Mites - nothing's gonna change (Alamut)

Mites is Grisha Shakhnes an "Nothing's Gonna Change" (dedicated to Derek Bailey, not that one could otherwise tell) is a set of three very rich, very dense tracks that border on noise (the genre) but have car more layers of detail and granularity and far less inherent aggressiveness than I've generally encountered in those climes. "nothing to say" begins quietly enough, but soon attains roar status, some 14 minutes of gravelly, guttural roughage, highly focused, making its way with the inexorability of a mudflow. The second track, "murky", appears to have been constructed largely of field recordings and features a wonderful, low rumble that burbles through hiss, crackles and watery sounding thuds and clunks. Again, the sonic space is fully occupied but the denseness doesn't cloy, the layers managing to maintain their individual character while weaving smoothly with each other. This cut in particular has a fine feeling of surge. The space opens up a bit in "change", a large interior area is suggested, along with automobiles and other less obvious knocks, voices, clanks. Again, there's a really nice forward momentum somehow achieved, almost a hurtling feel. Not sure about the Bailey reference, but "nothing's gonna change" far outshines most field recording-oriented work I've heard this year. Check it out.

available from erstdist


Arek Gulbenkoglu/Dale Gorfinkel - Vibraphone/Snare (Avant Whatever)

21 minutes (on a 5" disc) of in your face, coruscating whine 'n' clatter; strong medicine. I'm guessing the vibes in question are largely bowed or otherwise rubbed while the snare seems to be attacked in any number of ways. There is something of a form to the piece, the initial onslaught, wherein the screeching jostles with low clatter when both instruments aren't churning full bore, giving way to an area of clearer detail and less volume, though the character of the sound remains harsh throughout. I even pick up a hint of southeast Asian percussion here and there. As in the Mites disc, there's a fullness, one might almost say maximalism at work here, reticence jettisoned in favor pf plunging in the deep end and staying there. A healthy pendulum swing, no doubt, and this one scours the ears quite well.

avant whatever
(also available via erstdist)


Nick Hennies - Psalms (Roeba)

I could be wrong, but I get the impression that Alvin Lucier occupies a kind of sketchy position among the eai crowd, that a good proportion find him overly analytical, his music bearing too much of the whiff of the laboratory. I don't share this view, finding his work almost always fascinating on its own merits (often more than that) and providing a foretaste of certain branches of eai as well. On "Psalms", Hennies continues with his own Lucier obsession and I'm happy he has. The first three works, Psalms 1-3, are for vibes, snare drum and wood block respectively, share the same rapid, steady rhythm, evenly struck, allowing the decay of each stroke to echo, however slightly, to mix in the room. About midway through each piece, if I'm not mistaken, adds a very closely adjacent tone, creating a subtle shimmer (similar to Lucier's combination of sine waves with closely pitched percussion). Each is wonderful, obsession morphing into fascination. Hennies then performs an actual piece of Lucier's, "Silver Streetcar for the Orchestra", for solo triangle. It begins with the same tempo used in the previous pieces; here the variation is accomplished by the handling of the triangle, adjusting the position of the strike, damping the metal, varying the tempo, etc. The resultant swirling tintinnabulations are a joy to hear--perhaps the aural equivalent of cream-in-coffee eddies? He closes with a brief piece for vibes, again in the same general area.

A really enjoyable disc, especially for those of us who crave some, erm, Lucidity.

Roeba

Rebecca Joy Sharp & Simon Whetham - The Clearing (Gruenrekorder)

"Disarming" is a word that comes to mind, perhaps. A simple enough idea, elegantly manifested--record a harpist out in the environment, in this case bird-filled. The dangers are obvious and, I must say, my expectations were somewhat along Rhodri Davies lines as far as the likely music was concerned so that when I heard the decidedly melodic content and "standard" technique employed, I feared that the result would be overly cloying. I might say that it comes close to that sometimes but by and large, skirts that particular danger and ends up as a very enjoyable release. This is largely due to the reticence of Rebecca Joy Sharp (how many performer's surnames contain their chosen instrument?) as she, for the most part, leaves no greater a soundprint than the area birds (which make up the majority of the natural sounds). She plays delicate, tonal patterns--at times recalling Tilbury at his softest and most melodic, generally with a ruminative feel, advancing and receding in the flux. With one exception, her work seems to have been improvised, not imitating birdsong but attempting to blend in with it, just another bird. The exception is the fifth track where she plays a simple but lovely theme (her own, I expect, though I'm not sure), that reminded me a bit of the sort of thing Jarrett and Haden occasionally created in the mid 70s, as on the title track of "Death and the Flower". It's quite nakedly emotional, all the more enhanced when a strong rain shower breaks out toward the end. Some listeners, particularly hard core eai folk, might find it fey or faux naive but it won me over, softy geezer that I am.

A lovely recording.


Craig Vear - Aud Ralph Roas'le (Gruenrekorder)

A set of six field recordings, I guessing layered in from various locations though I've been wrong often enough about that before. They seem to be pure sounds, often aqueous in nature, with various manifestations of water churning against piers or boats or rocks or what-have-you. One often hears undercurrents of engines, low thrums that reverberate below the liquid, implying the earthen basin in which it lies. There's one violent track where, it appears, a massive storm erupts, overwhelming the recording equipment to a degree where distortion sets in. All of the pieces are crammed full, actually, somewhat agitative. In the end, though, they strike me as just thick, full field recordings. Not bad, but not commanding my attention or eliciting much fascination.


Petrolio - End of Vision (Gruenrekorder)

Petrolio is Luca Robba (drums, voice, laptop, samplings), Michele Spanghero (double bass, live electronics, field recordings) and Ugo Boscain (contrabass clarinet, piano), with Allen Scrigner appearing on the first two tracks, wielding "samplings". The music might be described as isolationist free improv in that a similar chill, bleak feel is in effect as was heard in more rockish contexts in the mid 90s (remember Scorn? Godflesh? God?). A subdued, slightly haunted mood is maintained pretty much throughout, the trio evincing and admirable restraint, but at the same time I found a certain dull sameness to much of the work and felt it lacked a spark or two and perhaps a few obstacles to surmount. Still, I'd be curious to hear more from them.


Strongly Imploded - Freefall (Gruenrekorder)

Yet another Italian trio, this time from Naples, with F. Gregoretti (drums), M. Gabola (reeds) and M. Argenziano (guitar, synth, electronics). After the claustrophobic feeling of Petrolio, the kind of scrabbling, old-timey (that is, reaching as far back as the 70s) approach heard herein feels open and, well, fun. Not that this sounds like a Bailey/Parker/Bennink trio--there's much more bottom, more oblique nods to metal and other rockish forms (perhaps even Last Exit)--but even at its darkest, there's a sense of the wide open. A severe grinding aspect is also often in play, the sounds seeming to be wrenched from the players' guts. If Caspar Brotzmann had a brother who hewed a bit more closely to his dad's ethos, he might be involved in a trio like this. Not my cuppa so much, but they do what they choose to do pretty well.

Personal pick of the bunch: The Clearing

gruenrekorder

Goh Lee Kwang - draw sound (Herbal International)

Gotta love a 3", 8 1/2 minute long disc with 98 tracks...or do you? Each cut is roughly equivalent, consisting of the sound of one or more coins being dropped onto what sounds like a smooth, wooden surface--their initial click and subsequent quavering rotations as they settle. It appears as though coins of differing weights and thicknesses are deployed as well as varying patterns of dropping. Humorously enough, track number 89 is performed by one Woody Sullender, though I'd be hard-pressed, admittedly, to differentiate his technique from Kwang's on the other 97. Still, there's something kind of fun about it--who hasn't had some degree of fascination with this very process, both visual and aural? You can even (I suppose) get into it to the degree that you begin to distinguish "good" tosses from ordinary ones. I found myself thinking that the last track indeed culminates with something of a bravura finish!

The disc is accompanied by a handsomely printed booklet containing 30 squiggly pencil drawings, presumably by Kwang. They're very loose and somewhat random within a general kind of form--not such a bad analog to the sound of the coins.

Fun recording.


Trio WPB3 - Poverb (Herbal International)

Despite AMM being a virtual wellspring for most of the music we hold dear, it's rare enough (and a good thing too, I guess) that a given recording really recalls that group. This one does, somewhat. I could almost imagine hearing the music contained here on a blindfold test and thinking it might be a Prevost/Gare/Tilbury recording from around the time of "The Nameless Uncarved Block". I'm not at all saying that Poverb is of the same quality, just that it imparts something of a similar feel, with a like appreciation for space, duration and large scale form. Like that era of AMM, where both Prevost and Gare weren't quite beyond an untoward jazzish burst, Heddy Boubaker (alto & bass saxophone) and Mathias Pontevia (horizontal drums [?]) also, once in a while, emit bleats and explosions that might better be withheld. As did Tilbury, pianist and object manipulator Nusch Werchowska often serves as mediator and conciliator, bringing the trio back into more considered realms. Overall, though, its a strong, cohesive performance, carving out the king of spatial block that few trios manage consistently.


Marc Baron - Une fois, chaque fois (Theme Park)

Richard posted an excellent, detailed review here that gets to the gist of this very intriguing recording. The sense of structure is indeed quite strong, a suite with certain recurring elements (the held saxophone tones) appearing almost like identical scratches in a set of otherwise obscurely related (if at all) slides. The identical pitches that end and begin each of the eight, 7-minute long tracks serve as bridges or, perhaps less than that, staples or hooks stringing the cuts together as, I suppose, the interior tones do as well, stitching within the frames. The field recordings--a woman calmly speaking in a Slavic tongue; steady state, dense white noise; odd scuffles; crowd noise; silence; automotive driving sounds, possibly in wet conditions; a baroque recording for flute and harpsichord; finally, some sparse, hard clicks (finger snaps?). Eight disparate sonic images then, perhaps "beds" in which to plant the same series of scant seeds, seeing how they mix, how they sound different given their "soil".

There's a fine calmness in play, almost a stateliness, the music moving at a slow, steady pace, allowing the listener ample opportunity to consider each plot.

I enjoyed it a great deal; something ineffable going on there, even something beautiful.

Herbal International

Theme Park

Another brief note, because I mentioned it earlier.

Had great hopes for this after very much enjoying "Remainder", but was rather disappointed. Beautifully written, no doubt, especially in the sense that "historical" novels (which I guess this qualifies as, more or less, in that it documents a few decades about a century ago) often lack--the prose manages to feel both entirely apropos to the period while retaining a contemporary acuity and degree of awareness. In fact, the first third is excellent though, even early on, I had a misgiving or two. You get a fine sense of a family (and culture) on the tip of the technological boom of the era around 1900 in England and McCarthy, subtly, hints at the implications. The second third, during WWI, also works well, but my main misgiving surfaced clearly, namely that the central character, for all his exploits and advancement, was entirely vacant, a cipher as I mentioned before. There's not much to him at all (would that the author hadn't seen fit to kill off his sister--she had potential!). This may be intentional, I've no idea, but as a character, he pales beside the lead in "Remainder" who while also, in a way, quite without depth, was nonetheless fascinating in his neuroses which somehow managed to "fill" him and cause him to seem whole.

The final third really drifts off and has a strong feeling of being tacked on. There's something routine about them (exposing a seance hoax, the Egyptian tomb episodes) and nothing that gives the reader greater understanding of either "C" or the period. It's almost as if McCarthy is seeking to have it both ways--to write a modernist historical novel. A tricky business that, not successfully handled here, imho.

A brief hello from pleasant (if fairly boring) Albufeira, to strongly recommend Jonathan Lethem's "Chronic City". Perhaps one caveat--it really helps, I imagine, if you're a New Yorker. The novel just drips Manhattan, quite consciously (indeed, it's a theme). But I detected a good deal of the Pynchon of "Gravity's Rainbow" as well, a similarly acute and carefully limned paranoia in play. Not to give anything away but, as much of NYC as is there, it's not quite the NYC we know and Lethem manages a fine balancing act therein, always skirting the edge of the overly-absurd. His best work yet, imho.

A few years ago, he showed up at Record Club, but it was one such meeting I missed. Still kicking myself for that. Three tracks were played by each that night (not sure why). Lethem's choices were The Coasters (What Is the Secret of Your Success?), Marvin Gaye (Goin' Home) and Biz Markie (I Need a Haircut)

Began Tom McCarthy's "C", which starts quite well...

Off to Portugal for two weeks...may or may not post from there depending on connectivity.

See ya later...

(wondering if we're primed for a Michael Pisaro backlash...)

Well, not from me at any rate. Despite the seeming flood of performances and recordings (more of the latter in the pipeline around here), I remain eager to hear more and have rarely, still, been disappointed.

Last night at Issue Project Room, three works were presented, three duo pieces involving Barry Chabala (electric and acoustic guitars, sine waves), Travis Just (clarinet, melodica), Tucker Dulin (trombone) and the intersection of 3rd Ave. and 3rd St.

The first set was occupied by a relatively early piece (1996 or so, I think), called "Appearance (2)" for clarinet and acoustic guitar. Before performing, the musicians had gone through some random-walk exercises to generate the main structural components of the work: the number of sections, the number of iterations of the material during those sections, the length of the silences between the sections and perhaps more. Those "sections" consisted of a soft, held tone (10 seconds) on the clarinet and four single guitar string strikes that occupied about the first five seconds of that tone. This was repeated however many times the newly created score called for and was followed by periods of silence that seemed to range from one to six or so minutes. The pitches changed for each section. That was it, running some 35 minutes. I rather enjoyed it, finding myself visualizing it as akin to lying on one's back in a large open field, gazing up at a cloudless, blue sky, every so often catching sight of a jet flying at 35,000 feet, sometimes off to the side, sometimes directly ahead, sometimes audible, sometimes not.


After the break, the pair returned with Just wielding a melodica (an all too rarely glimpsed instrument these days!). He had also hung a mic from the window overlooking 3rd St. For those unaware, Issue Project Room sits in an ex-warehouse on a corner that's not so frequently traveled at night. The music was made up of wonderful, drawn out "breaths" between the melodica and ebow'ed guitar, often in harmonies that (to me) evoked a hymn-like feeling, even with the slightest tinge of gospel. Lusher that I expected. The serendipitous exterior sounds, more often than not, were vehicular noise, tires on road, that had just about the same aural span as those produced by the musicians and, texturally, fit in perfectly. There were a siren and a couple of jets thrown in for good measure. The piece ("e la fora" was the title) was gorgeous, one of my favorite Pisaro manifestations yet, an utterly natural melding of instrumental music and found sound.

For the final work, "Ascending Series (6)", Tucker Dulin joined Chabala who, in turn, broke out the sine waves in addition to the guitar. Barry explained a bit of the score to me and, iirc, it involved numerous retunings on his part, attempting to match those of the sine waves which were largely in just intonation; the necessarily inexact match would, I take it, create interference patterns. Almost throughout, there was a throbbing bottom, electronically generated, often (for a Pisaro piece) somewhat loud, providing a steady weave. Chabala would layer in his guitar, sometimes subtle, others almost piercing, while Dulin periodically commented with low, smooth tones, several seconds in duration, fluctuating in pitch. I take it their entrances, pitches and lengths of stay were prescribed in a typically arcane Pisaresque manner. In any event, the sum effect of the work was of a large, complex, undulating creature, more soft and billowing than not but with sharp bits as well--perhaps an octopus. (!)

A fine evening--no sign of a backlash in these here parts. Can't wait to hear more of Michael's work.

Three recordings from Portuguese guitarist/electronicist Pedro Chambel, spanning the decade, that he was kind enough to pass along.



Pedro Chambel - Anamnesis (Creative Sources)

A set of four very beautiful, very spare pieces for guitar done in 2001 wherein a fine balance is achieved between recognizable guitar sounds and mists of hum and grit. Though differently sourced, I hear a good bit akin to what Toshi Nakamura and Sachiko M were doing around the same time. There's a bit of resonance in the room, making for a fine sense of concentrated isolation; one has the sense of a sharply lit area in a pool of darkness, dust motes aswirl in the air. Chambel is both patient and active, keeping the volume low, allowing for spatial ellipses. The last cut is an especially lovely series of cloud-like bursts, all haze and soot, a softly sputtering engine filling a field with ash. A very well conceived recording, a hidden gem in the Creative Sources catalog (# 4 in their lengthy series) that shouldn't have been overlooked.


Pedro Chambel - Bruit (Creative Sources)

As the title might portend, "Bruit", from 2005, is a more rough-hewn affair. The hums are louder, more forceful, the accompanying detritus strewn with more vigor. Again, there's an eerie parallel to certain contemporaneous things involving Nakamura, like the sun-spot track from "between"--not a direct comparison but something that came to mind while listening. Things are generally pitched mid-range and below with occasional guitar-ish sounds surfacing and, as on the sixth track, some low, ringing tones that verge on the spacey. But Chambel also evinces some really fine focus, peeling off layer after layer of a given sound-area, savoring what he discovers for a few moments, then digging further. I enjoyed the earlier one more, but "Bruit" is certainly worth a listen.


Pedro Chambel - Utpote (Fractal Sources)

I've no idea if the sequence in these three releases is in any way indicative of the path Chambel has taken over the decade but with only these as signposts, it would seems he's taken what he's learned in the interval and applied it to aspects of his approach from 2001. "Utpote" was recorded in June of this year, a single track of 38 minutes and an extremely focused one. The spine is a relatively high-pitched hum, more complex than appears at first blush, made up of some closely aligned waves, i think. Arrayed along its length--and the hum is maintained throughout the work's 38 minutes--are various scribblings, small eructations and tendril-like growths, often involving plucked guitar strings with minimal resonance. This imparts a kind of narrative feel to it, as though the hum is a single, almost featureless road down which one is traveling, encountering the odd, nearly nondescript event along the way. I found it quite fascinating, very unforced, very evocative.

All told, I'm quite pleased to have finally heard Chambel's music and very much would like to hear more.

[I only just read Richard's review of "Utpote" and I'm struck by the similarity of our appreciation... :-)]

Creative Sources

Fractal Sources

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!!