The interested viewer who knows anything at all about Gerhard Richter, that is, who has read his writings or interviews with him, is faced with something of a quandary upon entering an exhibition of his, especially one devoted to his drawings. There's currently one such at The Drawing Center in Soho, comprising about 50 works, mostly in graphite but also several watercolors and pen drawings.

Richter disdains drawing and all the adjectives piled on it since time immemorial: graceful, textured, felicitous, delightful and such. He resents and questions its relationship to art. He inserts a pencil into a drill bit in 1966 so as to eliminate human control over the marks that result. He scribbles and he copies photographs exactly, in the same month, attempting to negate the difference between them, to obviate any notion of beauty.

And yet.

One looks at these drawings and the overwhelming thing, the words that reverberate in one's skull are: This guy can fucking draw! No matter what he does, this extraordinary visual sense wins out, breaking past any barriers he attempts to place in its way. These drawings simply look stunningly beautiful.

There are 15-20 small graphite drawings done around 1999, about 8 x 10 inches, that one can't help but view as abstract landscapes or cityscapes (goodness knows Richter's done many a landscape in his realist persona) and to a one, they're amazing, could be looked at for hours. The variation in tone, the distribution of ultra-dark dots, often evoking musical scores, smudged grays, spidery lines and frequent use of erasures is just dazzling and extremely sensuous. They're all (I believe) horizontal, and often possess something of a horizon line, so that one sees essences of clouds, streetlights, grime, buildings, headlight halos etc., but in a kind of dream state, fractured, deflated or inflated, vaporized.

The four large drawings done in 2005, one of which is reproduced above, have a quasi-similar vertical structure, a very architectural feel, but also a vast amount of freedom, a strong sense that Richter felt free to introduce any element, any technique, that the underpinning was rigorous enough to support most anything. (More than once, contrary to, *ahem*, certain IHM posters, I felt a decided kinship to aspects of eai)



The watercolors are also fascinating, apparently created via the flow of thickly imbued water over smooth paper. He manages to keep things from muddying (no mean trick, that), resulting in a dense overlay of colors, almost foliage-like in effect.

But one keeps coming back to the drawings, reveling in the immense wealth of detail and the relationships between forms. There's an enormous amount going on in each; one stands there for 15 minutes looking at a single example and just sees more and more. So rich.

Perhaps the weight of art history simply overwhelms Richter, casting aside his objections, forcing his wonderful eye to the fore. No complaints from this observer.

Christian Wolfarth - Acoustic Percussion vol. 3 (hidden bell)

The third in a series of four 7" vinyls (white, this time); two tracks, each almost seven minutes long. "Crystal Alien" involves a pair of cymbals bowed simultaneously, essentially generating both a high and low drone, though each has its own richness and throbs at a different rate, resulting in a very engrossing weave. It's "one thing", just sits there and pulses, but does so enchantingly. The second, "Amber", retains the bowed cymbals, adding styropor (the same, more or less, as Styrofoam, I think) rubbed on a snare, providing another layer though I found I slightly preferred the former, liking the kind of purity achieved.

Good recording, in any case. If you've been following Wolfarth's journey thus far, you'll want this one.

Wolfarth's site


Kassel Jaeger - lignes d'erre & randons (unfathomless)

A more jaded listener than I might be getting a wee bit tired of processed field recordings as such, but I have to say my ears are still open. I try to think of them just as one daily absorbs visual information--that walk to the subway is the same each day, but wildly different and fascinating as well. Which isn't to say that all recordings like this tweak my pleasure center--they don't--but I've yet to be put off by the prospect of listening to yet another.

Jaeger recorded at various locations in Europe: Berlin, Köln, Paris, the French countryside. Near rivers, amongst pipes, betwixt insects. Takes these captures home and assembles mutant creatures. The sounds themselves are rich and lovely, often eerie in the sense of being just on the other side of recognizability. One can easily lie back and bask in them, allowing them to flow and gently, sometimes urgently, tickle one's dermis. Listened to more closely, in search of some kind of interesting structure or ideas apart from the sound, I don't get as much. Which concern may be entirely beside the point for Jaeger, all well and good except that it will make this particular release difficult to distinguish, in years to come, from others in its general field. Not an awful thing--and the disc certainly has its enjoyable qualities--but not so noteworthy either.

unfathomless

I spent yesterday in Cold Spring, NY, a quaint (in danger of becoming too quaint, but as of now still quietly charming) village on the Hudson, some 60 miles north of NYC. Walked a couple of miles further north of town on Route 9D, discovering Little Stony Point Park in the process, new to me, a set of trails occupying a promontory jutting out into the river, with dense, wonderful forest and rough, imposing cliffs. Settled down on a rocky bank, sifting through the ground debris, finding old iron slugs (Cold Spring was the center of artillery construction during the Civil War. The cannons were test-fired across the river, into the flank of Storm King Mountain--the highest point on the Hudson--denuding its face,resulting in the wonderful, craggy visage one sees today. Every so often, they still find unexploded ordinance up there, closing the trails), drawing, reading (Tom McCarthy's "Remainder"--great, so far), looking at and listening to the Hudson.

Eventually back into town, hooking up with Linda (who had decided to come along, spending the day reading by the river), having a fine dinner at Le Bouchon (veal ravioli and blood sausage for me--highly recommended based on this single visit) and then ambling over to the Chapel of Our Lady Restoration, a fine structure perched atop a bank overlooking the river, for a concert by Trio X (Joe McPhee, Dominic Duval, Jay Rosen), which had been organized by recently transplanted Jersey City denizen, James Keepnews.

Longtime readers will be aware that my knowledge of Joe's music goes further back, I daresay, than most, having first heard him in 1971 at Poughkeepsie High School, of all places (as it happened, the day before he recorded his WBAI album), meeting him via Alton Pickens in 1975, arranging for his first NYC concert at Environ in 1977, etc. I try to see him every two or three years, though I think it had been longer than that this time--the last occasion, I believe, was with The Thing at Stone.

I guess I've scene Trio X as such once before, maybe more. There was a show at Merkin Hall a long while back, a suite dedicated to Pickens that Joe had written. In any case, I'm not at all sure of their normal approach. Here, as I'm guessing that a good portion of the audience (which numbered about 60, filling the small chapel) were locals who hadn't a clue about Joe's music or post-Coltrane jazz in general, they may have modified and softened their performance (I talked with Joe beforehand but didn't get a chance to afterward, so I could be wrong). In any case, it consisted entirely of standards and Joe took pains to explain to the crowd about the history of radical revisions of same. So they went through "medleys" of 'The Man I Love', 'God Bless the Child', several Monk pieces, a calypso (Rollins?) and closed with 'My Funny Valentine'.

Now, clearly, this concept is not my current flavor of choice and I can't say I was entirely able to suspend that segment of my consciousness which was screaming out, "Why bother?!?" But I did try very hard to sit back and enjoy it for what it was and, doing so, found several very beautiful aspects. First of all, obviously, Joe is an extraordinary musician. He played soprano, tenor and fluegelhorn this evening, all of them beautifully and soulfully. I've probably only heard Duval live a half dozen times or so (including with Cecil) but each time I do, I'm reminded that he's got to be one of the pre-eminent bassists in jazz, someone who doesn't get talked about nearly enough. He was quietly spectacular last night. Rosen is OK though really not my cup of tea, especially in this context. Joe's sound is so rich and Duval's so clean that, in a trio format, I want to hear a "wetter" drummer, someone in the Phillip Wilson mode.

Some highlights: Duval began the set with what I swear was Richard Davis' opening bass line from Leroy Jenkins' "Muhal" as played by the Creative Construction Company, but perhaps I was hallucinating. In any case, it was lovely. Interestingly, while Joe kept things reasonably straight for the most part in terms of horn-attack, the one time he seriously ventured out into breath and quiet squeak territory, on "'Round Midnight", it was stunning and moving. At his best, he brings a true and harsh emotional quality to his music that most others in the field can only dream of. That they played the piece was interesting to me--when I first met Joe, at Pickens' apartment in '75, he played a tape for me, a solo soprano version of the song in which, as I heard it, he played around the melody, using acoustic negative space to somehow clearly imply it without ever touching on it. The other notable moment was at the very end, during "My Funny Valentine", Joe (on soprano) facing Duval (arco) and engaging in a heartrendingly gorgeous dialogue, a wonderful elaboration of the theme, soft and intense.

It was encouraging to have those moments. All of the rest was fine, well-played if not so different than one might have heard 30 years ago. The crowd was enthusiastic (Linda enjoyed it as well, given its relative straightforwardness and melodic content) but I'd love to have heard the trio take it further along the paths indicated by the above moments. Perhaps they do elsewhere.

I should mention that, at 71, Joe looks ridiculously well and fit, a joy to see that as well.

Chip Shop Music - You can shop around but you won't find any cheaper (Homefront Recordings)

There's a discussion going on at IHM currently on the state of improvisation which I inevitably thought of while listening to this release. Much of the focus is on "newness", also inevitable, and whether or not eai has reached a kind of dead end, if it's merely in temporary doldrums or if, indeed, there's any problem at all. I enjoy newness as much as the next geek and I'd allow that my real favorite music of the last 10-15 years has included that as a component (the oft-mentioned "motubachii" from this year is an excellent example) but it's also by no means a sine qua non for me. Richness, fluency of conversation, humor, solidity of conception, sonic depth, positioning of sounds in a complex environment--all these things and more can turn the trick for me, and this disc has them in abundance.

Erik Carlson, Martin Küchen, David Lacey and Paul Vogel don't redefine the territory of contemporary improvisation but they inhabit it thoughtfully and vibrantly. One salient characteristic here, as opposed to much in the field, is that the sounds are pretty much non-stop and always multi-plied; guessing, I'd say that at least three musicians are present at all times and playing at moderate volume. No stretches of silence or ppp. There's also the use, sporadic but often, of rhythmic kernels, sometimes thick taps, later on of a bell-like nature, that serve as knobby vertebrae on which to drape all the squeaks, rattles and scrapes. Within this, though, there's an overall semi-consistent texture. The specifics vary quite a bit and never sound forced; you get the impression that the quartet has a vast well of approaches yet feels no urgency to flit from one to another but will calmly (but intensely) dwell in one area for a while, knowing they have years to go to investigate others.

The struck metal, low pulses and high, keening sounds that occupy the second track, "the Great War", impart a somewhat ritualistic feel. If one were to quibble, I suppose the ringing metal might be thought of as too appeasing, too overtly beautiful, a convenient earhold allowing sanctuary from the other, rawer sounds. While I could understand that criticism, it bothers me not at all here, no more than the aforementioned parcels of rhythm. In portions of the final cut, "An Uncast Wind", those rhythms are more upfront, but they ebb and flow naturally enough to feel like welcome breezes, entirely natural. Special mention might be made of Küchen's contributions here: his saxophone, both breathed into and otherwise manipulated, blends in perfectly, supplying a ton of color.

Groundbreaking? Not so much, but I don't care. It's an absolutely solid release, every moment evincing intelligence and imagination. I could easily have listened to another 50 minutes, and more, of the same. Wonderful music, check it out.

available from erstdist

Well, this particular stretch of vinyl is hitting on some seminal items for me. First "'Coon Bid'ness", then Hendrix, now "Conference of the Birds" (I skipped over Andrew Hill and Billie Holiday, not thinking I could write anything remotely interesting about either, as much as I enjoy them)

But this was quite a revelatory release for me, I guess from the Spring of '73. It was recorded on November 30, 1972 and, even had I been far more aware of what was occurring in avant jazz at the time, I imagine this would still have come as something of a shocker. Holland, already coming from the entirely unreasonable dual association with Miles and the Spontaneous Music Ensemble, forged a rather unique melding of the avant garde with some hard driving tunes (along with other, freer investigations, of equal merit to me). I believe there was a five star review in downbeat when CotB arrived that made these points, doubtless spurring my purchase.

It was the first time I'd heard Braxton or Rivers, a fact that immediately sent me off finding everything I could by those two. A great pairing, two very different sounds, the former smooth and sinuous even when a-roar, the latter all grit, spittle and impending hoarseness. But more than that, it's Holland's compositions and the balance with which they're arrayed here that still resonate powerfully. Three of the pieces are post-boppish, each with exciting heads; the two freer works are marvelously knotty, especially "Q&A" with its wonderful resolution, unexpectedly on first hearing, to a delightful theme; and then the title track which is the unique piece, the sublimely gorgeous, folk-like melody, the exceedingly delicate interplay of Rivers and Braxton on flute and soprano and, more than anything, Holland's incredibly song-like work beneath and between. Concentrate on his lines sometime--utterly beautiful and free.

I posted the cover photo on facebook earlier today and received a few comments referring to this album as "perfect" and "flawless". Within the parameters of new jazz in the early 70s, I do think this is about as close as you get in some respects. I may love "Les Stances a Sophie" more, but as an entirety, "Conference of the Birds" is extraordinary--everything about it works, it remains exciting, the beauty hasn't faded. It probably goes without saying that, for my money, Holland as leader never again came close to this.

But I say that for a good many releases from this period...still not quite sure if that's nostalgia talking or if it's at least semi-objective. But, for instance, did Sam Rivers ever put to wax anything more impressive than "Streams" (1973)? Not to these ears. Braxton is at least a partial exception--I haven't kept up for a good while, but I know, for instance, that parts of "Willisau (1991)" are as strong as anything I've heard from him. But for so many, that late 60s-early 70s period strikes me as bearing unexpectedly and uniquely luscious fruit.

I have Holland's solo cello LP, "Life Cycles" (1983) a well and gave it a spin earlier. Quite lovely, really, also holding up well. Should get more mention than it does. When he indulges in his more romantic and folkish side, there's often great beauty to be heard.

The only other vinyl here with Holland as leader is his first quintet album for ECM, also from 1983, "Jumpin' In", with Kenny Wheeler, Julian Priester and a youthful Steve Coleman. I suppose it's fine (and I bought three or four more of this incarnation on disc in subsequent years) but it's tough for me to listen to now, too routine, too much a kind of avant answer to Wynton and that crowd, "Look--we avant guys can swing too!" Too bad.

Axel Dörner/Diego Chamy - What Matters to Ali (C3R)

Another wonderfully disconcerting disc cover...

Recorded in 2006 but sent on my Chamy after the more recent collaboration between the two, this set is "straighter", less conceptual, Chamy augmenting his spare percussion with mumbled vocals but no T-shirt tearing that I can discern. It's quite relaxed and very enjoyable, Chamy often meting out slow, regular stabs at muffled metal and drum skin, Dörner calmly investigating some of the more "normal" areas of his horn, though phrasing them in questioning aspects, almost swabbing at them. The breath tone forays are also serene enough, again tempered by Chamy's zen-like percussion. Nice recording, very peaceful and rich in its own way, worth seeking out if you can find it.

Perhaps contact Diego


David Grundy, I believe out of Cambridge, England, has begun a web-based label, Woe Betide, with three releases.

His own "Unbidden" has some unnecessarily defensive accompanying notes, perhaps aimed at listeners unaware of developments in the field in the last several decades. Grundy's work, at least as represented here, certainly falls well within parameters established by Nakamura and any number of other electronicists. Two tracks, the first of which, "unbidden", is a kind of harsh, layered drone which, to my ears, lacks the subtlety and richness necessary to fascinate; it fluctuates but not in a manner that surprises or excites. It does, oddly, wear rather well on repeated listens, one's ears accommodating to a degree, searching out hidden strands, which are there, if faintly heard. The second, longer (44 minutes) track, the unfortunately titled "Borne on the 4th of July", fares much better. It unspools quite naturally, the drones having thinned and spread apart, acquiring their own character (sometimes insectile) more as quivering tendrils than slabs. "Quivery", in fact, is a decent descriptor of much of the piece, as it sounds a-tingle with spiky energy while retaining something of a calm demeanor, no mean feat, like some one walking slowly yet about to explode. He does explode a bit, at least begin to effervesce...Nice work, makes me eager to hear more from Grundy.


Mark Anthony Whiteford is a 52-year old saxophonist, offering three solo pieces on "Zariba". The first is a brief but lovely sliver, breathy, somewhat reminiscent of that quiet Braxton track on "For Alto" (a piece that resonates still, lo these 42 years later). The other two cuts are far lengthier and incorporate radios, voice and electronics. "Radio Breath" is pretty much that, sputtering alto and subtle integration of radio (static and faint voices). It works well enough, filling up the space capably, one of those pieces that would benefit greatly from being heard in situ, I think, as opposed to on disc where the sound has room to spread out, but it's fine and reasonably engrossing here as well. "Blood" is perhaps a little busier overall (though with long quite periods as well) and somehow holds together less well for me, the sounds interjected carrying more of a random aspect. But not bad at all--seriously intended, generally well constructed.


OK, calling a disc, "The Cambridge Free Improvisation Society In Hell" is just begging for trouble. And the opening track, "hell", delivers--a pretty awful smear of instrumental whines and vocal groans, presumably illustrating the torments therefrom, something that should not have seen the light of day. Or hell. The group is actually just a quartet, though they make enough noise for many more--Grundy (laptop, recorder, piano), David Curington (oboe, piano), Nathan Bettany (oboe, xaphoon [?--ah! a bamboo saxophone, cool]) and Daniel Larwood (electric guitar). The second track fares better, a loose improv with wavering guitar and those oboes, relatively nice and dreamy with enough grit to get by; nice, quasi-gospel-y piano at the close. The brief duo with Grundy and Larwood is the highlight of the disc for me, a delicate piece hovering near "Moonchild" territory...The final cut sprawls somewhat, meanders, but not so unpleasantly.

Some ok work contained on these three releases, not nearly so difficult as they'd seem to like one to believe, more the work of younger (and not so young) improvisers finding their way. To be continued...

woe betide

I was 13 in 1967 and might have just been coming to the realization that there was more to music than the Top 40 as broadcast by WABC in New York. I was the eldest of five, so had no older sibling to, early on, educate me in the ways of more erudite fare. All this by way of saying that I didn't know about Hendrix when "Are You Experienced?" appeared. But my best friend Mike, a year and a half older, did.

I have distinct memories of going over to his house, on Croft Road in the Spackenkill section of Poughkeepsie, to listen to this album, to marvel at these utterly new--to me--sounds. I've no doubt that I latched onto the more overt, strongly structured songs therein, things like "Purple Haze", "Foxy Lady" and "Fire", though I do recall being entranced (still am) by the bass line in "Manic Depression". Other tracks were just strange--"I Don't Live Today", the title cut. But what stands out most of all from that time is how utterly baffled we both were by "Third Stone from the Sun". We simply couldn't recognize it as music! No real lyrics. Plus, at 6:40, it was entirely too long! I often wondered, years later, long after it was clear that it was merely pretty much a jazz-based piece (Mitchell being very Elvin Jones-influenced), if my reaction was similar to those who hear a bit of avant jazz or classical--that they just can't fit it into their existing mental framework of what music is.

Something that still sounds especially outstanding: the title track, the backwards guitar and that rhythm...man, so good.

Another reason Hendrix was so pivotal for me was the beautiful casualness of his vocals, the "ums" and "ahs", the laid back phrasing, the conversational quality they had, so much in contrast to the strutting, manicured vocals of 99% or pop and rock at the time (and now). As one who, early on, couldn't abide most rock singing and lyrics, this was rather refreshing.

So, when "Axis: Bold As Love" came out (early '68?), I was ready and dove right in, the title cut, with all its mystical warrior overtones fitting right in with my contemporaneous devouring of Marvel comics and Conan novels, swiftly becoming my favorite piece of music at the time. Though I think, within a short period, both "Little Wing" and "If 6 Was 9" superseded that. The latter's lyrics made a huge impression on me and still resonate:

I've got my own life to live
I'm the one that's gonna have to die
When it's time for me to die
So let me live my life the way I want to.

That a rock musician dealt so starkly, not so romantically, with death struck me.

Listening these days, I'm surprised how much of the album holds up, even the Noel Redding songs and despite all the bizarro stereo panning. The jazzy lilt of "Up from the Skies" still charms and "Castles Made of Sand" remains heartbreaking, with one of the loveliest, briefest (backward) guitar breaks around.

Mike and I had tickets to Woodstock. I should explain...As originally planned, the festival was to take place on two days, Saturday and Sunday, the 16th and 17th of August. We bought tickets for those two days, the idea being that my dad would drive us to the site (which vacillated from Woodstock proper to one or two other places before settling on Bethel, NY, some 50 miles due west from Poughkeepsie), drop us off and pick us up on the Monday. Festival organizers belatedly added a third day, the preceding Friday (my 15th birthday). Well, not having tickets for that day, we figured we'd simply go to the 2nd and 3rd day, no big deal. Right. By the time the dates rolled around, Dad wasn't about to go anywhere near the place so that opportunity passed us by.

Oddly, when we bought the tickets, sometime in May I think, the act I was most anxious to see was Richie Havens. A recent album of his was getting substantial play on the newly-discovered-by-me radio station, WNEW-FM and I loved it (and Havens' Woodstock appearance is, in fact pretty fantastic). But by August, it was Hendrix I was dying to see and hear. "Electric Ladyland" was released in September, 1968, but I have a feeling it took a while for it to utterly flatten me, probably midway through the next year. I'm guessing it was the combination of sf spaciness ("1983", etc.) and the, to me, new sound of psychedelic blues that killed. To this day, I'm not sure there's a finer 60 or so seconds in rock than the opening minute of "Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)".

"Band of Gypsys" came out in mid '70, I guess, "Machine Gun" being the cut that had the most telling effect. I think I was a bit disconcerted then at the drift toward soul on a few tracks, but chalk that up to the prog I was otherwise into at the time. I was working my first after-school job in September of that year, janitoring at a local church, when word came that Hendrix had died. Like an infatuated schoolgirl, I carved his name into a desk there, with the date.

When I traded in virtually my entire rock collection in '75, Hendrix went too. I don't recall if I had qualms about his inclusion or if, as far as I was concerned, he was "rock" and I wanted nothing to do with the genre (Beefheart didn't make the cut either, so you see I was being severe). Around 1982, we were on vacation in Block Island and I went into a small sandwich shop. "The Wind Cries Mary" was playing on the house system and I stood there, struck at how beautiful the song was, how elegant and simple (in the best sense) the guitar solo. I thought to myself, "I think you screwed up, getting rid of those records." and went out and repurchased them all, also getting the disc versions later on. Bought the Live at Winterland 2-LP set as well, a fine set, with as jazz-rocky a piece as he ever recorded, perhaps, "Tax Free".

Glad I did. I've listened to Hendrix non-stop since then, always deriving great joy.

Curious, of course, about what direction he would have taken. Jazz was a possibility (scheduled to record with Gil Evans the week after he died, Miles' interest in him, having shared the stage--which I'd kill to hear--with Rahsaan) though the album that was cobbled together to represent what his next releases would have been, "First Rays of the Rising Sun", is pretty weak. Cynically, I'm afraid he might have trod the fusion path.

Thank you, Mr. Hendrix.

What a record.

This was released by Arista/Freedom along with Oliver Lake's "Heavy Spirits" to a little bit of fanfare in the wake of their Braxton issues. I remember downbeat did a spread on them and mislabeled Hemphill's and Lake's photos, so for a while I pictured one as the other.

But..."'Coon Bid'ness". Has there ever been a greater, rawer, more in-your-face album title? from 1975, no less. I'm surprised it hasn't been expropriated by a rap group yet (maybe it has!) "'Coon magic!/'Coon Rhythm!/Buck dancing!" (from the Hemphill poem, "Reflections" on the back cover). When reissued, they lily-liveredly retitled it "Reflections".

Side 1, four tracks recorded in 1975, a sextet with Hemphill, Blythe, Bluiett, Wadud, Altschul and Daniel Ben Zebulon on congas (googled him--apparently been working with Richie Havens in recent years) all sinuous and riveting, punctuated by staccato blasts, funky and strutting while remaining abstract and difficult to fully grasp. They're all wonderful pieces but then you flip over the vinyl and arrive at...

"The Hard Blues". If there's a single piece of music that, for me, epitomizes the highest achievements of the post-Coltrane jazz avant-garde, it may well be this. Done in 1972, in St. Louis, with Hemphill, Baikida E. J. Carroll, Bluiett, Wadud and Philip Wilson. Back in Environ days, we referred to Philip as the "wettest" drummer out there (as opposed to overly dry ones like, often, Altschul, in fact) and he was never wetter than here. He and Wadud attain such a sublime, slow groove, right from the start, pure gold. Then the horns, sounding like far more than three, just strut and sing and bleed. That beautiful theme, so proud and sad. Hemphill solos first, marvelous enough, but Carroll simply kills, out-Bowie-ing Bowie, so plangent, so piercing. The horns mass again toward the end, anchored fathoms deep by Bluiett, and take it out with more of those machine gun strikes.

One of my absolute favorite jazz albums, ever.


Rarely see much mention on this one. Recorded in May, 1976 at La Mama. Must have been right near the time of my first visit to a NYC "loft" jazz concert which was also that month (have I written about that? Roscoe, Oliver Lake, Philip Wilson?). In any case, this is a good, fairly free duo (the four pieces actually written by Hemphill but played quite loosely). Wadud almost always had a melodic center to his playing and it serves as a nice anchor for the tendrils spun out by Hemphill, on alto throughout. Whatever happened to Wadud? Wiki yields no answers, though his son, Raheem DeVaughn, is apparently a fairly well known r&b singer. Some lovely playing by Wadud on the side-long "Echo 2 (Evening)". That entire cut is a good example of Hemphill at his lyrical best; really no one around then who sounded like him.


Lake and Hemphill always were intertwined for me, from that first downbeat article to the WSQ. I think WSQ was already in existence by this recording date, March, 1978, though I don't think the first record was out. I have a postcard somewhere, from 1977, announcing the debut of the "New York Saxophone Quartet", the original name of the group before they found out some other folk from the classical world were already using it. I guess a few people had done sax duo records already--I'm sure the Braxton/Mitchell one?--but for some reason this stands out as my initial exposure to the form. In the wake of things like "'Coon Bid'ness", and Lake's "Heavy Spirits" (as well as other releases from BAG members) I think, at the time, I was looking for more structure, more overt references to blues and found this a little too loose and meandering, but I must say it sounds pretty nice today, the pair twining quite tastily, with more than enough grit and non-overt blues nods to salt things nicely. Just goes to show.


Certainly, one of the great album covers of the 70s. Good record as well, a trio with Wadud and Famoudou Don Moye, relatively straight ahead and lyrical. "G Song", which closes the albums, is one of the loveliest country/funk/jazz tunes I know, Wadud just singing on cello.


Sort of a mini-concept album I guess an ok one, a quartet with Olu Dara, Wadud and Warren Smith, performing four pieces, Ear, Mind, Heart and Body that grow from quiet and lyrical (Hemphill on flute) to hard and funky. Still, there's something routine about it. It's 1980 and already you can hear some retrenching, some lack of resolve. It's sounding tired by this point, the funk on the last cut entirely unconvincing. Something of a portent, unfortunately.


Could this be the worst album cover in history? Could anything better symbolize the shallowness of the decade in the US, both in subject and in technique? Man, is that bad. Claus Peter Bauerle, that's the culprit. And the music isn't all that much better. The ensemble includes the then nubile Cline brothers, Jumma Santos (he who played with Hendrix at Woodstock) and, as if not knowing when to stop in spreading the awfulness, a bassist who goes by the single name, Steubig. Steubig. Just, Steubig. I have not the words. (Apparently, the nom de musique of one Steuart Liebig). Oh, and then they do needlessly rockish and bland renditions of both "The Hard Blues" and "Dogon AD" (I never saw the Dogon LP around; I remember looking for it but to no avail, dammit). I recall being quite excited seeing that they were both present here. Feh.


My last vinyl Hemphill, from 1988. Got his own disc, presumably via the WSQ involvement with Nonesuch, a 16-piece big band and, not surprisingly, the results are ungainly. Successful post-AACM big bands are few and far between in my estimation, the arrangements often muddy, rarely able to really take off on any kind of sustained, collective rhythmic drive. There are exceptions I guess (I mean in the sense, like this one, of being more or less in the Ellington tradition) but I always came at projects like this with a skeptical ear (mid-sized groups, say 8 - 10 members, fared far better, imho). The long track, "Drunk on God", with the words and voice of K. Curtis Lyle, works fairly well, recalling a beefed up version of Marion Brown's early 70s music with Bill Hassan. `

Followed Hemphill for a while into the 90s, as his health deteriorated. I remember when he had one of his lower legs amputated (diabetes, I think?) and Arthur Blythe used to substitute for him with the WSQ on occasion. Died far too young.

Thanks for some incredible music, Mr, Hemphill. 'Coon Bid'ness indeed!

Four duos recently released on Another Timbre, each involving a brass instrument.


Roberto Fabbriciani/Robin Hayward - Nella Basilica

Fabbriciani (bass, contrabass and hyperbass flutes) is a new name to me, someone from whom I hope to hear much more. Here we have five pieces with Robin Hayward and the combination of flutes (albeit low ones) and tuba is delicious. As with most of the music of Hayward's that I've experienced, this is serious stuff but it's never, ever dry. Instead, the setting inside the Basilica di San Domenico in Arezzo imparts a contemplative, even reverent (in a good way!) aura. It's almost all very quiet and, though extended techniques are used by both musicians, the listener hardly notices as it's the music that comes to the forefront. I want to say "European shakuhachi"; there's something of that here. Some ruffles in the air appear on the fourth track, a not unwelcome change of pace, but by and large this is as lovely a recording of paired winds as I've heard in quite some time. Strongly recommended.


Angharad Davies/Axel Dörner - A.D.

Interesting to compare this one to the above. While both are improvised, "Nella Basilica" has a more considered, thought-out feel; perhaps due to Fabbriciani's history in contemporary music. "A.D." carries, for me, more the sensation of a "standard" (not meant in a demeaning way) eai collaboration, a bit less centered on a given area, more spur of the moment. That doesn't mean better or worse, of course, just intriguingly different when heard side by side. Texturally, it's also raspier, sandier, more plosive. Three pieces, each between 13 and 15 minutes long, quiet with the occasional slightly less quiet interruption, much space, sustained passages mixing with pointillistic ones. Dörner is largely in "breath sounds" mode though not always; similarly Davies lingers on the softly bowed, whether strings or, one suspects, other parts of the violin. While, on the whole, the set is pretty much along the lines of what I would have expected going in and while nothing I heard startled me (in a good way), I enjoyed it pretty well, would have liked to have seen them perform.


Carl Ludwig Hübsch/Christoph Schiller - Giles U.

Tuba and spinet, from two musicians new to me [I take that back; Schiller is involved with Millefleurs on Creative Sources, which I'd heard]. I confess to having had only a vague idea exactly what a spinet is. While it can refer to any of several smaller keyboard, it seems to most commonly describe a mini-harpsichord, which is the case here. Not surprisingly, Schiller avails himself of extended techniques, but the tingly nature of the beast yet emerges. When, as on about half the disc, they get more active, the spinet janglier, I lose interest. When the maintain a calmer course, stretching things out, it's fairly attractive music, the unusual combination tickling the ears (Hübsch tending toward the higher reaches of the tuba). Even so, those portions don't really excite me, are only mildly satisfying. I needed more in the way of ideas here.


Mathias Forge/Olivier Toulemonde - Pie 'n' Mash

Finally, trombone and "acoustic objects", a single live track, and a very rewarding one. Forge sticks largely to breath tones and other non-trombonely sounds while Toulemonde excites objects in a largely unquantifiable manner, though one guess at some things like rolled marbles. It all works wonderfully. It's interesting, listening to four releases like these that have a certain amount in common, which ones work better (for different reasons) and trying to quantify why this is so. As ever, it comes back to the sensitivity of the musicians involved and how that matches up to the listener's own. In the case of "Pie 'n' Mash", the unusual thing for this listener's proclivities is that the music is at once quite active, even intensely so, yet never feels busy or rushed, as though that particular level of percolation fits perfectly and naturally. It's fairly quiet and not at all strident, which helps. There's also, as I find to be the case with much music in this general area that I end up enjoying, a real sense of air around the sounds, a depth to them, as when Forge's airy blasts whoosh through the aural space, from back to front while Toulemonde's skitterings weave on a diagonal between them. Well, that's the best I can do, anyway. Strong recording.

Another Timbre is available through Squidco

Not that I keep rigorous track of such things, but if asked, "What was the quietest concert you've ever experienced?" I probably would have gone with Sean Meehhan/Toshi Nakamura a few years back at ABCNoRio, and event in fact made somewhat less quiet by the contributions of my intestinal tract, which were salient (I recall Steve Smith's immortal post-concert comment, "I thought this was a duo show not a trio."). All that is by the boards after last evening's performance, however. As an extra bonus, it was also very, very good.

At the same venue as his 6/30 show, a chapel room behind St. Marks Church on 2nd Ave. and 10th St., Barry was joined by Ben Owen and Dominic Lash for the realization of two works by Antoine Beuger, "un lieu pour être deux" and "calme étendue". The room is quite nice with about twelve foot ceilings, perhaps 30 feet square. There are three large windows behind the area where the performers set up; they were open, allowing the sounds of the city ready access. Upstairs, there is apparently a dance studio.

The first pieces was in several (six or seven?) sections, the musicians using slightly differing attacks for each. This was visibly the case with Chabala, who went from ebow to, pick and other means (including rolling something--a marble?--inside the body of his guitar, always very quietly but usually clearly enough heard. The volume with the ebow was actually low enough that the pure tones it generated jostled for prominence with the physical crackles made by its surface being in touch with the guitar strings. It was far more difficult to discern with regard to Owen. Occasionally, I could detect sounds--low hums, mostly--that I was fairly sure derived from his Mac but ore often than not I couldn't swear that the faint sound I was hearing wasn't generated a block away. This was quite lovely. About midway through the performance, denizens of that upstairs dance studio decided they required a large ladder that rested outside the windows. Two of them ambled down the metal staircase outside, fetched the ladder, brought it back up with remarkably little clatter; one soon brought it back down. It was a very delightful swatch of "action" behind Chabala and Owen, a small playlet. The piece took those sic or seven long breaths, each section lasting several minutes, then quietly evanesced.

Lash then took to the front of the room, picked up his double bass and positioned himself in front of a music stand, bearing two sets of scores, two pages each. Holding his bow in his right hand and gripping the neck of the bass with his left, he studied the scores intently, only his eyes moving. You had the sense he was absorbing a good deal of information and deciding what to do with it, which I later found out was more or less the case as Beuger's score requires the performer to make certain decisions before beginning. Lash took some nine to ten minutes to decide. It was rather wonderful; I wasn't quite sure if the performance would, in its entirety, consist of him studying the score. It didn't seem likely, but as the minutes ticked by, I wasn't so sure. Of course, in the meantime, one paid more attention to the ambient sounds of exterior traffic, car horns, talk and, most prominently, the thudding impact of stockinged feet from above, where the dance class had begun in earnest. And in the sort of miracle of serendipity that can happen when you open yourself up to this way of hearing, as we were trying to gauge the goings on, through the window, blurred as though emanating from some distant TV speakers, came that song from Willy Wonka, bearing the lyric, "What you see will defy explanation." Marvelous.

Eventually, Lash took bow to strings for several minutes, though more often than not the resultant sound was virtually inaudible from ten feet away. Otherwise, the merest wisps of sound were heard, short or longer strokes, atonal but not overly harsh. There were silences between these sections, several minutes long; at one point the volume may have risen to ppp. It was all sublimely calm. Even when the school above seemed to be intent on practicing much of the score for "Riverdance", this listener had long since accepted the general environment, content to allow the snippets of arco bass their place in it. Very satisfying.

Talking with Dominic afterward and examining the score, I found out that the piece's minimum length was 45 minutes (which is what we heard) but it could last up to nine hours. Additionally, each bow stroke had several determinants, including aside from duration and pitch, the length of bow allowed to touch the string. So, for example, one portion may have used three inches of bow for ten seconds, playing a given pitch with a certain attack at a specific volume level. Apparently, these bow divisions used golden section ratios.

The "almost-not-thereness", something that, to my ears, can be a slippery thing to achieve, was beautifully present for me. My stomach even cooperated.

A fine, fine evening.

Time for some LPs? Why not...

Except next in line on the shelf is The Harmonic Choir's first album, "Hearing Solar Winds" (Ocora, 1983) which I just can't quite bring myself to play. There was a time, I suppose, when the mere fact of overtone singing was enough to engender fascination but that's long since gone and the overtly New Age aspects of this particular recording, at least in my memory, argue against its time on the turntable now.

Oddly, I feel the same, of course for different reasons, with regard to the four Craig Harris albums I own: "Aboriginal Affairs" (India Navigation, 1983), "Tributes" (OTC, @1985), "Shelter" (JMT, 1987) and "Black Out in the Square Root of Soul" (JMT, 1988). I think I first saw/heard Harris with Abdullah Ibrahim, then Don Byron and David Murray, and was pretty floored by his playing, as were most NYC jazz fans in the early 80s. Saw him do a workshop with Benny Powell in East Harlem, as well, around '85. He was a fine sideman in a given context but as a leader/composer, I was never convinced, though I gave him four albums to do so. I pretty much know what's going to appear here were I to put them on and, eh, it will be tedious/sad.

But Lou Harrison, that's another matter!!


I was long past Jarrett when this appeared, in 1988, but had always meant to listen to more Harrison (still do, in fact; I've been recalcitrant). Two pieces, the Piano Concerto and the Suite for Violin, Piano and Small Orchestra, the former with the New Japan Philharmonic (Naoto Otomo conducting), the latter with a chamber ensemble under the direction of Robert Hughes. I have no basis for comparison, but Jarrett strikes me as doing a good job here. The violin and piano piece is especially beautiful, utilizing very Chinese-sounding harmonies and lovely melodies. My sense is that the recording itself is a little muddy; be curious to hear other versions.


I have a major soft spot for this one. I've heard a bit more Hassell over the years but nothing strikes me as being as strong as this one. (Interesting--Jerome Harris plays bass on one cut, hadn't noticed that before). There are several portions, like that central, three note pulsing riff on "Charm" that resurface all the time in my head.


Wonderful cover. Good music too, though not as strong as the prior release, possibly due to the presence of Daniel Lanois?


Not sure how I came across this--Coleman Hawkins, Emmett Buzzy (trumpet), Billy Taylor, Eddie Bert, Jo Jones, Milt Hinton. Recorded in 1954, totally fine. You can hear more than a bit of one of the places Mingus sprang from. Not much more to say...nice stuff.

Have a Mark Helias LP as well, "The Current Set", don't think I can summon the will to hear it.

Next time, Hemphill!!

Thomas Ankersmit - Live in Utrecht (Ash International)

It's been a while since I've heard from Ankersmit. I recall, maybe 9 - 10 years ago, when I was writing for All Music, that he sent me a 3-inch of solo alto that I reviewed for the site (still there!). I think he may have printed only 100 or so copies and I like very much the notion that I could place it on such a site, on equal footing with the latest major pop release. According to the accompanying insert, this is his first full-length CD and it's a damned good one. Recorded in November 2007--I'm not sure if he was actively engaged in collaborating with Phill Niblock but it seems to me one can clearly hear an influence. Working with electronics and tapes as well as his alto (some of the tapes including pre-recorded saxophone by Valerio Tricoli), he constructs a dense swarming drone in some ways not unlike various aspects of Niblock's work. But with the drone, there's a ton of dirtiness, of sand in the mix, of harshness. Indeed, the electronic sputters that weave alongside the electronic hums and saxophone squeals have such a physical, visceral presence that I several times looked anxiously at my speakers fearing some loose connection or other damage. But those sounds play a crucial role in the first half of the 39 minute performance, removing the music from a simple, if dense, drone, causing a real discomfort in the listener, like sharp jabs to the chin. Riveting stuff.

Almost halfway through, it subsides into somewhat less grainy territory, full of keening and flutter, with some strong subsonics. It's less aggressive, but perhaps more alien-sounding; one can imagine a live situation with the various sounds engulfing the listener from multiple speakers. Within ten minutes, it's surging mightily, only to be lopped off once again. But back it comes, this time the drone is richer, more strident, retaining some grain but really concentrating on the "loud hum", sounding like bass vuvuzelas processed to remove some of the burr.

It's a powerful performance--glad to have Ankersmit back.

Ash International

Available from Forced Exposure


Axel Dörner/Diego Chamy - Super Axel Dörner (absinth)

I can say nothing more about the awesome cover and album title.

I've only heard Chamy here and there, notably on a DVD sent to me by Lucio Capece in which his performance, rather humorous, involved a video projection that wouldn't function properly, producing only a text screen on which Chamy typed his apologies and sought help for the "problem". There's performance here as well, Chamy credited with dancing as well as percussion and spoken word and taking pains to point out "that the sound that you'll hear on [sic] 8'51" of this performance is me ripping off my T-shirt." Duly noted.

Two tracks, a 10-minute one recorded in Dörner's house and close to a half hour live in Berlin. The first has a nice concision to it, Chamy's bass drum prodding, his words, in Spanish (I think), remote, somewhat muffled, Dörner sputtering, injecting pure, quiet tones. It's very airy, flows very well, with a gorgeous bells/muted trumpet.voice passage toward the middle. The second is, not surprisingly, more expansive but equally effective in its own way, beginning with what sounds almost like an announcement (one imagines, perhaps, a dancing accompaniment--elsewhere, one can discern footpads) before Dörner wends his way in with insistent, same-note interjections. It's bumpy in parts, at one point Chamy loudly sounding the bass drum, reminding me a bit of Milford Graves on "The Soul is the Music" ("Dialogue of the Drums", with Andrew Cyrille), eliciting broad, bent tones from Dörner. It meanders, but in an amiable, unforced manner, like a quiet amble with occasional conversation, attaining several points of quiet beauty. A fine set, would have loved to have seen it in all its quirkiness.

absinth



Hal McGee/Chefkirk - Nimbus (HalTapes, CDR)

It's interesting to me, in a way, that there are "areas" of free improv, outside of efi and such, that just don't connect with me. Often music (like that of College Radio below) that I hear as deriving from rock sources, no matter how abstracted, falls into this category. Harder to quantify is the sort of noise-making occasioned by Hal McGee (in my limited exposure to his work), here with "Chefkirk" (Roger H. Smith). They're each wielding no-input mixers but that's neither here nor there. The issue, for me, revolves around both the unrelenting assault of the sound (not in harshness, necessarily, but in constant "in your face-ness") and the elements the choose to utilize. The first is easier to get a handle on: my preference is for a more considered approach, generally. I have nothing against going all out, balls to the walls but if you're going to do so, you'd better be pretty damn confident about it. I don't get that sense of confidence here (or, because things are never this simple, any sense of self-doubt either, which could similarly work in an assaultive piece, I imagine). Then there are the sounds themselves. It's probably my failing, but there are simply certain "types" of electronically generated sound that set my teeth on edge, my physical as well as mental teeth. Loopy, "ray gun" effects are one of these. There's a lot of that here. I also pick up a kind of flatness;m as active as the disc is--and it's nothing if not active--not much in the way of aural depth registers to me.

Curious if others hear this differently. Perhaps unfairly, I often found myself thinking of the loud track from Rowe/Nakamura's "between", which might be said to bear superficial similarity to much of the work contained herein, but thinking how different, fundamentally, that music is. Opposing opinions welcomed.

Hal McGee


College Radio - Six Degrees of Mini Wreck (CDR)

Two local Jersey City lads, Chris Landry (electronics) and Sean Kiely (square wave punch) doing thick, improvised walls of sound. Not entirely up my alley--the music, though without overt references, strikes me as a bit too rock-influenced generally, the pieces sometimes sounding like the more interesting portions of a noise or death metal piece, though within that sphere, it's solid and well crafted. The actual sounds chosen tend to be obvious ones (fuzz tones and other electronica we've heard often before) and they're thickly layered, constantly in play, so one has a desire to hear both a wider palette and one more thoughtfully deployed. But perhaps that's not what this pair is about and, listened to without eai-ish preconceptions, the work is enjoyable enough. You can hear for yourselves as free downloads are available from the link below.

college radio

Zbigniew Herbert/Robert Piotrowicz - Pan Cogito (Institutul Polonez)
Zbigniew Herbert was one of the most influential Polish poets of the 20th century though, I'm ashamed to say, his name was entirely new to me prior to receiving this fine 2-disc set. As I understand it (and I could be wrong), Institutul Polonez is a Romanian group devoted to Polish culture and enlisted Constantin Geambagu to translate Herbert's text, "Pan Cogito" into Romanian, where it was embedded into music by Robert Piotrowics and read by the Romanian actor Marcel Iureş (whom pop culture aficionados may have caught in the third installment of "Pirates of the Caribbean" as Capitaine Chevalle. Piotrowicz' music (mostly electronics and piano) is unfailingly engaging, whether abstract or more overtly melodic; it absolutely lulls you into a state of lush, mysterious beauty, perfectly mirroring the deep, sonorous voice of Iureş, possessing the same calm, intelligent urgency. I've no idea what's being said here, but I love the sound of it. Wonderful recording.

I'm actually not sure how best to procure a copy, should you want to (and you should). I can't find it listed on the Institutul Polonez site but perhaps you can find it through Piotrowicz' Musica Genera


Lasse Marc Riek - Harbour (Herbal International)

Probably just coincidence, but I seem to be encountering more and more field recordings containing the quality of insistency lately. Those insectile sound of Thomas Tilly were one recent example and this disc, apparently from docksides around Germany and Scandinavia is another. To be sure, there are subtler sounds in play, but the ones that leap out, here, are the brutal groans occasioned, I think, by the rubbing of large craft against wood pilings, boat whistles and the like. Perhaps we've (or, "I've") drifted along some continuum that's expected field recordings to concentrate on the small and thereby quiet, a needless constriction when you get down to it. Also, these are "unprocessed" which shouldn't pose a problem; were I sitting out on the piers, I'd likely enjoy it as much as the next person. But somehow, playing it back over my stereo, there seems to be a lack, an overtness that negates the sense of mystery one would have in situ and which might be recovered via some kind of creative processing. Hard to say. Or perhaps Riek and I simply have differing tastes with regard to sonic material we find interesting, likely more my problem than his. In any case, I found it tough to really immerse myself here, didn't smell the sea air.

Herbal International


Bill Baird - Silence! (Autobus)

A varied collection of work from Baird, an Austin-based artist who you might say, based on this release, generally stems from ambient minimalism. The opening track, "Slow Implosion", is a lovely, brooding piece featuring multi-layered French horn (Nathan Stein) and sounds akin to some work by Jon Hassell, though settling into an organ-y stretch that's a bit more glacially Glassian (!)--very nice. "Softly" has an overtly Badalamenti feel/ So it goes. One hears Fripp in "Cloud Breath" (again, quite attractive), more Glass (maybe a hint of Palestine) in "Surfing" (piano through delays) and then, well, Baird does a cover of the main theme from "Koyaanissqatsi". Yes he does. Gotta give him credit for balls and, truth to tell, he pulls it off about as well as one could, vocals and all. Some Eno here, Slavic overtones there (the eerily beautiful "Silence"). If the problem is an overabundance of influences, I have to say that Baird handles them very well; most everything here is a pleasurable listen. I want to hear more in his own voice, but perhaps the last track, "The Ringtail vs. Whiptail Trilogy", points the way--a field recording collage augmented with guitar. Ok, maybe a little Godspeed! sneaks in, but still, a very solid piece. Hope to hear more from Mr. Baird.

autobus

I just heard that Willem Breuker died, at 66.

I've written much of this before, but thought I'd do so again.

In late '77, I was working at Environ. We'd recently moved north on Broadway a couple of blocks from 476 to...535? I forget the exact number. It was on the second floor, a good-sized room. Looking at the schedule, I saw the Willem Breuker Kollektief had been booked. I only knew Breuker's name in connection with other European improvisers, a genre I was at the time not too keen on, being immersed in all things AACM and finding the plinkety-plonk end of things overly effete. So I kind of resigned myself to three evenings of the same and trudged wearily to the loft.

Well. The set they played, for all of about 25 people, was essentially the one documented on the BASF album, "The European Scene" (1975), beginning with Leo Cuypers' portentous chords on "Steaming". Unbelievable. I'd never heard that combination of tightness and freedom before, strung over one after another killer riff. I'd never seen that kind of humor in, obviously, serious music before. I don't think I'd ever heard that many strong players, one after another, in a band like that. Breuker, Van Norden, Raaymakers, Driessen, Van Manen, Hunnekink, Jan Woolf, Cuypers, Gorter, Verdurman. They absolutely blew my head off.

The second night, the crowd had doubled, many people having clearly been dragged over by first-nighters expounding on the event they'd witnessed. Robert Palmer was there, maybe the first evening too. There was quite the air of anticipation among the crowd. The houselights dimmed as the members of the Kollektief, in an unsteady line, slowly made their way, stumbling, toward the playing area. They bumped into one another, mumbled, grunted, stood around the instruments as though they were in alien territory. Some members lifted a saxophone or a trumpet, peered at it curiously, tapped on it, banged it on the floor. I think Jan Woolf crawled into the piano. This went on for about 15 minutes. I could see angered members of the audience casting evil glances at their friends--"This is what you said was so great?!?!" Eventually, on some discreet signal from Breuker, the ten members swiftly picked up their appropriate instruments and launched into a typical high precision riff and the game was on. I forget the set list, but I think it included selections that appeared on the '77 BVHaast release called..."On Tour"? I know "Potsdamer Stomp" was in there.

The third night, after an NYT review by Palmer, we had a full house, about 125 people. Another great set. They added on an event at NYU, playing at a Bartertown festival, wearing tuxedos.

Breuker himself, I always found a bit diffident and gruff. Other members of the band, notably Boy, Arjen and Jan were great, always enjoyed talking with them.

So, I became quite a big fan, scarfing up everything I could. Actually, I remember members of the Kollektief returning to Environ with boxes of LPs they'd found around town. I recall Rahsaan being a big favorite. I caught them every time they returned to NYC which was pretty much every two years for a while, often bringing friends who were otherwise uninterested int he music I listened to as WBK provided a fairly entertaining entryway.

They created some great music in roughly the decade 1975-85. I still think "In Holland" is one of the very best jazz recordings from the 80s and urge everyone to give it a shot.

Toward the late 80s, as Breuker steered the ensemble to more of a repertoire group, my interest began to wane and the last few things I heard, in the late 90s, were pretty awful, imho.

But I give huge thanks to him for some incredible experiences and a whole lot of wonderful music.

Thanks for everything, Mr. Breuker.

Martin Küchen - The Lie & the Orphanage (Mathka)

Martin was kind enough to send me an advance copy of this a couple of months back and ask that I write something about it, if so inclined, for the Mathka site, which I was and did. So I'll just repost that here. Suffice it to say that this is an outstanding recording, something everyone reading this should hear.

*****

It could be a walrus. Some very large, ungainly, semi-aquatic creature expelling air through a hole layered with tissue and fat and hairs. But then multiple apertures open at once and the creature just spouts information, chaotic from one angle, streamlined from another. Effluvia momentarily expelled, the beast lies down and breathes in short, percolating gasps, quiet but insistent. The pressure builds, however, surging in near-regular waves, causing the organ-walls to quiver, liquid to shudder, wind-drying them, forcing them to grind to a stuttering halt. Gasping again, more desperate and asthmatic, the inhaler partially blocked by fibers, the meager air whistling as it's sucked in, exhaled. At last, the whole bubbling, churning, motoric organism shifts into gear, half-beast, half-machine, navigating through viscous fluid, eating, excreting, copulating as it makes its way from pool to pool.

These were my initial thoughts on hearing Martin Küchen's solo album, before seeing the cover image! I was pleased that my imagery at least resided in the proper class, mammalia. Küchen's work had always connoted something extremely organic to me, combined with a strong sense of ground, of dirt and well-trodden floors. On "The Lie & The Orphanage", he evokes both of those sensations in spades, grinding, wheezing, gutturally rumbling with extreme corporeality and determination, eliciting sounds that, even in this age of post-saxophonic exploration, are startlingly new. Much more importantly, they read as true, as deeply felt expostulations, all building to the astonishingly visceral, multi-tracked finale. Strong, vital work.

Mathka


David Papapostolou - Sivom de la Droude (Authorized Version)

The perennial question--why some field recordings work (for me) and other don't. These do. I suppose these qualify as such, from the description in the sleeve: "Recorded in 09/2008 from inside a straight saxophone resting on its bell, or from a glass jar, placed in a garden, a car boot, a veranda, a window". One hears various, extremely quiet, ambient sounds: wind, obscure, soft crackles, faraway engines, airborne rumbles of indeterminate origin, people, all quite faint. Turning up the volume on one's stereo reveals much not heard at normal levels. But each of the four pieces flows, unforced, effortlessly maintaining interest and fascination. I love this one.

authorized version


Thomas Tilly-TÔ - Cables & Signs (Fissur)

And then there's this strange recording. Again, we're dealing with field recordings, here of the hydrophonic variety though were I not so informed, I don't think I'd ever have imagined the source being of an aquatic nature. Recorded in the moat of a castle in western France, what one hears for the most part is clicks--loud, regular, non-insectile-sounding clicks--and strident buzzes. Yes, there's the odd drip to be heard, some background rumble, but the main sound are these very non-organic series of clicks--imagine some plastic credit cards affixed to a bicycle wheel, being strummed by the spokes, the wheel being turned at an exceedingly regular, rapid pace. I take Tilly at his word in the notes that these are, in fact, natural sounds "produced by insects and aquatic plants", but I'd never have guessed it. Even when deeper buzzes appear, they sound less apian than Geiger. Strange world. All this said, how is the disc as a listening experience? Well, not as enjoyable as I'd expect, which is a weird thing to say if these are naturally occurring sounds--why should they be any less enjoyable than, say, wind? My sensory baggage, maybe, but even if I were hearing this in situ, I think I'd be trying to swat it away. But...there is something a bit compelling if you resist that urge, an alien kind of presence, just a discomforting one.

tilly

Distributed by metamkine

The International Nothing - Less Action, Less Excitement, Less Everything (ftarri)

I saw this pair (Kai Fagaschinski and Michael Thieke, clarinets) at Experimental Intermedia only a couple of weeks prior to this recording. I know at least one of the pieces here (they do play all composed music, btw) was played then ("Sleep!"), perhaps more. In any case, the overall feel of that evening and this recording is quite similar, albeit without the added spice of a naked fat guy. Very soft, a kind of agitated quiet where the reeds circle about each other in a fairly tight weave, tendrils escaping hear and there, always a burr in place. A couple of days later, I was walking down the street with a musician who shall remain nameless, mentioned that set and was told, "I hate that kind of stuff!" meaning: restrained, delicate, channeled. This music is certainly that but I find not a small amount of pleasure in that restraint, especially when it's combined with a subtle but tangible sensuousness as is the case with these fellows. There's an obvious joy being experienced by the clarinetists in rubbing together adjacent sonorities, bathing in the resultant overtones. Things are kept moderately tonal, though never sing-song-y, the plies of sound calmly allowed to waft over each other, to settle lightly. "Sleep!" closes the disc and is irresistibly drowsy. Good stuff.

ftarri
Available from erstdist


Berlin-Buenos Aires Quintet - s/t (l'Innomable)

Recorded almost six years ago, the two Berliners (Andrea Neumann and Robin Hayward) journeying to Argentina to perform with Lucio Capece (I'm assuming he still lived there at the time, perhaps not), Sergio Merce and Gabriel Paiuk. I don' know that it was the case, but there's something of the tentativeness of first meetings in play here, a reticence that's all the more palpable with as many as five people. One improvisation, very quiet and spare for the most part (with the odd eruption), but tenuous enough so as to evaporate every so often. One of those sets where the more intently I listen, the less I enjoy it, but if I sort of just let it waft over me, half-conscious of it, it works just fine. Not sure if that's a recommendation or not; depends. (!)


Tomaž Grom/Seijiro Murayama - Nepretrganost (i'Innomable/Sploh)
Bass and percussion (Grom is new to me), in a set of five pieces that, as does a lot of music these days it seems to me, straddle the efi/eai divide, sometimes effectively, always ably, but occasionally a bit dry. Needless to say, extended technique is foregrounded, though one never quite loses the notion that Grom is wielding a string bass. The second track is a good study in contrasting rhythms and textures, a kind of subtle beat ricocheting between instruments and modes of attack. But track three, "Tri", is my favorite, a keening drone piece with great textural richness and forward momentum, beautifully played and conceived. Other cuts get overly scratchy/scrabbling for my taste though, of course, efi aficionados will find it right up their alley. A mixed bag, for me, but I'd be interested to hear more.

all l'Innomable discs available from erstdist

Can't get enough of this. Phil Minton (with Veryan Weston on piano, I believe) singing "The Cutty Wren", an old English folk song.

While I was working at Environ in the late 70s, we had a deal with NMDS (New Music Distribution Service) enabling us to take LPs on consignment, attempt to sell them at the loft, garnering a couple bucks profit on each. So I made many a trip up to the NMDS brownstone at 6 West 95th St. I think Bley and Mantler lived there, though I never caught sight of them. The first floor was given over to the record distribution business, manned by two or three fellows at a time, including the late Taylor Storer and Kip Hanrahan. It was always an enjoyable visit, talking music with whoever was there, pawing through new arrivals, choosing what to take back. Hanrahan I recall being a bit diffident, but not unpleasant, often sporting a red-star beret, something I associated (wrongly?) with Mao.

That ended around 1980. Sometime in '81 or '82, I was making a routine visit to the J&R Jazz annex which, at the time, was located on Nassau St., a block behind City Hall park. Browsing through the new arrivals section, I came across "Coup de Tête" and said, "Hey! I recognize that guy." Picked it up. Talk about a breath of fresh air.

Several years before Zorn, Hanrahan was in full auteur mode (and with arguably better taste to boot) from the get go. Essentially, he'd use Latin music as his bedrock (Cuban more than anything else, but also Nuyorican, tango and others), melding it with musicians from the jazz loft scene (Chico Freeman, Carlos Ward, John Stubblefield) as well as some from the nascent downtown improv area (Arto Lindsay, George Cartwright), always with a heavy emphasis on bass/percussion interplay (here, Jamaaladeen Tacuma and Andy Gonzalez, later Steve Swallow, Jack Bruce, etc.) Plus, his lyrics were hyper-personal, raw and sometimes, on romantic pieces, told from the woman's point of view, the following a nice example, sung by Lisa Herman:

When I told you I screwed that other guy
I said it hurt
I wanted you to hurt me back
I wanted you to rape me
I wanted you to fuck me up the ass
I wanted you to hit me
When you could only sulk
I had more contempt for you than I ever thought I could have

Additionally, and crucially, Hanrahan had a decided romantic bent, leavening his mordancy with, on the first record, side-ending works by Marguerite Duras ("India Song") and Teo Macero (!) ("Heart on My Sleeve"). Merely having Teo Macero on the same record with, say, Arto Lindsay, was rather stunning.

There's a bit of a grab bag feel to "Coup de Tête"; one has the impression that Hanrahan perhaps thought this could be his only opportunity and threw in everything he could but enough of them are jewels that it's no big deal. Listened to today, the percussion just leaps out, incredibly vibrant and alive--Jerry Gonzalez, Daniel Ponce, Nicky Marrero, Orlando "Puntilla" Rios--these guys are just amazing. The songs are fine, unusually structured and lyrically arresting. fwiw, here's the AMG review I wrote some 10 years ago.

All told, though, "Desire Develops an Edge", the next release, is Hanrahan's finest. Issued originally on two discs, one an LP, one an EP, he expands on certain facets of "Coup de Tête", particularly the percussion and electric basses, adding substantial contributions from Jack Bruce (and how thrilling it was to see Bruce suddenly reappear in a vital context after, for me, some 14 years) and the great Haitian guitarist Elysee Pyronneau. One amazing piece after another, ranging from percussion and chant to rocking to, in songs like "Two (Still in Half-Life)", things really unique to Hanrahan. That piece, with its phenomenal intertwining of basses, wonderful lyrics ("no matter how softly we touch/we seem to bruise") and extraordinary tension and release when the cymbal rhythm kicks in, is one of my all-time favorite songs.

He followed this with "Vertical's Currency", a rather fine stab at something of a pop album, using a good deal of keyboards (Peter Scherer) for the first time, some more straight-forward melodic lines with the crooning Bruce. "Make Love 2" is indeed a song that, in a just world, would have been a pop hit. "Shadow Song", modeled on a theme of Mario Bauza, is a superbly swaggering large band number bearing, with delightful awkwardness, introspective, self-critical lyrics ("Why are these blues so attractive to my lovers/And arrogant to my friends?"). He's straddling a divide here, in dangerously slippery territory, but manages to pull it off.

Next, there's an odd entry in Hanrahan's discography, okay in and of itself but indicative of a disturbing trend that would proliferate in upcoming years. "A Few Short Notes from the End" is an EP, five songs, cobbled together from sessions of the prior few years--not bad but really with no reason for existing other than, I guess, to keep his name out there. There's a more rockish, far inferior version of "Two (Still in Half-Life)" and a few other nice pieces but it's pretty slight.

Around '88, Sting developed a guilty socio-musical conscience and initiated the Pangaea label, ostensibly to offer relatively creative fare. Steve Coleman's (pretty bad) "Sine Die" appeared here, as did Hanrahan's "Days and Nights of Blue Luck Inverted". It's a strange recording--far more romantic in overall tone than earlier ones, often to good effect as on the opening rendition of the rarely heard Ellington composition*, "Love Is Like a Cigarette", featuring a great vocal by the almost entirely unknown Clare Bathé (who, I discovered via You Tube, sang a bit with Lionel Hampton). But it's also, perhaps unsurprisingly given the label, far slicker than earlier efforts and, worse, occasionally settles into the kind of coolness, blandness even, that would come to infect a good bit of his 90s music (I wonder if Fernando Saunders, then just off the Lou Reed band, may have been a culprit). Again, not bad, just redolent of a "professional" air, a far cry from the percussion of "Coup de Tête" where the sound seemed lifted directly from the street.

That was the last vinyl of his I bought. The 90s output was intermittently good, often chaotic, usually a melange of sessions ranging over several years with little connectedness. Don Pullen would appear years after he died alongside pieces recorded contemporaneously in a song cycle derived from the Arabian Nights. The structures are rather dreamlike, but not as compelling as desired--one has the image of the auteur having spent too long locked up in his studio, trying to assemble the ultimate jazz/Latin/skronk fusion album, having missed other vital things having occurred in the meantime.

I should mention, in fairness, that Hanrahan's label, American Clave, issued a huge amount of spectacular music, including the first two Conjure recordings, Astor Piazzolla's first US recordings, Deep Rumba and more.

*You Tubing versions of this, I see it's by Jerome Kern. Have to check the LP at home...coulda sworn it was credited to Ellington there.