French saxophonist Sakina Abdou is an emerging musician, thus far recording
with Eve Risser’s Red Desert Orchestra and on a solo CD,
Goodbye Ground
(Relative Pitch). Polish pianist Marta Warelis can be heard in numerous
cooperative projects and on a fine solo debut, a grain of Earth,
that conveys a combination of technical and creative brilliance at the
highest level. Toma Gouband is as brilliantly original as the other two,
creating a mystery-filled percussion language both in solo and group formats
(perhaps most notably with Evan Parker) using stones and branches as well
as conventional materials. Each of the three has a certain genius for solo
play, yet each is sensitive enough to creative interplay to form a trio.
Sonic explorers all, they’re also meaningful communicators. Each of the
nine tracks is highly distinctive, both in method and mood.
“Leaf the Hammer”, just over two minutes long, is an abstraction, a
continuous passage of sounds passing among the three musicians with each
musician, Warelis picking chords and clusters, Gouband building
micro-phrases that contrast low-pitched drums and high-pitched metal, Abdou
inserting only slightly longer melodic fragments. It’s a perfect miniature.
The suite-like “Roll the Leaf”, at around 10 minutes the longest track,
proceeds from a random scatter of percussion and prepared piano with a
freely melodic theme established by Abdou; The tempo eventually picks up,
with Abdou’s line surrounded by more rapid and lightly dissonant piano and
a fascinatingly compact drum figure mixing bass, snare and metal. It is the
collective gift of the trio to simultaneously create and evolve form,
establishing pattern with the very sonic gestures that they are
simultaneously disassembling.
“Leaf the Roll” is a manic flight with the rapid saxophone so choked it can
suggest that only the mouthpiece is engaged, initially suggesting a crazed
squirrel, on a manic voyage pursued by first muffled then explosive piano
and a tangle of rattled drum rolls, all so tightly engaged in the chase
that it might have been notated.
The climactic “Hammer the Roll” begins with Abdou creating rapid microtonal
rolls consisting of popping sounds before she’s joined first by Warelis’s
complementary notes and then a rapid light percussion from Gouband (a rapid
tapping that eventually extends to the full kit). When they’re all fully
integrated into the weave, it’s a genuinely fresh trio language, its
unusual form built on the interlocking rhythms and pitches of Warelis’s
muffled string notes and Abdou’s rapid staccato.
Together, Abdou - Gourband - Warelis produce an hour of music that’s
consistently entertaining, pressing interactivity to fresh heights, though
risking a listener’s exhaustion from an overload of creativity. Meanwhile,
it’s a fascinating assemblage of trio possibilities that are as compelling
as they are distinctive.
Free music. Unconstrained, unlimited, uncompromised, and uncommercial. That
is what listeners value about the jazz music of the avant garde. Music as
something more than a crass buck. And on Parlour Games, recorded
live at The Parlour, June 16, 1991, Tim Berne and Michael Formanek gave
attendees a true vision of freedom – music that sounds as fresh today as it
must have 33 (quickly passing) years ago.
Right from the get-go, Berne (on alto and baritone sax) and Formanek (bass)
command attention. The first number, “Beam Me Up.” begins with both players
racing along in sweet unison. Then Berne’s baritone skips about as Formanek
hurtles along with double-triple time bass walks that explode like
fireworks. Both musicians generate heat without squeezing notes – Berne
does not pinch the reed and Formanek - for all the speed and spiky leaps he
makes on bass - exhibits an exceptionally light and fluid touch.
But the music here is more than a wild romp. There are bluesy elements –
case in point – the oddly titled but aptly conceived “O My Bitter Hen.”
The music has the hallmarks of a David Lynch soundtrack from some dark gray
detective film noir. Berne brings it on baritone – creating gentle rolling
sequences – only to have the pair suddenly emerge with sax and galloping
bass line that would leave a Montana stallion in the dust – before
reverting to a walking conclusion.
On the lighter side, there is the clownish “Quicksand,” where Berne gently
whines and twines above Formanek’s funky bass sequences. The piece is
delightful and full of fluttering nuance and lyrical abstractions. And on
the jaunty masterpiece “Not what you think,” Berne and Formanek create magic
from the opening. The joyful conversations are wide open. Berne flies about
on alto – speeding up and down the register - while Formanek keeps the
bottom active with jagged syncopation and well-placed plucks. Simply said -
this is compositional improvisation at its best!!!
But it is the final number, “Bass Voodoo,” that makes the album
unforgettable. It opens like a slithering snake, as Formanek plucks and bows
beneath Berne’s slowly waking alto. Then Formanek’s bowing combines with
Berne’s zipping lines to increase the intensity. Formanek follows with a
bass solo that rips it – rips it good (apologies to Devo). The solo
migrates through various speeds, fast-slow-medium – as Formanek displays
his mastery along the neck. Berne joins in with tongue-attack stuttering
syncopated lines and slurs that feel like a dolphin skirting the seas. Two
words – damn amazing! The musical bonfire progresses – heat comes and goes,
the wind blows through the flames, the cinders blow about in the wind.
There is a stuttering climax and then a joint effort as the music
concludes.
Supreme musicianship, brisk and challenging interaction, compositions that
strike just the right degree of formalism and spontaneity, it is all
present in Parlour Games. Two masters, Berne and Formanek, early
in their careers - captured in prime-time form in concert. Highly, highly
recommended.
I haven’t been lucky enough to catch trumpeter Jacob Wick or saxophonist
Michael Foster live. But having witnessed on the act the way percussionist
Ben Bennett utilizes any found, or converted, sound source into a
percussion sound object, I get an idea on how they would sound. This CD proves my case, I think.
Relative Pitch once again and (again…) quite humbly has hit gold. This one
will sneak into my best of list for 2024, but Carne Vale is just one of the
great releases that the label is putting out. Be aware and check them all
out.
This trio music was recorded (live and on the spot if I had to take a
guess) in Brooklyn and it is their first musical encounter as a trio, as far
as I know. If I had to find just one word to describe their attempts into
sound (or music, ok you know what I mean), this would be undermining. Right
at the moment you grasp this release, you notice an ironic subversion of
written language coming from the track titles. The same goes with the
music.
As a trio but, also, as individual players, they focus on undermining all
expectations of the listener. The sax is not exactly (far from it actually)
the “jazz sax”, Bennett is trying his best not to keep the rhythm
conventionally or even keep any rhythm at all. Wick’s trumpet is a playful
instrument full of rich timbre, hilarious (call it funny) gargling and
non-conventional interaction with his fellow players.
Bennett approach to his sound sources is unique, sometime mysterious (what
is he “playing” right now?) and every time so rewarding. Having listened to
his playing in the wonderful duos with improvising Saxophonist Jack Wright
(he also has a solo album on the label to check out), I think he has
progressed. Not in a linear way, whatever that means, but in the sense that
he is becoming more free by every recording. But how much freedom is there
in free? A lot when talking about noisy surprises.
The duos, and trios, of saxophonist Michael Foster (I really like those
with percussionist Ted Byrnes) reveal a sax player eager to interact, not a
soloist. This path is followed by his playing in Carne Vale, producing sax
sounds barely recognizable. The sounds he produces are the sounds the trio
produces. Unconventional, funny, vibrant and totally “not” jazz. But their
so free approach must never be labeled in any way. Certainly this CD is one
of the best for this year.
A dexterous and imaginative exploration of and use of the piano's range of
timbres: chamber-avant, solo piano, we get jagged slabs, fingers of
concrete, pathos; speed repetition on prepared piano, tinny metal comb
hits; urgent marimba-esque woody buzz; pure, lush piano; spare and
ineffable; joyful. Courvoisier’s playing is assertive, direct. No blur,
all in your face, even the delicacy. A complete master, Courvoisier can
play with style, passion and anything she wants. At this point, it’s a
matter of design and surprise.
Courvoisier’s previous record on Intakt, Chimaera (2023), with Wadada Leo Smith, Nate Wooley, Drew Gress, Kenny Wollesen, and
Christian Fennesz, is magnificent. This solo piano recording (the second
of her long career) is a gift of more and continued transcendence, though
with a very different feel, or set of feels. Here each tune is a like a
private miniature, each dedicated to a different person (and one to her
cats). There are exquisite moments, tunes I will return to and add to my
forever compilation playlist, delicate, daring, every note and pause vital
to the overall effect. Others are more about rigor or patterns, academic
even. You may prefer those. I may even prefer them in a few years. What I
loved on this round of listening was the inventiveness of the prepared
piano interspersed with the unaltered sounds. It deeply humanized the
tone, turned the hammered strings into a personal voice, both lyrical and
rhythmic.
Is the record title a reference to Levinas’s Otherwise than Being? To already be open to the other’s otherness—a normative standard much
in need these days of renewed nativism. It is a fond sentiment
undergirding free music, although that’s trickier to pull off on a solo
recording.
The opening number is beautiful and mysterious, then broiling rage leveled
to a simmering, low piano keys striking mute against determined plucking.
Cinematic. The second track (“Hotel Esmeralda (for Hugo Pratt)”) offers an
immediate contrast: unadorned piano, spacious, relaxed, a gentle offering,
just a little bluesy, contemplative, like the morning after, running into
heavy weather. The title track, “To Be Otherwise (for Amy Sillman),” feels
studied, a modern composition, Parisian (or Swiss) in America. I don't
love this tune, though I quite like certain moves it makes, and I can
understand its appeal and its potentially upsetting nature if one were
deeply embedded in the classical context. Is it the kind of thing Alex
Ross might like? Best title and a highlight on the record goes to “Edging
Candytuft” (dedicated to Mary Halvorson), a lovely phrase for patient,
oral sex. Though Halvorson’s playing has yet to find a place in my heart,
Courvousier’s prepared piano bang-splats and smushed key motifs is
intriguing and compelling. “Frisking (for Henry Cowell) is wonderful for
similar reasons.
If you are looking for more of Courvoisier’s interplay rather than solo
material, beyond her recent, excellent Chimaera, check out, for example, “Obvious Obtuse” on As Soon as Possible (Cam Jazz, 2008), for her rapport with Ellery Eskelin, or on the same
record, the interaction with Eskelin and bassist Vincent Courtois on
“Mesure d’ailleurs.” Her support of their playing enables them to really spread out, to be
gorgeous, fluid, inventive, and confident in the pauses and re-starts.
Similarly, on the harder edged, pulsing “Taktlos 3” on her trio record Passagio (Intakt, 2002) with Susie Ibarra and Joëlle Léandre, all three are
muscular, direct yet musical and mutually supportive. I admire their
collaboration and its mysterious synergies, the delight that is evident in
the surprise of what transpires. Courvoisier’s inside-the-piano work is so
perfectly evocative against the energy of Ibarra and Léandre.
Cheryl Duvall first came to my attention from her 2020 release,
Harbour,on which she played compositions by Anna Höstman. She played
beautifully on this release, capturing the “patient and deliberate, eerily
emotive…winsome, but dissonant” dimensions of those compositions. On
Intimes Exube
rances she deploys a similar sensitivity to the
spaciousness and brittleness of new music to a series of compositions that
are memorably haunting.
For tracks on this album wind, slowly, like a damaged and abandoned
ballerina on a music box still spinning and playing an untouchable melody.
They evoke that, image, at least. The melodies do not simply repeat
endlessly, but develop, shifting to more forte and (tragically) defiant
sections and balancing interesting tonal dynamics with decay and layering
fore- and background. At times, it sounds like Duvall is playing over a
muffled recording, though I am pretty sure this is all one piano in real
time. Then, she stretches out into some impressive complex, but measure
lattices that wend into tight irregular knots, but also glisten.
Intimes Exubérances is a consistent and
consistently gripping example of contemporary neoromanticism that, at times,
slides toward new music but maintains that same emotivity and gusto that
characterize the most evocative melody-based music. And, listening to this,
I cannot quite escape the feeling that I am listening to Suicide in an
Airplane anew, though here expanded, revisited, and reinterpreted over four
compositions. It is that potent, that enchanting, and that discordant.
Christopher Whitley – almost as soft as silence (self-released,
2024)
Almost as soft as silence captures violinist Christopher Whitley,
equipped with a Stradivarius, on a series of fifteen spontaneous
compositions. All are short, ranging from just over 4 minutes to 18
seconds, with most falling under two minutes. According to the liner
notes, these are a product of the session that produced his debut
Describe Yourself, wherein he plays the music of other composers. I cannot speak with
certainty about the circumstances of performance, but it makes sense that
he would balance his disciplined realizations of the work of others with
more free-floating, experimental exercises.
Maybe it is best to approach almost as soft as silence as a series
of sketches, not originally intended for public ears. They are intimate,
sometimes scraps of melodies, other times more fully realized pieces that
lean on layers of tones, tinny plucks, and gushes of glittery sound that
embrace the violin for what it is outside of the symphony, especially in the
jazz tradition: a portable instrument, every bit as refined as any other,
but also especially fitting for exploring variations on themes and filling
a space with beautiful sound. This is not to deemphasize Whitley’s skill or
creativity, which are apparent throughout. Rather, it is to say he is onto
something. Almost as soft as silence is very much a product of a
time when cording technologies and the ease of online distribution make
such wispy releases possible. Through the violin itself as well as
Whitley’s wide range of contemporary classical techniques point to the
concert hall, moreover, the fleetingness of the pieces, their conception as
brief one-off, in-and-of-the-moment expressions, the music serves as a
welcome bridge between vying traditions of the elevated and profane, of
composition and improvisation.
Emilie Cecilia LeBel - landscapes of memory (Redshift Records,
2024)
Landscapes of memory consists of two realizations of Lebel
compositions for solo piano. The first is titled ghost geography and has
been entrusted to the skillful and patient hands of Wesley Shen. The music
is slow, plodding at times. A constant hum whispers in the background. Shen
lays out imperfectly repeating clusters that shift dynamics but remain
somewhere between plaintive and defiant. Indeed, this seems a meditation,
maybe on a past mostly hollowed and forgotten but whose ruins provoke
recognition, or on death. There is something elegaic about this in its
somberness and the sense of loss – possibly balanced with partial
reclamation – it projects.
Pale forms in uncommon light, performed by pianist Luciane Cardassi,
follows. As with ghost geography, pale forms might not be a true solo – a
single high-pitched drone accompanies the pianist – but it is quite close.
And Cardassi is magnificent in both her discipline and vulnerability. The
music is minimal but emotive. It searches for melody and sometimes comes
across one, only to abandon that line and restart that process of
excavation from scratch. Sometimes it falls into hopeful territory,
sometimes darker and more unsettling crevices. No stretch, however, lasts
more than a few minutes. Each movement is broken by quiet, whether that
single tone or, after 12 minutes, resonance fading to silence to return
again minutes later, as the piece reaches some of its more dramatic and
active phrasings.
With each track lasting over 30 minutes, landscapes of memory can
be a challenging listen. However, the effort pays off. Highly recommended,
especially for those enamored of the Another Timbre label the more active
corners of wandelweiser.
Rachel Kiyo Iwaasa –
Known Unknowns-Solo Piano Works by Rodney Sharman
(Redshift Records, 2024)
More so than the other albums reviewed here, Known
Unknowns embraces an umbra of tense scales punctuated by rich,
discordant chords. At times, the melodies entangle and verge toward
shattering, but they never quite reach that point.
Rachel Kiyo Iwaasa is a muscular pianist. She can be tender, but those
instances reveal just how powerfully knotted her performance is otherwise.
(I have to assume this lies in the pianist as much as the composer.)
Rather than nimble flights, she lingers, and insistently bangs out
spiraling ascents and descents (throughout much of the album) or heavy
sheets of chords (Narcissus). This is to her credit and makes those moments
approaching the sublime (especially in Tristan and Isolde and Known and
Unknown, in its repetition and near-phasing) more notable. There is also
something organic about these pieces. They can be beautiful and majestic,
dark and cryptic, and gnarled and raw all at the same time. Indeed, it is
that tension between the pristine and the raw that gives these works their
character.
Known Unknowns is the first disc solely devoted to compositions by
Vancouver composer Rodney Sharman. It seems such a release is long overdue.
The downside to such an approach, of course, is that many of these
compositions come off as etudes or sketches, realized wonderfully but
somewhat disjointed from each other. (The vocal narrative of The Garden has
a similarly disruptive effect, though that juxtaposition slowly starts to
make sense over its deceptively hushed 10-minute cabaret.) The abrupt
endings and changes can be jarring. Then again, when they work within the
compositions, they do so wonderfully.
After John Zorn in 2022 and Bill Frisell in 2023, the Reflektor event,
which gives established artists, often associated with the jazz scene but
whose skills stretch well beyond that genre, the opportunity to present a
wide range of current and past projects, it was guitarist Marc Ribot’s turn, whose guitar sounds have
bridged the underground and the popular, to make his strings resonate in
the Elbphilharmonie. The unparalleled construction houses a hotel,
restaurants, bars, shops, wide spaces and terraces with spectacular views
over the city, port and river. Its architecture is as impressive as the
acoustics of its music venues: an elevated shrine for listeners who gather
to hear the man who helped shape the sound of Downtown New York from the
1980s onward. The program was made up of eight concerts, six by the master
of ceremonies and two by bands featuring friends and colleagues, plus a
listening session.
First Evening
Photo by Daniel Dittus
Things start off with a set of solo acoustic guitar, the
only time when sounds from the audience (coughing, sneezing, foot tapping…)
are heard along with the music, without ruining the experience though. Such
are the acoustics of the Kleine Saal that, when low-volume music is
presented, the slightest movement from anyone can be perceived across the
whole room. No need to worry though, as the next shows prove of the
immersive and room-filling kind. The venue is in complete darkness, except
for the light descending on the artist from the ceiling and some abstract
projections on the black curtains at the back of the stage. Ribot’s face is
bent towards his instrument, a posture which we’re used to seeing him adopt
and which he seldom deviates from, except when he has to sing in the
microphone. While a good chunk of the set seems improvised, it is announced
to be based on new material from an upcoming solo album, the next entry in
a series that started with
Plays Solo Guitar Works of Frantz Casseus
in 1993 (reissued in 2021 with extra tracks), some of which is performed
tonight. The set oscillates between Hispanic meditations, remakes of Albert
Ayler and John Coltrane (the rarely played “Amen”), clear-cut recitations
accompanied by flexible tempi… Everything weighs in the balance: melody,
texture, resonance, and that includes the space and the audience, all a
part of the present moment’s proceedings. Ribot remains faithful to the
song form, even when endeavoring deconstructions and alterations. His sound
and touch are unique, his timing immaculate, setting the tone for things to
come.
Ceramic Dog. Photo by Daniel Dittus.
Ceramic Dog is a resolutely rock trio, in which there are
few to no elements of jazz, even by a broad definition of the term, except
for their shared revolutionary, life-affirming values and quest for social
justice. Ches Smith and Shahzad Ismaily
are both on drums at the start, before the latter switches to saturated
electric bass, Moog keyboard and smaller odd instruments. The program is
titled Connection, also the name of the trio’s latest effort. This
Dog is frontally clawing and tearing at the home and foreign U.S. policies
of the current era, with each guitar chord, bass note and drum hit
vigorously, even aggressively carried out, an unrelenting sonic assault.
The same goes for Ribot’s lyrics and declamatory style. The
more is more
approach does not always allow to understand the lyrics. This is crushing
tribal punk rock with a vengeance, a transmutation of anger into music. One
would imagine this level of energy to be the preserve of the rebellious
youth. Not so for the septuagenarian, and there is no denying that the
loudness option is consistent with the message, which doesn’t fail to draw
cheers from the audience. Contrast and nuance will have to wait. The
decibels go down a good notch during an atmospheric instrumental piece, a
quasi-concrète score that stood out stylistically from the rest of the set,
with strobing sound effects and a leaning towards the avant-garde. After
which it’s back to familiar territory with yet another irate rock item and
two encores, the first a heated western ride, the last a cover of Bob
Dylan’s “Mr Tamborine Man.”
Second Evening
Hurry Red Telephone Quintet. Photo by Daniel Dittus.
The Hurry Red TelephoneQuintet is a
continuation of 2005’s Spiritual Unity project inspired by the
music of Albert Ayler and initially comprising of Roy Campbell on trumpet,
Chad Taylor on drums and a recently rediscovered and
erstwhile Ayler colleague Henry Grimes on bass, later a trio without
Campbell after the brass man’s passing in 2014. On bass,
Hilliard Greene
bears a physical resemblance to Grimes, down to wearing a sweat band and
showcasing a similarly unconventional, forceful playing. Greene is the
obvious anchor for the group. The guests turning the trio into a quintet
are Mary Halvorson bringing a second guitar to the roster,
and James Brandon Lewis. Their blend of free jazz and free
rock involved poetry, acid-infused flights, shuffling rhythms… A
multi-stylistic brew akin to some Aylerian afro-beat. Hunched over his
guitar, Ribot kicks the gates of hell loose, before retreating to silence
to let the quartet riff in the aftermath of his release of molten lava. The
music is based on simple riffs and anthems, and a ballad has the sonorous
Lewis at his most lyrical. Halvorson’s guitar is oftentimes drowned in that
company. She makes the best of the situation and avoids entering into a
competition with Ribot. The intensity increases as the show goes on and
Coltrane's "Sunship" is delivered in a rapid-fire unruly version. A
thunderous drum solo has everybody, on and off stage, turn their eyes
towards Taylor. Here’s hoping for a studio or live recording.
Red Lily Quintet. Photo by Daniel Dittus.
It’s James Brandon Lewis’ night as he plays two sets and
heads one, which takes some stamina – and he has in it spades. The presence
of the Red Lily Quintet, on its third date of a 14-shows
tour of Europe, makes sense as Lewis is an occasional guest of Ribot, on
Songs of Resistance and Ceramic Dog’s Connection. The
Quintet performs material from the To Mahalia, With Love album.
Mahalia Jackson’s exaggerated vocals and god-fearing repertoire isn’t my
cup of bourbon, but the hefty tenor’s take manages to make the – mercifully
wordless – gospel songs a joy to listen to, unlike the original versions
bathed in none-too-subtle Hollywood strings. Focusing on the spirit rather
than the letter, Lewis and the band deliver acoustic jazz of the highest
order, like they did when opening the 2024 edition of the Jazz em Agosto
festival. A change in the line-up has Lily Glick Finnegan
on drums instead of Chad Taylor, bringing the band to three women (with
Tomeka Reid on cello and Silvia Bolognesi
on bass) and two men (Karl Berger’s disciple Kirk
Knuffke on cornet, in addition to the leader). After the revelation
that was Bolognesi in Lisbon, newcomer Finnegan also impresses, always
forging ahead. Maybe the closed rectangular venue had a different effect on
the band than the summertime outdoors amphitheater, as the music felt more
compact this time, while retaining the same qualities such as the seemingly
effortless interplay between Lewis and Knuffke (who likes to growl and
quote from early jungle jazz), some inspired soloing and the delightful
communication between the two string players. It’s Christmas already and
the quintet takes us to church with a series of pieces often based on a
single chord or revolving around a single bass note or repetitive line. New
life is breathed into the spirituals, and the last piece exemplifies how
much music can be summoned out of the flimsiest material.
Los Cubanos Postizos. Photo by Daniel Dittus.
Los Cubanos Postizos’ material is culled from the band's
two albums from 1998 and 2000. The main influence is that of Arsenio
Rodriguez, from whom a good part of the repertoire is lifted, as seen
through the lenses and culture of a North American player, ever displaying
a biting energy, helped by his original cohorts consisting of
Anthony Coleman
on portable organ, Brad Jones on bass,
Horacio »El Negro« Hernandez
on drums and EJ Rodriguez on percussion. This show takes
place in the main concert hall, aka the magnificent Großer Saal
with its stage surrounded by curved and irregularly shaped balconies, with
peculiar walls reminiscent of beehive cells (actually
“10,000 individually micro-shaped drywall plates to disperse sound
waves”
, according to Wikipedia). The party-like music is well-suited to the room,
more accustomed to symphonic orchestras. Ribot delivers short and cutting
solos, interspersed with rhythmic workouts. This music never gets old,
these salsa reworkings already ageless when they first came out. The simple
and effective pieces are performed in succession, oblivious to the
applause. Ribot could have carved a career out of this style, choosing
instead to explore other areas and challenges, from contemporary to film
music, and a lot of sideman work. Every note emanating from his guitar is
trebly, dirty and undisciplined, but the overall feel here is that of
relaxed grooves, with band members clearly enjoying themselves. In the
higher mezzanines, a woman starts dancing, soon followed by other people,
which the music certainly encourages. A nostalgia-tinged piece is a
throwback to Ribot's playing with Portuguese band Dead Combo, live and on
record. Each note is loaded with either the blues or saudade. A
new crowd-pleaser on two chords allows the percussionists to shine, and
we’re sent home after “Horacio in Havana,” not played in 17 years.
Final Day
Photo by Daniel Dittus
The Listening Session opens the last day and is expertly
and quietly moderated by Tom R. Schultz, Ribot proving a more talkative
interviewee than Bill “man of few words” Frisell
[review of Frisell's Reflektor Festival (in French)]. This is a welcome bonus to the concerts, allowing to share a
moment with an artist listening to particular tracks on selected LPs and
telling anecdotes or explaining how they were influential to them. Unlike
Frisell, who focused entirely on U.S. records from the first half of the
1960s, Ribot chose a good chunk of records he took part in, or from artists
he was inspired by and collaborated with. Emergency of expression appears
as the common denominator here.
First LP on the turntable is an Albert Ayler record I had never seen
before, Swing Low Sweet Spiritual, a February 1964 Quartet
recording released in 1971. It was Ribot’s initial exposure to Ayler, on a
friend’s advice,
“Not pretty music but ritualistic and transformative, for the musicians
as well as the audience.”
A lengthy intro of exploratory abstract sounds and what sounds like a
harpsichord eventually lead to a free fanfare with shrieking saxophone and
hi-flying trumpet. The connection here is bass player Henry Grimes, who was
part of this Quartet, and was much later called on to join Ribot’s “Ayler
tribute band” Spiritual Unity, soon after Grimes reappeared on the scene
after having disappeared for decades.
Next is soul music with a proto-drum’n’bass rhythm, courtesy of a classic
track by Wilson Pickett, a carbon copy of the James Brown style of the
1960s, shouts and all. It’s coming from
The Exciting Wilson Pickett
LP (Atlantic), an album Ribot owned in his youth. He explains later playing
with Pickett, which he describes as “a violent man”, as well as
Eddie Floyd and Carla Thomas. Ribot talks about the structural closeness of
country music and soul, which is an interesting reveal.
We switch to the contemporary era with an excerpt from Carla Bozulich’s
Evangelista. The chosen song is ominous, with strings and
unidentifiable instruments, with a feverish recitation, somewhere between
Patty Waters and Patti Smith.“Political life in the U.S. has collapsed”,
says Ribot. “But we have the church of Carla, Iggy Pop, Wilson Pickett”.
On to Ornette Coleman Prime Time, a forever influence on Ribot, with a
track off the rarely spotted Of Human Feelings (why aren’t Prime
Time records reissued?). The hurried tune, both funky and out, evokes the
hustle and bustle of the streets of New York. Drummer Calvin Weston was
heard alongside Ribot in Zorn’s Asmodeus band (The Book of Angels vol.7)
as well as in The Young Philadelphians with Prime Time bass player
Jamaaladeen Tacuma and Mary Halvorson.
“Coleman was transforming pop music, like jazz has always done”
, finger on the pulse of the times.
Poetry comes next with an excerpt from the Hal Willner-produced
The Lion for real
by Beat author Allen Ginsberg. The track “Aunt Rose” has Ginsberg’s spoken
word coupled with violin and Ribot’s guitar. The weekend’s honoree evokes
both his Jewish roots and his deceased pal Hal Willner, a producer who
built a priceless series of thematic albums with stellar line-ups, covering
the songbooks of Marc Bolan, Charles Mingus, Nino Rota, Thelonious Monk…
Last but not least, Ribot chooses a song (with lyrics by Daniel Johnston),
“King Kong” from Tom Waits’ Orphans. Waits seems to be making all
sounds, from the human beatbox to the hallucinated preacher narration,
apart from Ribot’s funky licks and searing blues interjections.
The listening session:
Film music
Shadows Choose their Horrors. Photo by Daniel Dittus.
Jennifer Reeves' Shadows Choose their Horrors is a half-an-hour
black and white arthouse film that inserts silent-era film footage into
newly shot scenes of a fragmentary gothic tale that remained outside of
this viewer's understanding but involved poppy seed consumption and
vampirism. The images were built from various techniques and effects, such
as burning celluloid, scratches, short sequences in stop motion... Ribot’s
love affair with film isn’t new and it was a nice touch to have included
this side of his work in the program. He released records in the Film Music
series on Tzadik, contributed to many of Zorn's own Filmworks
(live and on record), scored feature films (France’s Gare du Nord
is one) and released an album called Silent Movies. Ribot’s
longtime friend and associate Anthony Coleman drew
harpsichord and organ sounds from his vintage-looking keyboard, and the
whole thing was on the exploratory side, enhancing the nightmarish pictures
on the big screen. No clue was given as to why Ribot chose this particular
cinematic work.
Thumbscrew. Photo by Daniel Dittus.
Thumbscrew has issued eight albums on the Cuneiform label
since 2014, up until this year’s Wingbeats. The program is titled
Multicolored Midnight which is the name of the trio’s previous
record. The generous set of complex, angular pieces proves gripping from
start to finish, and some of the jazziest of the weekend (swing is a part
of Thumbscrew’s equation), from the busy yet airy drumming of
Tomas Fujiwara
(who alternates with the vibraphone) to the warm, supple and unifying
double bass of Michael Formanek and the chiseled,
impossibly fast and spidery guitar playing of
Mary Halvorson, who used her trademark effects sparingly. All members contribute
compositions, without a trace of repetition or complacency. Hard to tell
which piece was penned by whom, with the possible exception of Halvorson's
tracks as some of the quirkiest compositions on display had much in common
with that of her Code Girl project – which both other members have been a
part of. The trio played without interruption or saying a word, facing
abundant sheet music. Their tense, focused faces indicated that this is
demanding music to play. And it is rewarding to listen to and marvel at the
ideas and execution. Like with James Brandon Lewis’ Quintet, Thumbscrew was
on tour, and the connection between Halvorson and Ribot allowed the trio to
fit nicely in the program.
Shrek. Photo by Daniel Dittus.
Two electric guitars (Ribot and Ava Mendoza), two
drummers (Ches Smith and Chad Taylor),
and Brad Jones on acoustic and electric bass make up this
revisited and revised version of two 1990s Ribot bands. The first tune has
Smith on piano, not a common sight. Rootless Cosmopolitans
recorded two albums, in 1990 and 1992. Ribot has lost the charts of the
material which hasn’t been played in 37 years, and tells us that this show
“took more work than all of the other shows combined”. Less famous
but just as interesting, Shrek was an immediate follow-up
to the Cosmopolitans, in an aesthetic continuum – rougher and with a
different line up. The eponymous 1994 album ended with a version of Ayler’s
“Bells” and their live performances had some material overlap with the
Cosmopolitans, as shown on a 1999 live release. The tunes are more
painstakingly arranged than on the recordings of yore. The once messy
downtowners are now seasoned pros, and Mendoza looks very serious indeed.
It’s a tight unit. Like with the Cubanos, Ribot didn’t continue working with
these bands for long, preferring to embark on new projects – until Ceramic
Dog was launched, which in retrospect is the band with whom he toured and
recorded the most. It’s rock at the core but letting other genres seep in,
notably harmolodic funk. Best of the set and likely part of the Shrek
repertoire, is a lengthy experimental piece, drumless, with grainy and
choppy guitar emissions like intermittent radio buzzing, or dueling guitars
throwing bursts of noise at each other, unlike the mostly song format of
previous acts. We’re in guitar heaven. Ribot didn’t have a chance to look
back on his past exploits before the Hamburg invitation, so we’re lucky to
be in attendance and witness the results. Some negative remarks are heard
from some in the audience as it didn’t sound a bit like the Rootless of the
past, but this reporter was instead enthused by the artful and mighty
update. More surprise awaits at the encore, with Ribot playing the E-flat
horn.
A few days after the event, a short documentary with snippets of music and
short interviews with the artists was released:
The 2025 series “Jazz at the Phil” will include Joe Lovano’s Paramount
Quartet featuring Julian Lage, Asante Santi Debriano, Will Calhoun on
January 30; Tyshawn Sorey Trio on February 11; Allison Miller & Myra
Melford’s Lux Quartet on March 27; and Art Ensemble of Chicago on May 14.
This album is not just a delightful listening experience. It is also an
important artistic statement. And it is so for mainly two reasons, both of
which amount to powerful ways of undermining the tiresome jazz/classical
music dichotomy. The first has to do with STHLM svaga’s very concept, once
again beautifully realized: to play jazz and free jazz music
quietly
. The second concerns the way the artists - Ron Carter, Roscoe Mitchell,
Archie Shepp, John Coltrane and Per Henrik Wallin - whose works are here
performed are taken: as composers, in a classical sense.
If jazz is anything at all, it is a specific musical language,
one with countless variants and sub-variants. And this is indeed a jazz
album in the sense that most of its main vocabularies are drawn from such a
language. Such vocabularies are, however, approached in an unusual way.
Unlike so-called contemporary classical music or free improvisation, for
instance, jazz has not been particularly noted for making the most of the
full range of dynamics. Most notably, there has been a tendency in the jazz
tradition to overlook its quieter end. As Alexander Hawkins puts it in his
brilliant liner notes, “many of us will have been in those jazz rehearsals
where the sum total of engagement with dynamics at all is something along
the lines of ‘let’s play that bit a little quieter’.” Now, the radicalness
of these exceptional Swedish musicians - Linda Oláh (vocals), Niklas Barnö
(trumpet), Gustav Rådström (alto sax), Johan Jutterström (tenor sax),
Rasmus Borg (piano), Elsa Bergman (double bass) and Andreas Hiroui Larsson
(drums) - lies precisely in that they deliberately restrict themselves to
such end of the spectrum, thus exploring it at multiple levels of nuance.
To quote Hawkins again, “[h]ere in this precarious state, a microcosm of
detail, expression and effort are magnified.” A case in point is the
opening track, where Rådström and Larsson approach Coltrane’s “Jupiter”
(from Interstellar Space) with the utmost subtlety, so that every
sound they emit acquires an extra level of significance.
Plays Carter, Plays Mitchell, Plays Shepp: this could have been
the structure of the title of a classical music album (think of, e.g.,
Volodos plays Brahms). And that brings us to the second point. Jazz
is, of course, a practice which demands a significant creative
endeavour from the performer, but, even in this respect, the difference
between it and classical music is one of degree, not of kind. (Despite
comprising a selection of pieces by William Byrd and Orlando Gibbons, isn’t
Glenn Gould’s legendary A Consort of Musicke more a Gould album
than a Byrd and Gibbons one?) So, ultimately, the main difference between
(Black musician-composers) Carter, Mitchell and Shepp, three key names in
jazz history, and, say, (White composers) Ligeti, Sciarrino or Nono may
well amount to a matter of presentation. Here, the former are
explicitly presented qua composers. (In fact, not just composers but
composers of specially commissioned pieces, a widespread practice in
contemporary classical music circles.) And that alone is a statement. (On
the other hand, the album itself is presented almost as a kind of chamber
music program, with the ensemble adopting different configurations
depending on the repertoire at hand.)
It should thus be no coincidence that at the heart of the album lies a
piece by Roscoe Mitchell, “Never Sound More” (arguably my favorite of the
lot). For here we do not simply get a reshaping of the jazz language
through the adoption of the aforementioned dynamic parameters. Rather, as
is often the case in Mitchell’s work, the very jazz/contemporary classical
distinction is altogether blurred at the idiomatic level.
Outside this cramped bar in Green Point, raindrops on the windowpane are
smudging green light from a neon sign: VACANCY. Inside, there’s
very little vacant space—but there is something missing. The internet
claims that multi-instrumentalist Daniel Carter will perform in this
rectangular venue on December 10. But he isn’t here.
The bartender has lank, shoulder-length blond hair and a grandmotherly
moustache. He doesn’t know if there’s live music tonight. He doesn’t know
what has been announced online. And he doesn’t know the WiFi code because
the connection is only used to operate the bar’s digital eToaster. There
are four imported beers on tap and twenty people in the building. They’re
sporting too-small baseball caps, too-big denim jackets and two-length
mullet hairstyles.
Truly, this is Brooklyn.
None of the bar’s patrons are Daniel Carter. The saxophonist, flutist,
clarinetist and trumpeter has been performing around New York’s most
populous borough since the early 1970s. Carter is also co-founder of
Brooklyn-based experimental label 577 Records. In 2025, he will celebrate
his eightieth birthday. Tonight, he’s allegedly playing alongside Stan
Zenkov (reeds), Keenan Ruffin (electric guitar), Zachary Swanson (double
bass) and Dave Miller (drums).
Eventually, we do get some music—from Brittlestar. This trio combines
Samantha Kochis’ various flutes with Nick Saia’s guitar and Asher Herzog’s
drums. Saia explores single-note lines for much of the gig, embracing a
percussive style that neatly fits Herzog’s busy playing. Kochis is hard to
hear but occasionally cuts through with trilling, north-to-south patterns.
The rusty door opens in the heart of the set and a slender figure, laden
with instrument cases, shuffles inside. Brittlestar is building momentum
now. In the eye of a growing sonic storm, Daniel Carter assembles three
horns and loops two neck-straps over his head.
When his instruments and collaborators are ready to play, Carter reaches
for his trumpet and stands slightly apart from the rest of the group. He is
glaring down at the sticky floor. After ten minutes, he attaches a mute to
the bell of his horn, plays three notes, then removes the mute and packs it
away. This opening section has a get-to-know-you feeling that gradually
opens up to something with more friction and provocation. Zenkov adds
fluttery techniques on alto saxophone. In response, Carter lays down his
trumpet and selects his tenor sax. Swanson’s bass is cajoling and alert.
Miller is judicious, keeping a low profile except to jumpstart the group
when the ebb and flow requires it. Ruffin is a shape-driven player,
tonight, who clings to solid sounds and structures for long periods.
Dusty, dark-orange light gives Troost a warm and almost molten character.
Carter seems to breathe it in and exhale it through his revolving range of
hardware. With the saxophone to his lips, he stares wide-eyed over the neck
and out through the back of the venue. He speaks into the gaps between
sounds. But how did he know those gaps would arrive? He strikes in the exact
same moment as his bandmates. But how did he know what they would play? Or
when?
Switch off the green sign. Daniel Carter is here. And like the
futuristic toaster behind the bar, he is connecting to something unseen and
unknowable.
This one was a long time coming. It’s been almost a quarter century since
the AALY Trio released an album, their last being I Wonder If I Was
Screaming at the turn of the century - and that’s not counting the
excellent AALY Trio/DKV Trio release Double or Nothing that came a couple
of years later. Surprisingly it’s also their first release as a proper
trio, with all of their previous albums including Ken Vandermark on reeds.
This absence is rectified by the maestro’s comprehensive liner notes in
which he charts the history of the trio and provides some valuable insights
into the forces and circumstances that shaped their path. The group is
famously named after the Art Ensemble of Chicago piece
“Lebert
Aaly…dedicated to Albert Ayler” from their album “Phase One”, which was
released at the end of their European/Paris period just before they
returned to their eponymous home city. The album was the first of theirs
heard by a young Mats Gustafson, and it made a hell of an impression, as
did said city and its music scene when he was invited there in 95’ by John
Corbett. Vandermark then notes that this trip led to the
Pipeline
project, and that subsequent tours and collaborations also birthed the
groups The Thing and School Days, among others I’m sure. On “Sustain” we
have the quintessential trio as of 95’, Gustafson on saxophones, flute, and
harmonica with bassist Peter Janson and drummer Kjell Nordeson. It’s
apparent from the music that the affinity and bonds the trio forged still
remain firmly intact.
The set begins (and ends) with a rendition of the Art Ensemble of Chicago
piece “Rock Out”
from 1969’s “A Letter to Our Folks”. The AALY version is lowercase but the
foot tapping rhythm of the original remains. Janson and Nordeson initiate
the rhythm of “W2” before Gustafson lays out the melancholic theme in
broad, hoarse lines. The bass and drums push to the surface from beneath
the snaking melody which closes the piece out in a wide, soulful vibrato.
On the Rev. Frank Wright song
“Your Prayer”
Gustafson switches through baritone sax, flute, and tenor sax as the bass
and drums writhe against each other. Audible yelps of intensity pockmark
the blistering performance as the trio lose themselves in a tempest of
their own making. On the next piece the group revisit the Ken Vandermark
composition “Why I Don’t Go Back” from their first release “Hidden in the
Stomach”. The track is an absolute dirge that strikes sparks from within
its darkness. The rhythm plods along, hefty and uneasy against great peels
of bellowing glossolalia, gradually winding down into a trickling blues.
“Cover Yourself” is a brief, exploratory improvisation that pits the
dialogue of Janson and Nordeson against Gustafson’s flute attack. The
ceremony is punctuated with harmonica blasts as visceral as altar bells.
The next piece is a performance of Norman Howard’s “Soul Brother Genius”
from the rare-as-rocking-horse-shit 93’ cassette version of his album
“Burn, Baby, Burn” on Roy Morris’ Homeboy Records (maybe Mats will dub us a
copy one day). Gustafson previously covered this song with The Thing on the
2002 album “The
Music of Norman Howard”. Here the rendition is resolute, the theme
carefully and dutifully traced in great, groaning strokes. The clairvoyant
dialogue that follows is such that I almost have no words, it’s just
incredible. On “Deepfreeze Pretend” the band pits tense vocalizations and
reed pops against sparse, pattering kit noise and pointillist clusters of
gut. The next piece “Egypt Rock” is an interpretation of the New Life Trio
song from their album
“Visions
of the Third Eye” which was the subject of a comprehensive Bandcamp
Daily review a few years back. The trio run the groove, sax and bass double
up on the melody briskly astride the surging percussion. Initially the
intensity of dialogue on the next piece “Dustdiver Kneeling” is forceful
and brusque, the players take turns throttling the improvisation. This
gradually breaks down and the trio settles into careful contemplation.
“Albumblatt. Sustained” builds up momentum from the outset, reed hiss and
simple pluck phrases, the drums roll in abruptly and it doesn’t take long
before the group is off on flights of heavy-handed playing. The album ends
with a second rendition of “Rock Out” - expanding on their initial reading
of the piece - with the funk rolled back slightly - the trio closes out the
recording in circular fashion.
Recorded in Stockholm during March of this year and released on the
legendary Silkheart Records (who also released the first AALY Trio album)
this one is a tour de force. The titles of the improvisations were inspired
by the writer and composer Sture Dahlström and the album artwork is by the
great Håkan Rehnberg, both fellow Swedes. It’s remarkable to hear what has
changed after all this time and what remains the same. The intensity is
absolutely still there, but the musicians have grown in ways that are
apparent to the listener. Perhaps their most crucial release to date,
“Sustain” does just that by putting the next foot forward. Let’s hope we
don’t have to wait as long for the next one to drop. Highly recommended.
When two chess masters meet, there is always great anticipation. What new
strategy might be employed in the game? How daring will it be? Similar
anticipation is understandable as one listens to tenor sax masters Ivo
Perelman and Ingrid Laubrock. The thought of two of the greatest tenor sax
players of the current day “conversing” with their instruments makes one’s
heart race faster. And on their album Duologues 3 Crystal Clear,
the conversation is full of brisk back and forths, complex interactions, and
great beauty.
There are nine tracks on the album – each imbued with a different
personality. Some of the tracks start slowly – like “Two” – the
introspective opening is like puzzling over a paradox during morning
coffee. The wandering and slipping about slowly builds until a bolt of
energy suddenly takes hold. From that point, the two saxophonists race up
and down their registers – Perelman with his wagging line and Laubrock with
her burning series of runs. Rest assured – no matter how frenetic the pace,
both musicians maintain a steady and pure tone – a feat enabled by their
tremendous technique.
On “Five,” the pair begins by testing the upper limits of the sax register.
Perelman then challenges with leaps that remind one of a mountain ram
jumping from ledge to ledge. Laubrock generates a jagged geometric
response. They climb together to a distant musical peak, living dangerously,
as if dangling above a deep crevice. Laubrock elicits her lines using
strong tonguing as Perelman slurs his way along. At the summit, the two
exchange elephant-like calls and then the piece winds down into a striking
resolution.
On “Seven,” Laubrock opens with quick note bursts and Perelman delivers
choice horn squeaks. Both follow with note series that stretch the limits
of their horns and their advanced abilities - rapid bursts that are beyond
difficult to play. The piece continues in a rotational manner – think of a
Ferris wheel losing its mooring and rolling hurriedly down a city street.
There are Calaveras County frog leaps before things settle down and
conclude with sustained notes.
And on “Eight,” listen as Laubrock and Perelman roll about. One can surmise
joint leadership on all of the tracks, but here it is especially noticeable
– the sharing of musical information with each other – deeply held talent
and technique converted to conversation from the soul.
On Duologues 3 Crystal Clear, one thing is “crystal clear.” These
are two musicians at the top of their art form, each using their strengths
to create panoramas and oceans of sound. Would that challenging complex
exchanges of expressions such as these could go on forever!
“Once I start improvising I just can't think about other things,” Herb
Robertson once said in an All About Jazz interview. “Improvisation, to me,
that’s what exists: when I'm improvising, it's music.” Rarely has anyone
summed up the essence of improvised music so succinctly. Now, sadly, the
outstanding trumpeter Herb Robertson has passed away. The downtown scene in
New York in the 1990s in particular would have been unthinkable without
him.
Robertson was born in New Jersey in 1951 and began playing the trumpet at
an early age. His high school music teacher introduced him to the music of
Miles Davis and other great modern jazz trumpeters and Robertson was
immediately infected by their music. As part of his early passion for jazz,
he dug into the history of jazz and studied everything from Louis Armstrong
to the avant-garde of the time. After high school, during the years from
1969 to 73, he attended the Berklee College of Music in Boston as an
instrumental performance major, a period in which his improvisational
skills became highly developed. He then went to Canada, where he was the
leader of various jazz and jazz-rock formations. But there were also early
setbacks: in 1975, Herb Robertson had to interrupt his musical career
because he had to take a break due to the constant loudness in the various
venues. As a result, he also changed his style and turned to more lyrical
and sound-exploring music. In the late 1970s, during sessions with Ed
Schuller's groups, he met alto saxophonist Tim Berne, a musical soulmate.
His groups in the 1980s brought him to the attention of a wider audience.
His lyricism, tonal distortions and use of mutes looked back to jazz's
past, while his freer improvising was quite futuristic, which was an
excellent match for Berne’s music and his emotional playing. During this
time he also met Mark Helias, with whom he was also musically connected for
a very long time. “I still love to swing. That is deep inside so I like to
go back and forth. I like to play through. I like to play lines. I like to
play lyrical, melodic lines on the trumpet,” Robertson said in an interview
with Fred Jung, and that sums up his style perfectly. The trumpeter
recorded his initial leader album in 1985, and has since appeared on over
100 recording projects. As a leader he began putting together his own
adventurous bands in 1986 and has recorded for the JMT, Splasc(h), Clean
Feed, Leo, Nottwo, CIMP and Cadence labels.
Of these more than 100 recordings, I would like to recommend a few
particularly outstanding ones. First and foremost his quintet recording
Transparency (JMT, 1985) with a true all-star line-up: Tim Berne
(saxophone), Bill Frisell (guitar), Lindsey Horner (bass) and Joey Baron
(drums). His first recorded album, Mutant Variations (Soul Note, 1983) with
Ed Schuller (bass), Berne again on saxophone and Paul Motian on drums. The
album shows what an enormous talent Robertson was and is an early proof of
his lifelong attachment to European labels. The same applies to Split Image
(Enja, 1985) with Mark Helias (bass), Tim Berne (sex), Dewey Redman (sax)
and Gerry Hemingway. He also had a long friendship with bassist Joe Fonda,
recorded on From the Source (Konnex, 1997) with Fonda, Anthony Braxton
(saxophone), Grisha Alexiev (drums), Brenda Bufalino (tap dance) and Vicki
Dodd (vocals). Of his latest recordings, Plain (Clean Feed, 2020) is worth
mentioning, with Simon Nabatov (piano), Chris Speed (saxophone), John
Hébert (bass) and Tom Rainey (drums).
Tim Berne said about Robertson: “Herb was my mentor and musical sidekick
for many years in the 80's and 90's. Every night was like a feature film
full of astounding moments of beautifully inspired insanity. (...) He was
really one of the few “true“ improvisors.“ May he rest in peace.
Watch Robertson with Tim Berne, Tom Rainey (drums) and Gregg Belilse-Chi
(guitar):
Marta Warelis galore. Let’s put it in this way, following the stream of the recent double review, courtesy of Stef Gijssels. Pianist, one of the aces of the uncompromised Amsterdam improv scene, member of Stichting Doek, Marta’s ongoing experimentation and research path drove her to team up with the likes of Ken Vandermark, Dave Douglas, Eric Boeren, Michael Moore, Mike Reed, Hupata!, Omawi, PolyBand, Edge Ensemble, Carlos Zingaro, Helena Espvall, Marcelo dos Reis. The subject matter of the review you’re reading is a project that sees Andy Moor as her partner in crime. Londoner, relocated for many years in Amsterdam, founding member of Dog Faced Hermans and Kletka Red but, above all, full time member of timeless legend The Ex, one of the last remaining certainties around. Guitarist, photographer and composer, he collaborated with Anne-James Chaton, Alva Noto, Thurston Moore, DJ Rupture, John Butcher, Thermal and Lean Left, the astonishing super combo with Ken Vandermark, Terry Ex, Paal Nilssen-Love. Recorded at Zaal 100, Amsterdam, June 28 2022, Escape sounds as the perfect blast ignited by the different influences and backgrounds of the two artists: anarcho-punk, free jazz, avantgarde, improv, unleashing seven grenades of sheer sonic pleasure. Being both the performers totally devoted to their instruments in a physical manner (is still vivid in our memory, the way Warelis was playing the interior strings of the piano…), the result is an ongoing, breakneck downhill, not monocromathic but rather offering a prismic, multicolored palette of sound. From Cecil Taylor-esque bad acid trip (Apocalyptic TV) to noisy atonal strumming (Commitment Keys, Highway Trajectory); from intimacy (Incunabula) and quieter mood (Thaw Bush) to mesmerizing, labirynthine treks (Maintenance Cabbage) and sinister, doom atmospheres (Imbue). Everything as the beautiful, umpteenth evidence that improv ain’t anybody’s playground.
Well into his sixties, Portuguese composer-bassist Carlos Bica has been on
a roll lately, releasing a string of albums that are likely to cement his
legacy as one of today’s foremost European creative musicians. Remarkably,
after leading the already legendary Azul trio for over two decades, Bica
was able to totally reinvent himself with two of his most adventurous
projects to date: the I Am the Escaped One (2019) trio and its no
less intriguing
Playing
with Beethoven (2023) quartet extension, both of which featured
strikingly original, unclassifiable music, notable for some largely
unheard-of timbral combinations. More recently, he has assembled a new all
Portuguese quartet, featuring three up-and-coming creative musicians about
thirty years younger - alto saxophonist José Soares, vibraphonist Eduardo
Cardinho and guitarist Gonçalo Neto. After the aforementioned couple of
albums, its debut, 11:11, may feel like going back to basics. And
yet it is another distinctive chapter in Bica’s trajectory: more than a
reinvention, a renewal, perhaps, and a most fruitful one.
Exquisitely crafted on all levels, you can tell this is a Bica album
straight away: a true artist, like few, he is able to leave his own
personal imprint on everything he puts out. Here, he has been able to
conjure up a world that is at once (profoundly) lyrical - somewhere in
between minimalism and romanticism, with something of a pop-like
sensibility as well - and (subtly) experimental, and, above all, where
every single note - actually, every single sound (and silence) - matters. A
world to which his young partners, while remaining fully themselves, seem
thoroughly attuned. (In fact, far from mere interpreters of Bica’s
directives, they actively contribute to shape it.)
Soares is both technically flawless - notice, for instance, his remarkable
tonal control, as he alternates between rougher and cleaner approaches
depending on what the occasion demands - and scrupulously tasteful, his
expositions being as compelling as his soloing. In contrast with his usually
more expansive playing, Cardinho here plays a primarily coloristic role,
with extraordinary restraint, decisively adding to the group’s unique
sound. And Bica seems to be have found a true soulmate in Neto: not only is
his kind of post-Frisell approach ideally suited to Bica’s soundworld,
namely to its more folkish strands, he really does seem to have a special
affinity for his broader compositional vision, even contributing with a
couple of tunes of his own, which sit nicely alongside the rest. (In
addition, there’s also a lovely piece by composer-pianist Carsten Daerr.)
As for Bica himself, he appears to be playing as well as ever, with his
typically glorious bass tone (truly one of the finest around, either when
plucking or bowing), as pensive as it is expressive.
Nobody here forces anything, and nobody ever hurries. Everyone listens
deeply and lets the music float effortlessly, displaying an altogether rare
patience and sensitivity. And although it does nonetheless have its
climaxes, such music doesn’t knock one out, but slowly takes one in, until
one is totally hooked and has no choice but to let oneself go and float
alongside it, too. All in all, deceptively simple tunes, haunting
atmospheres and nuanced interplay make up for a statement of timeless
beauty.
