating
curt staccato phrases with muscular baying in his thick vibrato until the
song reaches a crescendo at the near the six & a half minute mark after
which Pliakas and Wertmueller pick up speed with Brötzmann honking and
yelping passionately over their din. Beginning with an intense
percussive build-up, Rio 5 finds Brötzmann outlining the melody of
Albert Ayler’s Prophecy on tenor. The bass playing sounds it’s
most guitar-like here, with Pliakas utilizing his pedalboard to give his
lines a searing hot edge. Brötzmann shifts back to clarinet and continues
his sketches of roughhewn shapes through the undulating soundscape of the
rhythm section. The album ends as abruptly as it began and the audience
shows it’s appreciation with a riotous roar.
Rio is a visceral thrill, a powerful rush of sound that overwhelms the
listener from the start, creating a sensory overload that only seems to
accelerate and gain momentum. Brötzmann himself sounds fantastic and very
much in his element, raw intensity never being something that has lacked
from his work. His playing adds lyricism to the overall pummeling, and his
utilization of different horns adds some sonic variety, as does Pliakas’
use of his pedalboard. The energy between the audience and the band here is
excellent, each feeding off the other which drives the intensity up even
further. The recording quality is amazing and does a great job of conveying
this energy to the listener. I’d consider this a must have for Brötzmann
fans and for fans of high energy music in general. A decidedly enjoyable
listen, I recommend it at maximum volume.
Full Blast @ Café Oto – Oct 4 2018 (reviewed by FJC’s own Sammy Steinhere) :
The Set is a non-profit artist run venue located just five minutes’ walk
from the mighty Café Oto. In weekdays there’s an open door (and cheap
drinks I must say) with various gigs worth checking out. Residing in a
heavily gentrified area of London, the Set needs your support my fellow
free jazz and good music lovers…
Newly formed Alex Ward’s Item 4 is a quartet consisting of Alex Ward on
clarinet and guitar, Charlotte Keeffe on trumpet and flugelhorn, Otto
Willberg on double bass, and Andrew Lisle on drums. In contrast with Item
10, a ten piece ensemble which concentrates mostly on composition, item 4
aims to give room to all the musicians firstly to improvise (both
collectively and individually) while Ward’s interference as a, let’s call
him, a composer, is minimal.
The thought seemed puzzling and fascinating as well. Having not heard
Charlotte Keeffe before, I arrived at the Set with a lot of the sounds the
Otto Willberg and Andrew Lisle have produced the past 2-3 years in my mind.
Working together (with others as well like the magnificent Raw Tonk label’s
recordings) and in various combinations, they have become two very
important voices in the current British free and improvisational scene.
Alex Ward’s recordings with electric guitar and clarinet (also through
great collaborations) for the past two decades and a half work their way to
my listening schedule very often.
The group performed two sets clocking around forty minutes with a small
pause. The atmosphere was quite relaxed and friendly, something really
nice for someone like me who just flew to London from the other side of
Europe. In my wet dreams of improvisation this was like the maverick days
of the early 70’s. Having a bass-drums tight knit duo is always a blessing and Willberg and Lisle are multidimensional players on their own and at the
same time seem to know each other very well. Even though Ward was in theory
the man in charge (ok, kind of) at certain points the duo came at the
forefront. Their fruitful improvisations had the energy and pathos of
someone who loves doing this.
Ward was switching all the time between clarinet and electric guitar.
He was also the first to drop his instrument and let his fellow players
take this small ensemble wherever suitable. Keeffe was a more
fragile presence with her egoless contributions. I really would have
enjoyed to listen to her more. The quartet (Item 4 more formally) seemed
like it had a general idea but the route was not predetermined. I liked
that, it made me stay on the heels and not relax too much. They
concentrated more on the interaction and listened to each other a lot. As I
already mentioned, there was energy but not the one of a high volume.
The first set consisted more melody and a will to respond collectively to
the individual provocations attempted from one to the other musician. When
it comes to melody, I think the clarinet’s melodic language (most audible
during the first set) was the most important factor. Coming to the second
set, Ward’s choice of guitar distinguished him from the other three. Both
from his way of delivering and also from his use of electricity (in
contrast to the acoustic nature of the rest of the quartet’s playing), the
second set was more aggressive and fragmented. I enjoyed that too. Two
different sides of the same story. Nice.
I love solo recordings. They provide an undistorted view to the
intimate communion between player, instrument, and environment and,
through a dialogue with silence, provide a foundation for the listener
to better understand a player’s communication in ensemble. I enjoy when
oeuvres have a significant strain of solo work - like Anthony
Braxton’s, Evan Parker’s, Ned Rothenberg’s, and fortunately many others
in free music - and I enjoy trying to relate one solo recording to a
player’s other solo recordings and in turn relate that player’s
personal development in solo to what they’re doing in ensemble at a
given time. So I enjoy being able to write about these three solos from
Astral Spirits.
Astral Spirits is an Austin, Texas-based label started by Nate Cross
(of Marriage, USA/Mexico, When Dinosaurs Ruled The Earth) in 2014 that
releases improvised music and adventurous jazz. If you utilize labels
to discover players and music, you could do a lot worse than keeping up
with the Astral Spirits catalog. It provides a platform for established
players in beloved ensembles (e.g. Ballister and Survival Unit III),
new ensembles (e.g. Icepick and the upcoming Vandermark/Alcorn/McPhee
trio), and solo (e.g. Rob Mazurek and Mike Majkowski) and, perhaps most
importantly, a great variety of newer players that began recording this
decade. Much to my joy, it has a healthy dose of solos from these newer
voices.
These are three such solos from this year that I believe establish each
player as someone to keep an eye on, if you’re not already.
Brandon Lopez - quoniam facta sum vilis (Astral Spirits, 2018) ****½
Bassist Brandon Lopez has recorded alongside Steve Swell, Nate Wooley,
Chris Corsano, Gerald Cleaver, and other masterful players just within
the past two years, he’s just coming off of this year’s excellent The Industry of Entropy, and he’s showing no sign of slowing
down with this 40-minute, 8-track release. The title of this recording
means “I have become vile,” referring to the book of Lamentations in
which Jerusalem is destroyed for the sins of its people; the track
title “Lamed” is a Hebrew letter present in the acrostic poetic form of
Lamentations and means the stick that prods the ox or, metaphorically,
something that gets creation going; I suspect track titles like “Bea”
and “Lay” (as in samak) can be interpreted through the Hebrew lens as
well to mean “to seek” and involve ritual sacrifice, respectively;
“Vanitas” refers to a still-life painting genre containing symbols of
death and change and their inevitability; I am reaching, but I wouldn’t
be surprised if “For Sal” refers to Salmoneus or Salmacis rather than a
friend; and finally Lopez has stated that this recording was “created
as an answer to the musical ‘reason’ of the Bach cello suites… [and]
seeks to… create something florid and beautiful from the violent and
erratic.” However the pieces fit together, it is a picture of
violence/death, metamorphosis, and what is created from that process.
The bassist here is unlike the bassist on his previous two solo
recordings.
Lopez’ style is a Hawthornian caricature, highly physical, lumbering
and violent, whose closest analogue is Peter Kowald or Peter Jacquemyn.
He bows, saws, scrapes, taps, knocks, rubs, and plucks the entire
instrument. You can hear him grunt, groan, moan, and hum while he
works. And the communion between instrument, player, and environment is
made clear when the reverb from the chapel in which this is partially
recorded is used to create a call-and-response effect on “Pa.” It’s
difficult to mention other standout tracks without mentioning the
entire album. “Vanitas” and “For Sal” are incredibly strong, emotive
openers and closers showcasing his dark romantic style. “Lay” shows off
his agile but ominous or melancholy plucking that reminds me of
something from Dave Holland or Barre Phillips. The bowing in the last
two and a half minutes of “Gruppo” is simply transcendental. This is
highly recommended and I wouldn’t blink an eye if someone told me it
was the their favorite solo bass recording they’d ever heard.
quoniam facta sum vilis
is available digitally, on CD, and on cassette.
Signe Dahlgreen - Kunki Snuk (Astral Spirits and Insula Music, 2018) ***
Kunki Snuk
is the solo debut of Signe Dahlgreen. Across 45 minutes and 6 tracks, she
runs the gamut of extended techniques on her tenor sax: gurgling; tongue
slapping; key clicks; multiphonics; overblowing; Aylerian vibrato. Her
style is often wild and aggressive and will likely draw comparisons to
Brötzmann and Gustafsson. However, my favorite aspect of the recording is
her breath. The relationship between breath and the reed/horn/flute-player
is an arranged one. Taking a breath can be acknowledged and embraced as
necessary punctuation as in the case of Steve Lacy (Josh Sinton, Sound American Issue 9), it can be seemingly ignored as in the
case of a blistering side-long Evan Parker solo, or it can even become the
art itself as in the case of Michel Doneda, to use three soprano players.
Dahlgreen’s relationship with breath is as tumultuous as her playing. Here,
she is mic’d so that you hear her breathe in away from the saxophone, you
hear her circular breathing when it occurs, and you hear her breath through
the saxophone (air notes), particularly bookending the sections of
gurgling. For the first four tracks, she goes through very short bouts of
circular breathing before seemingly running out of breath, only to
demonstrate on “Stannet” that she can do so for an extended period, making
you realize that what you might have thought of previously as shortfalls
are in fact statements. The last track, “Nò,” is a highly recommended,
climactic, all-out attack punctuated by great big gasps.
Kunki Snuk
is available digitally and on cassette.
John McCowen - 4 Chairs in Three Dimensions (Astral Spirits, 2018) ****
Those with an ear for solo clarinet improvisation most frequently have to
settle for tracks and on a blue moon get full albums, like Ned Rothenberg’s World of Odd Harmonics, Alex Ward’s Cremated Thoughts,
and Josh Sinton’s recent Krasa, often from multi-reedists and
multi-instrumentalists. They would be glad to know John McCowen because he
is, at least for now, completely dedicated to the clarinet family and loves
a solo. 4 Chairs in Three Dimensions is his fourth solo outing,
his previous recordings include a clarinet quartet, and he has a clarinet
duo recording in the works. As the title of this recording and the nature
of his collaborative clarinet works suggests, McCowen is interested in the
dimensionality of the instrument, which is mirrored in the music by a
circular-breathing, multiphonic approach that presents multiple facets of
the clarinets timbre at once, like a cubist painting. “White Trash”
demonstrates this with a relatively static low hum, some more actively
played skronky tones, and a high hum that seems to react to those tones,
all at once. McCowen also states he views the clarinet as an “acoustic
synthesizer;” modulation, phasing, and perhaps additive/subtractive
elements seem to be present in some degree throughout the 24-minute,
4-track recording, and are probably responsible for a cool Doppler
effect-like sound part way through “Birds of Jamaica,” but I am not
knowledgeable enough to discuss the intricacies of sound waves. In
practice, the approach reminds me of a louder Stéphane Rives except for the
possible standout, “Fu-e,” in which McCowen conjures up a tabla-like rhythm
by gurgling a bass clarinet while simultaneously producing chirps.
4 Chairs in Three Dimensions
is available digitally and on cassette.
Gorgeous, surreal Tropicalia-inflected avant-garde jazz from the prominent
Portuguese guitarist Norberto Lobo’s quartet, consisting of Yaw Tembe on
trumpet, Ricardo Jacinto on cello, and Marco Franco on percussion. While
not his first foray into a group setting (he’s had a long standing duo with
the drummer João Lobo and is a frequent collaborator in the Portugeuse
music scene), this marks his first group recording under his own name and
his third for the excellent three:four label. His warbling, crystalline
guitar flights are accompanied here by Tembe’s muted trumpet and the
atypical shimmer of the cello/drums rhythm section provided by Jacinto (who
plays pizzicato throughout) and Franco. The music is warm and gentle,
perfect for winding down, but still engaging enough to satisfy the most
ardently cerebral jazz fan. His haunting melodies are satiating, and you’ll
find yourself humming them long after the needle has lifted.
This is the first we’ve heard from Tiger Hatchery, the kings of Chicago’s
sub-underground, since their excellent 2015 Live in New Haven
release with Paul Flaherty. At only two tracks it comes as a brief but
welcome deluge in the midst of a 3-year drought from the trio of Andrew
Scott Young, Ben Billington, and Michael Forbes (Bass, Drums, Sax,
respectively). Their increase in overall maturity and discipline shows on
this brisk and lively set, which I’d characterize as their most controlled
and synergetic since 2013’s Sun Worship. However, gone is the
veneer of harsh noise (not that it was ever a bad thing), replaced with a
renewed concentration on group interplay and dynamics. Let’s hope a full
length offering isn’t far behind.
Michael Foster, Ben Bennett, Jacob Wick – Glove Issues (Palliative
Records, 2018) ***½
I have a lot of respect for what Foster (sax), Bennett (drums), and wick
(trumpet) are doing here, and I’ll admit that this album genuinely
challenged me at first. The salival expressions utilized during the
introduction were initially, for me, like sitting through a playground
loogie-hacking competition. But like all albums that are challenging,
repeated listening really opened this up. It’s one of those albums on which
the traditional characteristics of the instruments are subverted in favor
of a timbrally rich palette of unconventional sounds. The interplay on
these live improvisations is fantastically sympathetic, and it’s definitely
entertaining to hear them communicating in this collective language that
are so fluent in. If you’re looking for something thought-provoking, this
might be right up your alley.
Laurence Pike – Distant Early Warning (The Leaf Label, 2018) ****
This highly original album by the Australian drummer Laurence Pike finds
him integrating a drum pad sampler into his kit, with which he augments his
deft free jazz improvisations with samples that harken back to 70’s
kosmische music and electronic minimalism. This is a most satisfying
combination as traditionally drums either aren’t utilized in these genres,
or even worse, when they are its over-the-top stadium-rock-style drumming
that completely wrecks the atmosphere intrinsic to such productions.
Hearing Pike’s skittering free-jazz-style percussion integrated with the
atmospheric electronics is a revelation; it provides a much needed human
element to what is customarily an icy machine-driven music. The album art
is the perfect metaphor for the album, showing the form of human hands
engaging with the bleak sci-fi landscape.
Skerebotte Fatta – Riders from the Ra (Creative Sources Recordings,
2018) ***½
The debut recording from this Polish duo finds them utilizing a more
European free-improv approach to the classic sax/drums format. A study in
sonic frugality, the duo wrings a great deal from their limited
instrumental arsenal, providing both long, probing, sparse structures and
short ecstatic bursts of energy. Both players show a great deal of
diversity, as they provide a bevy of ideas without ever resorting to
mindless shtick. The album overall has a good flow and provides an
effective variety of sounds. This is classic free jazz with minimal
trimmings; a very meat-and-potatoes release of thoughtful fire music.
Trumpeter extraordinaire Susana Santos Silva needs no introduction to the
readers of this blog. But her partners in this delightful quartet might:
Swedes Josef Kallerdahl (bass), Lisen Rylander Löve (tenor saxophone), and
Nils Berg (bass clarinet/flute) are all prominent in the European jazz
scene, albeit not so much in the free improvisation community. In any
event, what they offer together as Here’s to Us is a captivating journey,
through a well-conceived melding of composed and improvised musical forms.
Animals, Wild and Tame
was inspired by a novel by Vilhelm Moberg, The Emigrants, in which
he describes an old language textbook used by Swedish immigrants to the
United States in the 1850s. By studying the entire book the voyagers would
ostensibly acquire a thorough knowledge of English—and much else, perhaps,
given the metaphysical titles of some of the chapters: “Nature and the
World,” “Abilities of the Soul,” “Time,” among others. Composition credits
are divided evenly among the four players, with each getting two of the
eight “chapters” and an additional ninth piece, “Skiftet,” composed by
Berg.
The music crafts a perfect balance between carefully presented, patiently
developed themes and opportunities for exploration. The opener, “Naturen
och werlden” (“Nature and the World”) is a gem of a track, with a gorgeous,
achingly slow melody; as Santos Silva’s lambent trumpet crests over the
top, the effect is transfixing. But the group eventually opens things up a
bit, and as Kallerdahl provides a steady bass line there’s just enough room
for extemporaneity—but never at the expense of the piece’s cohesion. A
similar dynamic is found on the other tracks, often with Kallerdahl in an
anchor role with gentle bass ostinatos, while the horns develop their ideas
in close conversation, subordinating individual brilliance to the power of
the collective.
Only rarely, as on “Metaller och stenar” (“Metals and Stones”) or
“Själsförmögenheterna” (“Abilities of the Soul”) do things get a little
wooly, with the four delving into atonality and purer kinds of freedom, and
with Santos Silva using the full range of her astonishing technique. For
the most part, though, restraint remains the dominant temper of the record,
and it’s all to the good, as the melodies of the pieces are frequently
stirring. “Menniskan” (“Mankind”) is gorgeous in its steady, muted power,
and “Tiden” (“Time”) is no less riveting, with Berg’s earthy bass clarinet
joining with Santos Silva and Löve in walking the ever-so-fine line between
beauty and abstraction.
This isn’t one of those records designed to get the pulse racing. But for
its moments of tranquility and measured grace, Animals, Wild and Tame is a perfect antidote to these turbulent
times. One of the nice surprises of 2018.
Sparrow Nights offers the most comprehensive overview of the turbulent, chaotic and complex love relationship of German reeds titan Peter Brötzmann and American pedal steel guitar player Heather Leigh. Any one who have experienced this duo performs live or have listened to the duo previous three live recordings from the last three years must have sensed the strong, sensual essence of this collaboration, different from any other collaboration from Brötzmann. The duo with Leigh is one of the most active outfits of Brötzmann in recent years, often sharing the stage with other long-standing colleagues of Brötzmann - Japanese trumpeter Toshinori Kondo, guitarist Keiji Haino and drummer Sabu Toyozumi.
The live recordings, naturally, focused on the more furious, physical and even provocative sides of Brötzmann-Leigh collaboration, best captured on the explicitSex Tape(Trost, 2017), Sparrow Nights allows both to take their intriguing relationship a step further. The studio environment enables Brötzmann to offer more sides of his strong personality, and Brötzmann has used wisely the generous studio time - spread over 78 minutes, in a six-track vinyl or ten-track disc - and explored more tonal and timbral nuances, adding the alto and bass saxophones and the b-flat, bass and contra-alto clarinets to his familiar tenor sax. Martin Siewert (of Radian) captured and mastered brilliantly at his studio in Vienna the complex dynamics of Brötzmann and Leigh. Brötzmann, as usual, did the artwork, more implicit this time than the cover of Sex Tape.
Brötzmann playing with Leigh has always suggested a gentle, touching side behind the rough and tough demeanor. The angry and aggressive blues ballads of previous live recordings have transformed now into more subtle and coherent expressions of a vulnerable and painful, but also protective and compassionate, relationship, reflecting his immense experience and one-of-a-kind wisdom. Brötzmann sounds softer than ever on the opening, straight ahead and emotional ballad “Summer Rain”. Leigh deepens gently this seductive vein with minimalist, resonating lines on “The Word Love”, answered by fragile, poetic cries of Brötzmann on the clarinet.
There is a strong sense of openness and fluidity in the Brötzmann and Leigh interplay, as in a relationship of a mature couple who have experienced few excruciating emotional storms. Even when the interaction becomes confrontational and melancholic as on “It’s Almost Dark”, dark and chaotic on the following title-piece and immediately afterwards openly brutal and bold on the “This Time Around”, both still rely on their intimate kinship throughout these section.
“River of Sorrows” reaffirms that Brötzmann and Leigh reconcile, following the previous, heated confrontation, and is sweeter than expected. Both do not need more than few, simple gestures to re-establish their rare intimacy. Brötzmann alternates here between singing melodious lines on the bass clarinet and dense yet poetic cries while Leigh mirrors his emotional upheavals with raging waves of her own. “At First Sight” and “All Of Us” emphasize again and again the ecstatic, essential passion that cements this collaboration.
But, eventually, Brötzmann and Leigh are fully aware and have no illusions about the prospects of their relationship - the personal and the musical - as the aching, concluding ballad “My Empty Heart” and the intense “The Longer We’re Apart” hint. Brötzmann and Leigh cry their hearts out - literally - him in his familiar ferocious mode and her in a more reserved manner. But both sound as have not said all there is to be said about this precious, stormy collaboration.
With Tools of Imagination we are treated to a tremendous long form
improvisation from Evan Parker and Eddie Prévost recorded in the clubroom
of Poland’s Pardon To Tu in September of 2017. Eddie Prévost, a co-founder
of AMM and the group’s only physical constant is one of the foremost
proponents and practitioners of free improvisation in the world today. His
companion for this improvisation is the great English saxophonist Evan
Parker, another pillar of the European free improvisation community that’s
made this strange and wonderful music his life’s work. The two have
recorded together fairly extensively, both as a duo and as part of a larger
group, always with spectacular results. Here is no exception as the two
masters interlace ideas unhurriedly and with great care for the details.
The single track, Tools of Imagination, begins with the sounds of
Prévost’s reverberating bowed metal to which Parker offers refined,
bubbling shapes, surging occasionally into squelches of harmonics and
resonance. Prévost is a master of atmosphere, having honed his skills in
his 50+ year career as a professional noise maker. I have no idea how he
achieves some of the sounds he does with his bow-work, but it’s fascinating
to listen to. Groans and deep shudders are intermingled with piercing
scrapes and razor barbs. Parker’s tenor gushes like an artesian well of
molten chrome, a turbulent outpouring of aural globules that flow like a
river across Prévost’s extraterrestrial atmospherics. At ~ 20 minutes in,
the track shifts gears, the din receding momentarily before revealing
Parker playing plaintively over gong-work that reminds me a little of La
Monte Young & Marian Zazeela’s Study for the Bowed Disc.
Parker continues to push forward, to weave webs of ectoplasm in his
distinct cadence, his circular breathing technique tracing its heavy
fractals in the thick ambience stirred up by Prévost. At around the
midpoint the song shifts gears again and the musicians regroup into a
quiescent hum interrupted intermittently by cymbal clatter and supine sax
shapes. For the final half Prévost gets back to work bowing, scraping, and
striking at his contraptions, framing Parker’s saxophone playing with a
dense thicket of sound that he plays off and against, alternating between
subtle percussive tongue slapping and breathy multiphonics. The final 10
minutes or so begin probing and sparsely adorned before bursting back into
Parker’s woven harmonics and the groaning, squealing sound world of
Prévost.
There are certain practices that in my opinion really benefit from
preparation and experience, free improvisation being among them. For as
free as the playing is on this release, it’s refined in a way that is
almost inexplicable to those that are not well versed in it. That’s not to
say that there aren’t any surprises here, it’s just that these gentlemen
know how to take surprises and run with them. A highly recommended release,
there isn’t a dull moment with this one.
German drummer and percussionist Martin Blume has been part of the
improvising scene since 1983 and he has played with almost all the alpha
dogs - especially in Europe: Peter Brötzmann, Peter Kowald, Johannes and
Conny Bauer, Phil Minton, John Butcher, Georg Graewe, John Edwards, Joëlle
Leandré, Phil Wachsmann, Mats Gustafsson, Fred Van Howe - the names of his
collaborators fill half an almanac of freely improvised music. Blume, who
is involved in the scene around the Loft in Cologne (he lives quite close
in Bochum in Germany’s Ruhr region), is also a prolific organizer of events
like the Ruhr Jazz Festival and he supports concert series like Soundtrips
NRW. Apart from the excellent
Low Yellow
with Wilbert De Joode and John Butcher, he has released another two
recommendable albums recently.
Luc Houtkamp, Steve Beresford, Martin Blume - Live in Prague 2017 (POW,
2017) ****
Improvising is everyday business. Recently, the trio of Dutch reedist Luc
Houtkamp, British pianist Steve Beresford, and German drummer Martin Blume
was scheduled for a gig at the Manufaktur in Schorndorf, Germany. On the
day of the event Werner Hassler, the booker of the Manufaktur, received a
message from Beresford that his flight from London/Gatwick was deleted
without replacement (it was a no-frills airline). He couldn’t make it for
the concert. So what should they do now? Should they cancel the gig?
Houtkamp and Blume decided off the cuff to play as a duo, something they
haven’t done before. In the end, it went really well, although I suppose
that the performance might have been even better with Beresford. What the
audience missed can be heard on Live in Prague 2017, the trio’s
only release so far (their plan was to record another album at the Loft in
Cologne after the Schorndorf show).
Martin Blume is not a drummer who pushes himself to the fore all the time
(this sounds like a truism but I’ve seen drummers who do so), the
aesthetics of his playing stresses the idea of entering a challenging and
exciting musical dialogue with his partners. His characteristic feature is
his drum kit, which he has extended according to the modular system. It
consists of a huge array of little cymbals, bells, woodblocks, sticks etc.
Additionally, he caresses his drumskins with the palms of his hands, with
the fingertips, with different mallets and brushes. His approach contrasts
very nicely with Luc Houtkamp’s saxophone philosophy, which is a rather
traditional one - hardly any extended techniques like circular breathing,
clicking and clapping on the keys of the tenor, hisses or guttural sounds.
He prefers to play a plaintive melody here and there but he’s also able to
be boisterous and harsh. All in all, he reminds me of the great free jazz
blues man Joe McPhee. However, the actual sensation is Steve Beresford. He
leads the way of the improvisation throwing in stride piano riffs,
Tayloresque clusters, and he accelerates the pace with arpeggios and
propulsive, contrasting chords that instigate Houtkamp to use guttural,
forceful sax runs (listen to the first track around the 22-minute-mark).
Yet, out of the blue, Beresford is able to switch to the interior of the
piano and in combination with Blume’s little instruments he can change
directions to microscopic sound explorations. His balanced use of
electronics adds nice new sound colours as well. In a nutshell, Live in Prague 2017 is a very nice album for fans of the
Schlippenbach Trio, for example.
Live in Prague 2017
is available as a CD and a download:
Due to the similar line up, the music on Frames & Terrains has
some things in common with Live in Prague 2017. At the same time,
it’s also very different. Martin Blume has set up the band and said that he
“"ikes bringing musicians together whose combination might sound fresh and
new". Like Blume, Tobias Delius (saxophone, clarinet), Achim Kaufmann
(piano), and Dieter Manderscheid (bass) are members of the Cologne scene
(even if Delius lives mainly in Berlin). The quartet is assembled around
Blume and Manderscheid, who have been playing together for a very long
time,
both being able to switch effortlessly between pulse and coloration.
Especially their quartet FOURinONE with the late Johannes Bauer and Luc
Houtkamp is worth to be re-discovered. Compared to Live in Prague 2017 it’s obvious that Achim Kaufmann differs from
Steve Beresford as to his harmonic subtlety and his structural style.
Similar to Blume, his approach is often close to new classical music, being
poetical, energetic and asymmetric. Additionally, Tobias Delius - although
involved in the Amsterdam scene around the ICP Orchestra - is a very
different player compared to Luc Houtkamp. On the one hand, he also combines
traditional swing and hard bop sounds with elements of the blues and an old
school free jazz attitude. On the other hand, he does use circular
breathing, key claps, multiphonics and microtones. That said, it’s clear
that he can offer a bigger variety to the music of this project.
The albums starts with Delius’ saxophone chasing turned up melody fragments
into the room, hectic rushes, tension, quiteness, and exuberance are present
from the very first moment. Kaufmann literally builds up the frames and
terrains, in which the four musicians are able to interact. It’s true that
the tenor saxophone and the piano grab the ear, yet it's a four way
exchange about sound and structure. After seven minutes, Kaufmann is left
alone by his combatants finishing his thoughts before a bass pattern opens
a new terrain for the others to join in. All of a sudden the atmosphere has
changed from cheerful gaiety to a gloomy frown, typified by Delius on
clarinet in a duo with Manderscheid’s arco bass. Percussion and piano creep
back into the piece almost imperceptibly. In general it’s a pure pleasure
to listen how the highlights ricochet within the group, to find out who
leads and who’s holding back. Whenever you think that everything has fallen
apart, that there’s no rhythm anymore, no melody, when all energy seems to
have left the music, suddenly an inner connection emerges, a compelling
rhythm is found that often invites another little melody. A perfect example
of this is the ending of the album, which displays a very tenderly
introduced piano trio, delicately conceived with Manderscheid in the
center, gradually picking up dynamics and speed. Twitching piano runs and
firm chords open a last terrain: the trio is joined by Delius’ tenor for a
light-footed, jubilant conclusion.
Frames & Terrains
is available on vinyl (limited to 300 copies) and as a download.
Multi-instrumentalist Elliott Sharp’s long running Carbon ensembles were
formed in the epicenter of the artistic energy roiling in the downtown New
York scene of the late 70’s/early 80’s. Some of the first Carbon shows were
played alongside such NYC luminaries as Sonic Youth, Lydia Lunch, and the
Swans. Carbon, like Sonic Youth, harnessed the sounds of punk and no wave
and transformed them into something more than just instrumental abstract
expressionism. But while Sonic Youth tended more and more towards
mainstream music, Carbon has taken free guitar playing into noisier, more
abstract, and more psychedelic domains. Sharp has tied the compositional
and improvisational core of Carbon to extended timbres, and on this
offering we get them in the form of drones, guitar squall, and percussion
clusters. Joining Sharp this time out are Carbon ensemble veterans electric
harpist Zeena Parkins and drummer Bobby Previte. Parkins is a regular in
the downtown NYC scene and has collaborated with everyone from John Zorn to
Pauline Oliveros to Björk. Previte, another downtown trouper who doesn’t
need an introduction is a close associate of Elliott, John Zorn, and Tim
Berne and has been a part of the scene since the late 70’s.
In Annalema Sharp chugs out rhythmic outlines and harmonics over
Previte’s bolting toms as Parkins adds pointillistic jots of electricity
over the increasingly thick tangle of sound. The song segues back and forth
between the chaotic swirls of sound and quieter, more probing half-formed
melodies. Sharp and Parkins invoke a pall of drone for the dense Perihelion which Previte breaks up with his forward pushing
percussion. The piece unravels over the din as the drums fade, leaving the
strings to wail, creak, and squeal. Over the last two minutes a sequence of
string harmonics is played, the song ending in chime and chatter. Orrery presents irregular percussion and clusters of tapped out
notes over a sustained electric storm. Sharp switches to the soprano
saxophone for Aurora, playing off of Previte’s rustling drums and
Parkins’ particularly psychedelic sound palette. Sharp electronically
manipulates his lines, pleating out cartoon horn noises and quivering
strands of sound. He returns to his guitar for the latter third, joining
Parkins and Previte in interplay that is both snarled and rhythmic. Anthelion closes the album with the trio playing against a massive
electro-acoustic din, their individual instruments reduced to flames
flickering from the embers.
A fantastic album overall and a nice addition to the Carbon continuum this
is certain to please fans of electric-guitar-based textured improvisation.
Dissonance and coherence run hand in hand, just when a structure seems to
be dissolving completely it explodes, and vice versa. It’s headspace music
that throws you off balance just enough to keep you guessing.
As Bad
Luck, Neil Welch (tenor saxophone & live electronics) and Chris
Icasiano (drums) have played roughly 60 shows a year for over 10 years. Their
latest CD out on Origin Records, Four,displays the mature,
complex seamlessness which comes from two players who know what the other is
about.Welch’s dexterous chops atop his
use of drone and chorus pedals (plus studio work by Randal Dunn) combine with
Icasiano’s tom-heavy drumming to produce an exhilarating sonic experience. Welch’s
tone moves from gorgeous to scolding to Pharoah Sanders cries. Icasiano can do
it all with his drum kit: bombast, light touches, dense unrelenting low
patterns, sermons of light and darkness.The six compositions here are sometimes smooth, sometimes angular,
sometimes a cross between tight metal and prog rock; at other times they invoke
the patient, caressing ethereality of Sigur Rós, with Welch’s soaring tenor
playing the role of the untranslatable, invented language.
Welch and
Icasiano are and have been fixtures in the Seattle improvised music scene for a
decade. In addition to being among the 6 or so founders of the Racer Sessions
(Seattle’s free jazz/creative music weekly jam, now nearing its tenth year),
they have separately and together performed in 1000s of shows in various
settings— from standards gigs to modern creative dance (using accelerometers to
manipulate sound) to ragas with master sitar players, to an opera house
performance of Roscoe Mitchell’s “Nonaah” (with the master himself in
attendance). It is lovely for them to put out such an ambitious and successful
record.
Sonically,
Four feels like a road-trip through the badlands: driving, zoning out to
gorgeous vistas, striated canyons, breathing the occasional sulfur rising from
prehistoric ponds, the otherworldliness of endless horizon, at night just the
dark, stars, the highway markers, and, now and again, headlights coming
full-on. Some of the tunes operate at three levels: Icasiano’s rolling toms
create a roiling current; Welch establishes one or two shifting trenches of long
notes on his pedal board, and then soars over atop on his gorgeous tenor.
Another approach they use is to play in tight, synchronized cell structures,
like paired modern dancers working the mat in an esoteric, physical vocabulary.
Welch and Icasiano credit Randal Dunn, who recorded, mixed and co-produced the
record, as chief sonic sculptor in the studio.
Track 1
(“Four”) encapsulates the whole record: crying sax over energy drum-fills over
slow-shifting choral effects. “Four” opens with tom beats, and sax squeals, and
then shifting blocks of chorus pedal mark out the tune’s sonic boundaries.Some Pharoah Sanders plaintiff cries, some
Sigur Rós cloudscapes.Now relax, strip
it down to the shifting chordal blocks under ride cymbal sheen; breathe. Very
filmic. The CD’s back cover depicts a cold stream through snowy barrens,
leading to low bluffs in the distance.This tune could easily be the soundtrack on a frigid, upward trek: wind
brisk in your face, heat rising under your jacket, the dizzy you experience
when you close your eyes after exertion. There’s some exhilaration and some
mystery fear. The sax returns and the drums gets busier.Then a fade-out. It works with headphones.
Track 2,
“R.B.G.,” (yes, named for the esteemed Supreme Court Justice) starts with an
angry twitch, softens slightly, briefly, and flows into rolling, frenetic toms
and multiphonic sax cries.It becomes a
study in intensity, and then a break until the next cell starts: a driving into
a storm motif, until Welch really lets loose: quick tonguing, crying, lifting
us into stratosphere, swept into multi-colored clouds without an airplane.
Around 4:30 the backdrop peels away and they launch into something like prog
rock, where the sax/drums play patterned hits in unison. They reach a silent
precipice, and Icasiano unexpectedly goes into a Caribbean dance beat, over
which Welch wails, a menacing held note rising in back. If we are still
thinking R.B.G, we have here Justice Ginsberg dancing and ruefully laughing at
what fate has thrown at her: so many steps forward, so many steps back. At some
point they switch into pure energy mode, continuous fills making for a rhythmic
tapestry, Welch in the upper range singing with banshee determination and
possession.
Track 3,
“Index,” is the shortest cut at 6 and 1/4 minutes. The backgrounding techniques
are made the foreground.As mood music,
imagine a mouse moving through a labyrinth slowly losing the certainty of its
location.It opens with brushes on snare
and that undergrowth of shifting sound blocks. Enter some softly held sax
dissonant harmonics, woven with their electrified echoes and modulations.It is a gentle piece, with just enough edge
to keep the experience real.Track 4,
“Capital,” opens with some rising toms that turn into rapid, spasmodic sax
notes in unison with rim-shots, snare, and cymbal hits.Again the anxiety of losing one’s way in a
maze, anxious to find the thread of escape.When the electronics and the pacing tambourine kick in (at 3:35),
something soothing happens in the multiphonics which take us to safety.The timbre of the sax really comes through on
this piece.
Track 5,
“Bends,” grows into what is perhaps the most terrifying song in the collection:
intense wails and drumming that is a drubbing, patiently upping the ante over a
long-form electronic, undulating drone background.Around ten minutes in, a myriad of bells
enter as the intensity loosens, and we are held aloft in an elegant sound
garden of resonant objects. Track 6 (“Big Sky”) opens calmly, with large gestures,
timpani, and cymbal swells.It shifts to
a kind of rocking, thumping, and foregrounds some modulated sax notes, some
buried electronic blips and bleeps. Then begins the low thunder out a-ways
yonder in them dark clouds.Icasiano’s
seething tom rolls and cymbal swells produce an atmosphere of foreboding, Welch
provides the sheet lightning behind the storm, and the whole leads upward to an
extended drum roll (a la Godspeed You! Black Emperor), and then Welch’s
tenor reaches for the human sublime.
Bad Luck
treads its own path. If last century, Coltrane and Ali’s Interstellar Space
(recorded in1967) set the table for the sax/drums duo, Bad Luck leaves behind
the question of handing off the torch, and draws instead on so many other
traditions all at once. This music is not jazz, it is not rock or metal, it is
not ambient, it is not techno. Its admixture of electronics and acoustic
elements, its cinematic, creative use of time and song form amounts to a
neo-expressionism for the new century.
The Russian. Moscow-based group BROM - БРОМ - was founded in 2008 but until recently has been a well-kept secret, unknown to the most of the world. BROM’s eight album, Sunstroke, is the first one to be released internationally and may do justice to this group thanks to the enthusiastic endorsement of Swedish sax titan Mats Gustafsson.
BROM - bass player Dmitry Lapshin, sax player Anton Ponomarev, drummer , Yaroslav Kurilo and new member, electronics player Felix Mikensky - began to act as an anti-statements to the post-rock hype, but later pushed heavily into crossing over free-improv, noise rock and free jazz. Gustafsson asks in his liner notes how such a band can make “something personal within the given frames? When so much already has been done?”. His typical answer: “Break the frames? Love the frames? Hate the frames? Dismantle the frames? Just fuck the frames? Use the frames?”
And as Gustafsson advices, BROM uses and fucks all given frames, straight in-your-face, especially the seminal frames of Gustafsson’s own The Thing, Peter Brötzmann’s Last Exit and John Zorn’s Naked City (and Gustafsson adds many more sources of influence, from Led Zeppelin to Radian). BROM sounds at times as sharing the same gene pool with these groundbreaking musicians, but insisting to inject their proud gene mutation. The influence is so strong that you can recognize the phrasing of Gustafsson in Ponomarev playing or the manic bass attacks of The Thing’s Ingebrigt Håker Flaten in Lapshin licks. But BROM edits this kind of high-velocity, intense legacy into its own personal vocabulary and syntax. Still, as Gustafsson preaches, channeling and transforming this rich legacy into a its own defying call to fight the everlasting stupidities of the world.
BROM's sonic statement is clear and loud from the very first second of the opening piece “Plunge into an ice hole”. Brutal, dense and super-intense kick ass attacks that reach into unbearable stratospheres and then pushes even more, suddenly sneaks to a breezy cinematic detour before resuming the manic grind. “Tuna” and the title-piece sound as twisting the mean rhythmic onslaughts of Italian Zu with Naked City post-modern sonic pastiche into a supersonic cacophony. Mikensky’s electronics on “Queue” add a subversive, irritating layer to Ponomarev's powerful sax theme. “Urtica” suggests BROM in a head-on collision with The Thing, including the open flirt with a dramatic metal narrative. “Hematoma” offers BROM in its most free-improvised version, eager to experience any adventure and take all risks but also to bare its gentle side. The last “Mingus 30°C” actually boils with an infectious theme, repeated over and over while borrowing from the light, harmolodic pulse of Ornette Coleman’s Prime Time, the shiny elegance of Naked City and the massive nuclear reservoirs of The Thing.
Hard to believe that these Russian guys were stricken by the sun, but you can be sure that they were hit by something as powerful and nourishing as the sun. Seriously badass!!!, as Gustafsson says.
The People Band (l-r): Paul Jolly, George Kahn, Terry Day, Mike Figgis, Charly Hart, Davey Payne.
Photo courtesy Fotoarchiv exploratorium berlin
By Paul Acquaro
Tucked away on an upper floor of a re-purposed chocolate factory in Berlin's Kreutzberg neighborhood sits the Exploratorium. Hosting workshops and concerts with a focus on improvised music, the center has provided me, so far, with two wonderful musical experiences - the first, the Schlippenbach Trio’s Winterreise tour on my first visit to the city back in 2012, and just this past week, the legendary People Band.
The People Band is a musical collective with its roots in late 1960's London. I became aware of the band via Trevor Barre’s detailed examination of the UK free music scene, and was excited for the chance to see them in the flesh.
Tonight the group's evolving line-up consisted of all original members, adding an extra boost to the anticipation. Terry Day, on drums and percussion, was physically and musically the center piece of the group. His playing both rhythmic and colorful, driving the band when the tempo picked up, and centering the group when the mood was explorative. Mike Figgis on trumpet and electric guitar provided texture and hypnotic riffs. Charlie Hart on electric bass, and in the second set, violin, was also key in providing momentum - some of the most interesting passages came when his bass work grew agitated and kinetic. On saxophone and flute, George Khan and Davey Payne flanked the group, providing excited solo moments and reacting to the goings on in the rhythm section with both musical agreement and disagreement. Paul Jolly, poised towards center left on bass clarinet, saxophones, and flute, brought other textures to the group sound and offered several powerful saxophone, and deeply resonant bass clarinet, solos.
The first set was a dramatic, tension filled, 45 minutes (or more? I didn’t really keep track), starting with Payne wandering about an eclectic array of chimes, gongs, and bells. It rose to a climatic outpouring of emotionally melodic snippets and fierce runs, and ended in a hushed whisper. The second set took on a totally different approach, also with sublime moments mixed with the infuriating (i.e. the ‘Earth Angel’ progression). Overall, it was an exciting, adventurous, and fulfilling night of the musically unexpected.
Some other exciting shows coming up at the Exploritorum include the Tiger Trio with Joëlle Léandre, Myra Melford and Nicole Mitchell on Nov 11th, and renowned bassist Barre Phillips with the Ensemble de Musique Improvisée en Résidence on December 16th. Check it out here: https://exploratorium-berlin.de/de/category/improvisationskonzerte/
Maroney (“hyperpiano”), Jenkins (violin), and O’Donnell (percussion) have
appeared together before on Leroy Jenkins’ Driftwood’s 2005 The Art of Improvisation, also featuring Min Xiao-Fen on pipa.
Recorded in 2004, it is among Jenkins’ last recorded performances and in
the midst of Maroney’s fruitful partnerships with Mark Dresser and Ned
Rothenberg. Both recordings display a mastery of musical time, space,
timbre, and soul but, whereas the primary draw of The Art of Improvisation’s succinct 42 minutes is the interplay of
Min and Jenkins, Unknown Unknowns’ 149 minutes provides a fuller
exploration of the core trio’s communicative capabilities.
Unknown Unknowns
is comprised of two sets. The first, “Cooler in the Shade,” covers 85
minutes across six tracks and was recorded in 2003 as part of the New York
music series of the same name. The first track provides a digest of what
this group is about: Jenkins bows haunting vamps, allowing Maroney and
O’Donnell to timbrally run wild, until eventually the trio converges and
then they’re off, guiding each other through changes in structure and
volume and space until climaxing with Jenkins sawing, with O’Donnell
scraping cymbals and drum heads, with Maroney producing what sounds like a
circus organ of nightmares. Jenkins’ fusion of jazz, blues, classical, and
gospel is here along with the full gamut of extended techniques for violin.
When O’Donnell isn’t matching the stringy timbres of Maroney and Jenkins,
his playful technique reminds me of Gerry Hemingway and Gunter Sommer. And
Maroney’s tonal transmogrification of the piano is on full display. The
next three tracks are modular performances recalling the beginning of Cecil
Taylor’s One Too Many Salty Swift and Not Goodbye, with duos of
Maroney/O’Donnell, Jenkins/Maroney, and Jenkins/O’Donnell, before the
united trio returns for the last two tracks. The second set, “New Music
Circle,” covers 64 minutes across four tracks and was recorded in 2005 as
part of the St. Louis music series of the same name, of which O’Donnell was
music director at the time of recording. The set demonstrates a continued
exploration of the dynamics presented on both “Cooler in the Shade” and The Art of Improvisation, but the trio is more instantly reactive
to each other here and able to satisfactorily express their language much
more efficiently.
Each set stands alone perfectly. However, if you can spare two and a half
hours, the release is not exhausting like some longer releases can be. It’s
a varied journey that could be mentioned in the same breath as Jenkins’
solo, Revolutionary Ensemble, and AACM outings, or Maroney’s work with Mark
Dresser, Ned Rothenberg, and Hans Tammen.
Unknown Unknowns (Live)
is a digital-only release.
Last year, Dave Rempis, Matt Piet, and Tim Daisy debuted their new trio
with
Hit the Ground Running
and Cure for the Quotidian, two excellent sessions that impressed
several reviewers of this blog. Now they’re back with Throw Tomatoes, which features the group’s third and fourth shows
together. Altogether, the three releases tell the story of less than a
year’s worth of collaboration, improvisation, and inspiration. Beginning
with Cure for the Quotidian, recorded November 9, 2016, continuing
with Hit the Ground Running, January 21, 2017 (a pair of
auspicious dates here in the States), and picking up with May 8 and July 2,
2017.
On “To Play Is the Thing,” recorded last May at Chicago’s Elastic Arts,
Daisy opens with melodic cymbals, introducing and accompanying Piet. As
we’ve discussed here numerous times, Daisy is a remarkably musical
performer, with a style and approach that defies the personnel listing
“drums” (just as Rempis is much more than “saxophones” and Piet beyond
“piano”). Rempis enters a couple minutes in, and the three tackle a
circular, pointillist interlude, with Piet employing some preparations.
It’s not just the name Matthew that brings to mind Shipp in Piet’s playing.
There’s a similar depth to Piet’s approach to the piano as a complete
instrument, with the full range of its keyboard and dynamics simultaneously
deployed, as on his first solo section in “The Thousand Natural Shocks,”
recorded at The Hungry Brain last July. Daisy is in a particularly driving
mood on this date, shifting into a mellow swing at one point, before urging
Rempis and Piet back into high gear. All three seem to be constantly
supporting, poking, and prodding each other.
In the liner notes, Piet writes about a moment near the 20-minute mark of
“To Play Is the Thing,” when he and Daisy tried to end the performance.
Daisy adds some solid punctuation to Piet’s playing, but in context it does
sound unfinished without Rempis. The proper ending is much weirder and more
surprising, and therefore apt.
I mentioned to someone recently that Rempis has reached a new stage in his
playing. Maybe it’s the modern horror show we’ve been cast in against our
will, but I’d mark
Perihelion
as the point when something notable changed. For a saxophonist who always
seemed capable of doing anything, Rempis now does absolutely everything.
Throughout the album, Rempis plays with an open, fluid voice, which pairs
well with Daisy’s resonant pitches and warm rhythms. And his sly references
and unvarnished fury cut straight through Chicago’s thick night air.
The Lisbon-based trio of Catalan sax player Albert Cirera, Portuguese prepared electric guitar player Abdul Moimême and Uruguayan double bass player Alvaro Rosso, also known as the AAA Trio, was established in 2015. The debut album of this trio was recorded live at the experimental space of Lisbon, O'Culto da Ajuda, on December 2017.
The title Dissection Room already suggests the approach of these fearless improvisers - a methodical exploration, deconstruction and reconstruction of various extended techniques, never surrendering to the known and the familiar. Cirera, Moimême and Rosso are seated and each on his own highly independent way investigates the uncharted, topographical organs of this free-improvised body of music. This kind of Frankenstein, mad sonic scientists approach promises an uncompromising, demanding and often otherworldly journey. But, somehow, as Stuart Broomer comments in his insightful liner notes (the notes are titled after John Dryden’s poem “A Song for Saint Cecilia’s Day”, the patroness of musicians), throughout the fragile and reserved interplay Cirera, Moimême and Rosso still communicate and weave a “shroud of harmonics, a transparent veil through which one another’s activities pass discreetly”.
Cirera, Moimême and Rosso use different kinds of objects to alter and expand the sonic range of their instruments. Cirera injects objects into the bells of his tenor and soprano saxes and sketches fractured, percussive patterns, He also employs extended breathing techniques that introduce electric-ethereal drones. The prepared guitar of Moimême has nothing common with an electric guitar. It becomes an imaginative sonic lab with a vulnerable and tangible resonating entity. The extended bowing techniques of Rosso dig tortured sounds, and more tortured overtones and cries from the double bass, transforming it to an instrument with a seductive, human voice. Mid-piece, around the 28-minute mark, as Broomer adds, something happens, a sudden blackout, and the interplay instantly shifts to a nervous and urgent mode. From this moment on Cirera, Moimême and Rosso begin to build the climax, injecting more bizarre components, confront wild hallucinations and struggle with frightening colors and shades of this Frankenstein body of music.
But when you dive deeper and deeper into this music, allowing your ears to grow to it, you may realize that this kind of Frankenstein music is highly addictive.
Lithuania’s No Business label has a fine track record for bringing lost
music to light, and this 1976 session led by vibraphonist Bobby Naughton is
an excellent example. Naughton became interested in free jazz in the late
1960s, meeting clarinetist Perry Robinson in New York, and was active in
the loft scene of the 1970s. He met trumpeter Leo Smith in Connecticut and
would appear with some regularity in Smith’s ensembles of the ‘70s and
’80s. Naughton had a few credits on some other major recordings as well,
including documents of Anthony Braxton’s 1978 European Creative Orchestra
and his Ensemble (Victoriaville) 1988 and recordings by Roscoe
Mitchell and Mario Pavone. Much of Naughton’s time, however, has been spent
away from music, earning a living as a locksmith before recently returning
to music. In the 1970s he released a few recordings on his own OTIC label,
of which The Haunt is the first to appear on CD. Hailed on its
first release, it’s a lost masterpiece by musicians of the first rank.
It’s a music based on keen familiarity. The absence of anything like a
rhythm section immediately places it in the special creative lineage of the
chamber jazz avant-garde, one that began with the Jimmy Giuffre Three circa
1961 with Steve Swallow and Paul Bley and developed with the Creative
Construction Company of Anthony Braxton, Smith and Leroy Jenkins. The
pieces heard here are all Naughton‘s compositions—pieces in which written
and improvised elements flow together, whether the movement is from
composed ensemble to solo or collective improvisation. Naughton’s works
here are distinguished by an abstracted lyricism, a floating quality with
an immediately engaging collective sonority. There’s literally nowhere to
hide in this music, with each voice cast in high relief whether in solo or
ensemble.
In the first moments of the opening title track, the three voices arrive
alone, first Robinson with a keening wail and a wide vibrato that will link
him to Sidney Bechet, albeit by way of Albert Ayler, then Smith, lower,
more reflective, assembling materials, then Naughton, pianistic rather than
percussive, notes ringing under the others. Some of his writing here has an
Ornette Coleman feel, a vocal and rhythmic inflection that lives here even
without bass and drums. On “The Weight” and “Slant” the improvisation is
insistently collective, a spirit of continuous creative dialogue shaping
the music. Sustained individual statements arise on the pensive “Places,”
first Smith, all concentration, then Robinson tending always toward flight,
even here sounding like his clarinet might come untethered and soar, but
instead fading gently into a collective passage that’s literally both
improvisation and theme (Robinson eventually explodes into wild squiggling
lines in the upper register, but it takes an added alternate take of
“Slant”). That commitment to Naughton’s music is evident everywhere here,
arising again in the quietly intense, naked knitting of sounds that
distinguishes “Rose Island.” By the time one reaches “Ordette,” the final
track in the original LP configuration, the album’s cumulative identity is
so strong that you feel the presence of the trio even in the series of
unaccompanied solos, the music assuming its shape in the concentrated
presence of the other musicians.
The special challenge presented by The Haunt’s spare, subtle
intensity may be what has kept it so alive during its decades of neglect.
