Glee spilled from Anthony Coleman’s fingers last night as he and his trio skipped around “Played Twice” the Undead Jazz Fest’s Littlefield hit. Terry Adams once told me that it’s silly to play anything that’s not fun. Marc Ribot recently told me that “fun is the only impulse I trust.” Elliott Sharp and Matt Wilson also had a blast bouncing through the master’s book. Which Thelonious tune brings out the giddy side of you? The question isn’t for musicians only. Record-spinning fans can answer, too. One of mine is “Coming On the Hudson.” Take it away…
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Here’s “Played Twice” – Team Coleman played it much quicker.
Both tourists and locals are in New York absorbing the wealth of jazz that swamps the month of June and seeps over into July as well. The Vision Fest has concluded, the Undead Jazz is kaput as of last night too. But the Blue Note Fest has a ways to go, and that means there’s a lot of shuffling around the West Village. Those who are also bopping through the regular clubs know that the everyday action is also quite alluring. This week alone there’s Noah Preminger’s group, and Gerald Clayton’s trio.
Yes, people talk as they walk, and yes, conversation is important. But I figured it would be nice to have a soundtrack for these 30 days (more if you include the 92nd Street Y’s Jazz in July bash, and I do), so voila: 50 tunes to chew on while moving from one jazz show to another. Load up your playback device and get ready for some present tense ideas; the pieces have been chosen to rep what’s happening around town right now. Yes, you just might get a taste of an artist with an upcoming gig.
All 50 aren’t in place yet. I’m adding more as you read this, and they will all be in the next few days. Actually, I’m stopping at 45 and looking for feedback re: the subsequent five. Hit the comments section and make a case for a 2011 track that I should add to draw a more complete picture of the current goings-on. I’ll chose the final songs from those.
It’s the kind of catchy deal that you’d use to kick off a mixed tape, especially if you were trying to woo non-jazzers. Josh Redman’s tenor has often had the clarity and thrust to tickle outsiders, and on this nugget, he and his cohorts work as one, bringing a pop sensibility to some meaty improv. At the Jazz Standard, June 16-19.
Some of the trio’s best work since the heyday of “Stompin’ On Enigmas.” The freewheeling approach that trombonist Ray Anderson, bassist Mark Helias, and drummer Gerry Hemingway bring to such blowing vehicles speaks volumes about their casual unity. Anderson’s mute and Hemingway’s brushes make it even more singular.
This time it’s two turntablists and Ron Miles’s trumpet joining the fierce guitar threesome. Here they take four minutes to fashion a soundscape that waxes random, but manages to scramble up a story anyway. There’s something wondrous about that.
The pianist is steadily refining his skills at free-flowing reflection, and silence just might be the fourth member of this judicious threesome. Here they balance every bass plunk, piano tinkle and snare rub against a perpetually looming question, “what will it do to our balance?” Dreamy and deep.
As the title implies, it’s a smooth glide with lots of unstated flutter. The Bad Plus drummer leads his colleagues with just the right amount of brushed beats, allowing plenty of time for Chris Speed and Brandon Wozniak to dance their pas de deux. At Littlefield on the 22.
The cellist has a knack for creating catchy ditties, and this riff tune picks up extra points because its attendant interplay and pithy soloing makes it richer than it needs to be. Win win, baby. Joe’s Pub on the 16th
With Strays, it’s usually the poignant melody that grabs you first, but here it’s the trumpeter’s tone shaking your shoulders. Teeming with the kind of verve that lets you know he’s thrilled to take this classic out for a spin, Stafford’s lines virtually gleam. Panache city.
The drummer’s sextet harks to the second great Blue Note era, the epoch that gave us Spring and Point of Departure and Components. In doing so, they concoct a curious chemistry, with Wooley/Bauder/Dingman gently reaching toward the heavens.
Folding yesterday into tomorrow, the remarkable trumpeter bends “I Don’t Stand a Ghost of a Chance With You” into an ethereal experiment that finds one band mate getting all laptopped on some of the sonic info. Romance in 1s+0s era.
Elizabeth Cotton’s forever disarming theme is picked pretty by the virtuoso guitarist. Wisely he doesn’t kill it with fireworks. Just a few single-note runs that imbue it with a ballet feel before heading back to the campfire’s glow.
11. Teo, Helen Sung, (re)Conception (Steeplechase)
Lots of accents and punch on an underappreciated Monk tune. Pianist Sung streamlines the angles, bringing Bud to the table more often than Thelonious himself. Clarity is one of her fortes, so the ‘round-the-racetrack approach is always nice and sharp.
No rhythm section in a music where rhythm is paramount: Coleman never fails to fascinate. Don’t fret groove fiends, the fugue-like approach to the horns (and Jen Shyu’s vocals) pops with enough kinetic energy to be deemed scripted polyphony.
13. One For Honor, Orrin Evans, Freedom (Posi-Tone)
When squares want to know how important a band’s rhythm section is, just spin ‘em this four-minute locomotive of a performance. Drummer Anwar Marshall and bassist Dwayne Burno connect in serious ways, virtually controlling the flow pianist Evans’ lines.
The wispy solo reading of the Philly Soul staple means the guitarist something in common with Prince. The Purple One also took a stab at the Stylistics’ jewel, though he didn’t give it as deep a mix of Fahey and Towner as Pat does.
Led grabs the soprano and shakes it silly, like the horn had the power to banish vermin a la St Patrick. The freebop highjinks he receives from his squad helps get the job done, but the punches he throws are the main reason this track tingles from top to bottom.
How often do you come across a dreamscape built on a bunch of jittery lines? The guitarist’s 858 Quartet is a strings-only outfit that conflates the usual tension and release dynamics to have both going simultaneously here. It makes for a charming disturbance, indeed.
Outcats looking in. Here’s the tenor saxophonist as his most lyrical, being fed by a couple birds who know how to be both buoyant and blistering: Joe Morris and Gerald Cleaver. Swingmeisters should know that the head-nodding has been sanctioned to begin about halfway through.
Several of the trumpeter’s phrases are shutter-uppers, full rebuffs of anyone who doubts the depth of his chops or the beauty of his horn. The quintet churns, wrestling with an advanced syncopation and providing its soloists with a shifting backdrop that’s both graceful and audacious.
It’s a sweet distillation of how prog ideas get put to use by the mainstream, a track that perhaps couldn’t have been born without Andrew Hill or Fred Hersch. The 27-year-old is reaching out to new ideas, and the flow of his trio’s counterpoint maneuvers is ardent.
It’s got as much propulsion as a Steve Reich landscape, yet it allows for some zigzag. That last part makes it jazz, regardless of how central the repetition is to success. Endsley’s trumpet has a regal vibe; there’s proclamation in his every aside. When it catches a groove like this, even the fluffed-off phrases become declarative.
It’s a vivid moment in a program of short sketches that remind just how captivating free jazz can be. The pings of the French bassist nudge the bursts of Berne’s alto into a combustible area. Everything seems elastic, pliable, rubbery. And each squeak accounts for itself architecturally.
22. Off Minor, Ellery Eskelin, Trio New York (Prime Source)
Nope, the saxophonist and his buds never get around to fully proclaiming Monk’s glorious head. But they sure do skirt the issue with aplomb. Gary Versace and Gerald Cleaver help their leader make this sage deconstruction as engaging as possible, with accents that feel like major statements, and slight-of-hand moves that lead the listener into the center of the ring.
The Youngbloods used to improvise a fair amount. Check their live “Ride The Wind” for an offhanded excursion that waxes breezy and wise. Saxophonist Udden works something similar here. A Rhodes is tickled, a banjo is frailed, and the boss’s horn glides through the air like a hawk catching the currents. Meet the most eloquent of the new folk-jazz heroes.
Here’s a chance to hear how supple the tenor sax player truly is. He rises and falls as Ben Monder’s strings and Daniel Humair’s drums support him with some floating. Reminds me of the way Air made hay with constant flow of implications rather than statements.
A prime example of chopped up rhythms fluidly dispensing themselves, making this nod to the pianist’s longtime saxophone partner simultaneously disorienting and graceful. A trio addicted to dynamics.
It’s a trio of drummer Billy Mintz and bassist John Hebert, and it’s the latter’s tune. But the blend of curiosity and calm from the leader’s tenor is what sets the tone. Whether he’s crawling around in the upper register or working a fuzz ‘n’ buzz down below, his trajectory is fascinating. And he’s not afraid of negative space.
It’s subtle burner that’s got the itchy phrases of Miles pieces like “Pinocchio” or “Madness,” but there’s little aping in the air. The vibraphonist sets up a more ethereal atmosphere, especially in the glowing outro.
28. Waltzing With My Baby, Roswell Rudd, The Incredible Honk (Sunnyside)
RoRudd at his most candid. RoRudd at his most sentimental. RoRudd at his most lyrical. It’s a duet with pianist Lafayette Harris, Jr, and illustrates just how many ways he can bend a melody while messing with texture. Impossible not to love the wahhhhh of his lines when he get his plunger on.
There’s a sweep to Mingus’ ode, and these two capture pretty damn well for a duo. Credit pianist Stacken’s rolling chords and cornetist Knuffke’s phat sound. And they punctuate all the right spots.
The fruits of freedom. Craig Taborn chatters while Gerald Cleaver rattles and William Parker bows ‘n’ moans. But these guys have places to go, and as eight minutes fly by, the textural and rhythmic tacks are in constant flux. Better, they reach a denouement that sounds like a conclusion.
The big-hearted trumpeter is a no-show on this section of his latest suite, giving way to Angelica Sanchez’s poised ramblings and John Lindberg’s adroit rumbles. It’s a poetic space walk, and if you’re jonesing for Smith when it subsides, just hang a sec: he comes in to scald on “The Majestic Way.”
Both the martial groove and the Prime Timey interplay give off a Decoding Society vibe, and like Shannon Jackson’s rock-tinged outfit, BFC bend and stretch their muscle music as a matter of course, even making room for a Derek Bailey TTFN.
33. Paraphernalia, David Weiss & Point of Departure, Snuck Out (Sunnyside)
Shorter’s jewel drifts an odd kind of way, but its inner-fierceness is nudged to the fore by the trumpeter’s aggressive quintet. I like the way they throw punches while still looking dapper.
It’s a freebop spillway and a very convincing one to boot. The Boston pianist has a reed ‘n’ bone front line steadily erupting, and the pliability offered by the rhythm section is almost outweighed by the vigor of its swing.
The way the pianist cuts up the usual phrasing of Strayhorn’s quirky nugget makes you rethink it to a degree. There’s a shuffle hidden there somewhere. Icing on the cake: It’s not often enough that we get to hear saxophonist Stan Strickland in action. His horn has a Hendersonian shape – as comfy as the playing is clever.
We’ve moved past Nick Drake and Rufus Wainwright. Now Jackson Browne is up for grabs, and the cagey trumpeter turns this milky plaint into a droning study in the way long tones effect atmosphere and how bravado can seem wistful. The outro is magnificently calibrated.
John Hollenbeck’s nod to Mr Brookmeyer is full of exactitude in the hands of the French big band. All sorts of high reed chirping (John holds Zappa close to the heart) and rhythmic eruptions make the melody steadily reexplain itself. I like the way it begins with “Theme From ‘Shaft’” guitar and surf drums and becomes more and more intricate from there.
I’m a bit dense when it comes to classical particulars, but I’m going to consider the opening statement a one-man fugue and the middle section a reverie that deserves to go on forever. I’d like to say that it’s all about touch with Taborn (he strikes the keys like few others), but that would short-changing the well of improv ideas that drive this piece and, indeed, the whole of the new AA.
Ravi Coltrane and the trumpeter/leader get their squiggle on in a wonderfully enticing manner as this kinda-sorta march (which I hear as a distant cousin of Ornette’s “European Echoes”), continuously picks up steam and ultimately proves that momentum comes in all kinds of meters.
Nothing wry about this reading of Piaf’s weeper. It’s piercing in the way that it renders the heartbreak of the lyrics – just ask Terry Gross; she effused over it during a recent Fresh Air interview with Ribot. And she’s right. The guitarist has rightly been applauded for his frenetics, but forlorn is a strong suit, too.
It starts with pianist Klein’s right hand forming a pithy pattern, and immediately opens the floodgates for pianist Goldberg’s interpolation of same. In less than a minute, with addition of reeds by Chris Cheek and Miguel Zenon, a full-force fugue is underway, and its phased phrases create a dizzying swirl. It’s like a downpour that comes out of nowhere in the middle of a sunny day.
A storm of post-fusion polyrhythms and inverted phunk grooves, it gives drummer Marcus Gilmore a lot more than “some.” Like some frenzied Weather Report track that was recalibrated to fit a 2011 set of manners, it shakes with anticipation of the future.
A sense of foreboding marks this ominous ballad, but the horn player’s pliant pitch – on eerie long tones and jagged roars – is a siren song that can’t be rebuffed. Shipp’s dark lyricism, especially potent here, fits nicely into such forays.
At first it’s a Phillip Glass exercise or an outtake from Nonnah if Steve Lacy was in charge of Roscoe’s session, then it becomes a children’s song, brimming with ha-has and boo-hoos. Brian Drye’s ‘bone, Kirk Knuffke’s cornet, Jonathan Goldberger’s guitar and Ches Smith’s drums (or kid’s xylophone in this case, I believe) have plenty of intersections on this one. Along the way it fascinates with a dedication to amorphousness.
Keep the freebop rolling, through the mirror over the water as HenThread might say. Joe Morris’ rural studio has captured the vivaciousness of swing and the gnarled articulation of out-cat adventure on this one, which combines Luther Gray’s splash, Morris’ walking, and the twisted trajectories of reedmeisters Petr Cancura and Jim Hobbs. Somewhere in the middle I was tripping off to Mingus’ “Lock ‘Em Up.”
THERE’S ROOM FOR FIVE MORE ENTRIES. LET ME KNOW WHAT TRACKS FROM RECENT DISCS BY JUNE-ACTIVE ARTISTS WOULD BE GOOD TO INCLUDE HERE! THANKS.
This year’s edition of the Vision Festival celebrates the high-flying art of Peter Brötzmann. The 70-year-old German saxophonist is known for the fierce power, textural extremis, and overwhelming passion that pours from his horn. From his early work in the late ’60s (the rad Machine Gun continues to turn many a head) to his recent Hairy Bones, the attack of his ensembles has been relentless. Uproar and polyphony mingle in his expressionistic aesthetic, and their combination has guided one of the most physical approaches to improvisation that jazz has ever heard (see the cracked rib quote below).
At the Vision Fest, on Wednesday, June 8, Brötzmann works in a number of settings. A quartet with his esteemed colleague and contemporary Joe McPhee, a duo with vibraphonist Jason Adasiewicz (“I do have a softer side,” he told me 25 years ago), and a quintet with Ken Vandermark and Mars Williams. (Vandermark has a great interview with Brötzmann here). He also receives the Lifetime of Achievement award and fulfills on a wish that he mentioned to me two and a half decades ago: “I want to play more with William Parker.” It was back then, at the famed Sound Unity Festival (Vision precursor) that the pair solidified their artistic relationship.
Brötzmann was one of the first musicians I ever interviewed. His FMP encounter with Andrew Cyrille, now available thanks to Destination Out, is a fave of mine. We chatted as he was making a swoop through New England and New York in a duo setting with drummer Han Bennink. It was 1985. The saxophonist was 45. His work was becoming better known in the United States, and he had just completed his first European tour with Last Exit (whose initial moniker was allegedly going to be The Sex Beatles). He explained himself very well back then. Here are several highlights, and perhaps a few of them seem wry given all we’ve learned about his work in the interim years. Have fun.
1. I think that people think I’m too serious.
2. We were just starting to get over the borders of the old jazz music. We had to break all the rules. It’s always nice when you find people far away from you trying to do things similar to what you’re doing, and for me, early on, working with artist from other countries was a great exchange for the music. Of course there was no money around for the gigs, but if we could get some travel money, we’d try to get ourselves together. We had the first important meeting of all the European guys, about 24 people, and we worked like idiots in the studio. At that time we all thought the same way, but personal styles were beginning to develop. We were young and we had to find out for ourselves. Nowadays if I listen to Willem Breuker or Evan Parker, I can hear how they’ve grown; it’s very personal. There was a time when I wasn’t so interested in playing with them, but now it’s a different situation. I could definitely get into playing with them.
3. Where is the border between composition and improvisation? I think if you’re a good musician, and I hope some of us are, the border is not there anymore. Because if you have feelings, and you’re able to listen to what others do, and if you create a kind of form – and it can be an open form – then you’ve got something. You really don’t know what you’re going to do in the middle, but it happens and it comes to an end and you have a feeling, “Okay, that’s it.” Opened, But Hardly Touched is a very free improvisation – I mean, we just started playing.
4. 14 Love Poems was very important for me. It turned out to be a special point in my career. There are always records that show how you’ve changed. That’s one of them. Playing solo is quite a challenge. If it’s working, it’s a nice feeling. On the other hand, I don’t want to do it all the time, because jazz for me is all about playing with someone, playing together. Jazz is an exchange of ideas. That’s what makes it interesting. Of course, [all my ideas] go back to Machine Gun. I don’t listen to my records, I just spin the test pressing and it’s over. But someone played me the early stuff recently and I was surprised how much I liked it.
5. I never had a teacher. I learned the stuff myself and from my comrades. My technique is not as developed as, say, Evan Parker’s, but music for me is being able to tell stories. Too tell the stories you have in your head and your body, you have to have a personal technique. If you come to place where the technique you have is not enough, you’ve got to look for more, so you can express the shit you want to play. If you look at the field of art you’ll find a lot of fantastic guys who didn’t have a lot of academic technique, but had a lot to say. Marcel Duchamp for example. He wasn’t such a great painter, but he was an important inventor. He made things. Each person has to tell their own story.
6. We had this gig last summer, we were rehearsing like idiots, learning many tunes. We wound up playing our asses off at the show, a very long and intense concert. Five minutes before it was over I felt this sharp pain in my side. We finished, got drunk, and I didn’t think about it anymore. But the next morning I couldn’t move. Went to the doctor and he said my rib was broken. I’d hurt myself earlier, and after all this heavy playing, it finally snapped.
7. I grew up in a bourgeois house, and I learned to hear mostly European (German) classical music. and at that time I couldn’t hear it anymore. I’d heard too much. Around 11 or 12 I started listening to jazz music like Kid Ory and Armstrong, Bessie Smith, and King Oliver. Not records – I was poor at that time, so we listened to Voice of America in the early years. That was my first information about jazz. Later, I opened up a jazz record club in my school. I played the clarinet in school, because it was free. I tried to do some Dixieland swinging; at that time in Europe was a Dixieland revival. At 15 I was also busy with printing and painting and graphics, and I had a feeling that was a big interest of mine. Later, when I was working for Naim June Paik in the ’60s, we felt that it was right time to change the music. Peter Kowald and I thought, “Fucking yes, the music has to open up, become more radical. We felt it, we said it.
8. Yes, yes, I knew that Han and I had something unique. I know a lot of his tricks, but he often surprises me. He had a gig for the Dutch radio, and he invited George Lewis and me and his Dutch friends. He installed a fishing pole in the ceiling and had a weight at the end, and on the floor in a circle were all sorts of sound instruments that he used throughout the years. The pole moved slowly during our playing, hitting the things on the floor. The sound changing all the time. These kind of things are fantastic. Han and Willem and I had a trio for a short time. Tough trio. Then I worked with Fred Van Hove and Han. Quite a group, and the money was there. We split because Freddie was in to some more quiet things. Now Han and I are working regularly again. Fantastic. Schwarzwaldfahrt was made during 14 days in the black forest in a van. If we saw a nice spot where the acoustics were right, we’d pull over. It was winter, it was fucking cold, but we enjoyed it. We’d talked about making music in nature, and how fun it would be. We played the river. A festival helped pay us for all that.
9. Whatever people think, I’m a jazz musician. And what is jazz without blues? Okay, saying that might sound funny because I’m a European guy. It might sound funny to American people, but I think you can have the blues in very different ways, and I don’t think that as a European you can’t have the blues. My god, no. You have them often enough. Listen to Bartok and those guys. They aren’t playing the blues, but they have their own way to express things. My thing comes from being German. You won’t find a guy in France playing like me. They’re good players, fantastic really. But they’re so fucking French. Everyone is a victim of their own environment.
10. The body is important part of my music. I like to go as far as possible with the music, my body, and my thinking – if action with all three fit together, that’s a good night for me. Sometimes when you give your all you think you might fall down. The brain is affected. I recently met a doctor, a guy who knows about the physical reactions of athletes. He heard me playing one night. He said, “I don’t know how you can do it; you put out more air than you take in. Something must happen in your brain.”
Recently had a great chat with Marc Ribot and Nels Cline. It’s the cover story of this month’s DownBeat magazine. We discussed composing to a piece of film, working in the pop realm, and dream projects. I also asked about the weirdest thing they’ve ever seen from the stage. It’s a fun read. A sizable chunk of the Q&A was edited for space reasons, but below is one slashed exchange that I wanted to put out there. I’ll try to post some more extra passages in the next few days. You know Nels is Wilco’ing at the Solid Sound Festival, right? And Marc is playing solo in the burbs and the Undead JazzFest, and dueting with Henry Grimes at the Vision Festival.
JM: What’s the better guitar freak-out: “Interstellar Overdrive” or “Whipping Post”?
Nels: Oh well, “Interstellar Overdrive.” I love the Allman Brothers, but I don’t think “Whipping Post” is a freak-out. I think Syd Barrett is one of the most underrated guitarists in rock, ever.
Marc: I prefer the guitar interactions on “Careful With that Axe, Eugene.” More subtle, but still gorgeous.
JM: Okay, better melody, Ventures’ “Telstar” or Lonnie Mack’s “Wham”?
Nels: Wow, “Telstar” is pretty great.
Marc: I have to confess my ignorance. I don’t know that Lonnie Mack tune. But I love the Ventures. One of my bands did “Walk, Don’t Run.” I liked the Shadows, too.
Nels: One of the first songs someone tried to teach me was “Penetration.” In California in the 60s you could see the guitars hanging in a rack display at the Thrifty drug store. You could stand there and touch them. They seemed magical. On Saturday afternoons they’d have concerts of cover bands on a flatbed. Big Fender Dual Showman amps. No mics on the amp. Beautiful.
Marc: Outdoors? I’m picturing real surf in the background. Venice Beach.
Nels: More like Culver City in front of a supermarket. But the sound was so exciting. Not punishing. That was start of my sound fixation. That and the radio.
JM: Kermit Driscoll says he has great photo of him and Bill Frisell wearing uniforms while playing in a funk band during the mid-70s in New England.
Marc: That’s brings us into another kind of conversation. Bands we did for bread.
Nels: I have to opt out on that on. I just worked in record stores and played music no one came to listen to.
Marc: That’s an honorable choice.
Nels: It didn’t seem honorable at the time. It seemed weak.
Marc: This is one of the dirty secrets of jazz in the metropolitan area. A lot of the people who tried to play bebop in fact supported themselves by playing weddings. It doesn’t make it into many interviews.
JM: And still do. Not at your age or your level, but many do.
Since the main thrust of Dylan’s canon has been the way he’s wielded words, it’s a bit odd that instrumentalists would be jumping into his songbook. But those Zimmy melodies are rather remarkable as well, and from Bill Frisell’s “Just Like a Woman” to Marty Ehrlich’s “I Pity The Poor Immigrant,” they offer improvisers some sweet turf to plow. Everyone’s celebrating the man’s 70th birthday, which takes place on Tuesday. Here are 10 jazz pieces to plop on your playlist.
Slave ships, chain gangs, bootleg whiskey – Dylan drums up a portrait of psychological decimation citing spots “where many martyrs fell” while burglarizing the melody of “St. James Infirmary.” Ehrlich salutes such incisiveness with one of his most passionate soprano outings ever. With guitarist Marc Ribot plucking along, the saxophonist goes for several deep moans, sustaining the melancholy and milking the sorrow.
2 “Dark Eyes,” Jewels & Binoculars, Jewels and Binoculars (Ramboy)
Michael Moore, Lindsay Horner, and Michael Vatcher get the prize for the deepest dedication to the Dylan songbook. From “Lay Down Your Weary Tune” to “One More Cup of Coffee” to “Sign On the Window,” they have turned overlooked nuggets into unexpected beacons on three distinct albums. “Dark Eyes” is a perfect example. Eloquence is everywhere on this genteel stroll through the sullen ballad. Somehow it finds beauty at each turn.
3 “Blowing In the Wind” Stan Getz, Reflections (Verve)
Every time it seems as if there’s nothing left to do but rubber stamp this ‘60s track as misguided hokiness, something about said hokiness becomes a bit more attractive. The soft glow of the tenor giant’s tone – full of air yet full of heart – balances the icky formula moves of the strings and the rhythm section. Commercial silliness with a heart of gold.
There’s a chill in the air when Zimmy wanders lower Broadway mumbling “I hate myself for loving you.” Breaking up is hard to do, no doubt. Pianist Saft, in a full Dylan program, lets bassist Greg Cohen do all the emoting on this Planet Waves plaint. And tempo-wise they take the title as an instruction.
Odd that she would use a slow grind groove to wax plaintive about being hemmed in, but then again idiosyncrasy is her stock in trade. It’s got the church, it’s got the barroom, and the depth of its blues reverberates in several key phrases (“every man must fall”). This album also features a capable take on “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues.”
He attacks it from the downbeat, like he can’t wait for everyone within earshot to heed the call. When I first heard it I thought it was a tad fussy – over-arranged. But Josh has a way of making intricacy sound natural, and as the blues creep from the piano and the tempos aggressively shift (“the wheel’s still in spin,” indeed) the message hits home.
She once told me that she’d never heard the iconic fantasia before she recorded it in 1996. Seems impossible, right? But the ardent way Abbey dances below that diamond sky glows is full of a newcomer’s joy. Happily, the performance also resounds with a veteran’s perspective for narrative. Gotta think she was reading the lyrics from a page in front of that mic, but between the drummer crashing and the bassist twirling, she sounds like she’s singing a story she’s been waiting forever to tell.
In the intro, he searches for answers as he twists the melody: “Where did you go/what did you see?.” I didn’t know it was possible for desolation to be dreamy, but acting alone, Frisell comes up with a stretch of sound that could drive a few chapters of McCarthy’s The Road. Later, when Viktor Krauss and Kenny Wollesen kick in, the sweep makes everyone waltz the plank.
9 Masters Of War, Scott Amendola, Cry (Cryptogramophone)
This one takes the protest to the explosive level. You can almost see the drummer and his crew (Cline, Sheinman, Sickafoose, Crystal) landing a punch on the chin of the Bush/Cheney machine (the disc was released in 2003, during the Iraq invasion). Carla Bozulich’s wailing anguish is a blend of Yoko and Diamanda, perfectly integrating with the instrumental onslaught, especially that martial undertow.
The buzzing alto, the pulsing rhythm section – both ignite to parallel the original’s ornery mania. Some “rules of the road have been dodged,” no question. But the trio makes sure its frenzy is lined with grace. The whole thing is utterly buoyant; even special guest Bill Frisell’s fractious solo errs on the side of shimmer. The galloping tempo is still palpable long after the music fades away.
Be on the lookout for a dude named Ezekiel grabbing his trumpet and jumping into “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” It’s almost time for the rapture to grab up the true believers. I’ve read where the rickety California millionaire driving the whole thing is a fan of music, both celestial and earthly. Perhaps we can assume his tacit sanctioning of these glorious jazz titles as possible soundtracks to the end-days party.
The erupting horns, the tumultuous drums, the collective agitation – it won’t be an easy ride to the next world. But those who have lived with Trane’s hectic hosanna for a few decades know that the turbulence is balanced by joy – a gospel shout of a different kind. And that’s a hell of an Amen Corner that Pharoah Sanders sits in.
As usual Wynton is documenting the common hardships and simple pleasures that cross our paths from cradle to grave – call it a celebration of life’s unpredictable arc. Maybe that’s why it would make such a grand parting soundtrack: the string orchestra, jazz big band, and sizable chorus create a whomp sufficient enough to make the last glance over your shoulder have a profound emotional impact.
Of course, you don’t need a billowing orchestra to provide your celestial outro music. A simple chat between two pals could be poignant enough to get the job done. This pair’s string of duet records began with this program of church music, and the plush tone of Shepp’s tenor gets a big hug from Parlan’s piano every step of the way.
It takes a certain mindset to waltz towards that white light. Back in the early ’70s, it seemed the frenzied guitarist was so ready to forsake terra firma, he played a double-neck instrument to get there in half the time. Of course, some would say that gooey fantasias such as “Eternity’s Breath” are full of hot air. When prancing towards oblivion, I’ll take “Cosmic Strut” any day.
The shadows on the cover, the music’s eerie tone, the subtle mystery of the band’s interaction – maybe the Rapture needs to deep-six all those glorious adagios and have its participants meet their maker by slipping away down a dark alley. Hill will hurry them along.
And if the planet doesn’t crack apart by 6 pm tomorrow? Come on back here, we’ve got a song suggestion for that, too.
JD Allen’s trio has been refining its well-considered music for a few years now. The tenor saxophonist likes things to be pliable, and of course he follows his jazz muse to places where extrapolation thrives. But his inner editor is always riding shotgun on these trips. Allen genuflects to the power of pith, so as he and his team examine a melody, they also sculpt it. Bassist Gregg August and drummer Rudy Royston assist the leader in nurturing such concision on Victory! (Sunnyside), the band’s third disc. Like its predecessors, it throw several punches – Allen has a yen for physical music – but always keeps an eye on clock. Being succinct is a primary virtue in their world.
“The new record documents a band that’s growing,” says the 38-year-old Allen. “We still have more learning to do about each other as people and players. I don’t ever want to get comfortable.”
From the aggressive spills of “Motif” to the poised intricacies of “The Hungry Eye,” the chemistry is palpable, and the deep communication allows for all sorts of leeway. Allen remains inspired by his approach.
“People come up and say, ‘So you’re doing another trio project.’ I refuse that word. I don’t believe in it. When I was growing up, projects were kind of square. So, no this is not a project, it’s a band. I got some other ideas I want to get to, but I’m still in love with this format. It’s not a novelty. I think this is where the stuff is going. You can run out of those 12 notes and you can play every one of those 88 keys, but a good conversation will go on forever. And playing trio allows for that.” You can hear that tack in action when they get to Le Poisson Rouge on Wednesday night.
To celebrate the arrival of Victory!, we asked Allen to weigh in on five sax trios he deems key to the idiom. “It was fun to consider,” he says, “but in some ways I was pretty surprised at the bands I chose!”
Great record. I got into it a few years ago. Mr Konitz is smoking on this. The way it was put together? Wow. He used standard forms, but put his ideas on top of them. He fleshed out something that was not so familiar, but on a familiar form. Considering the school of thought he came out of, I’ve always thought he brought a street element to the music. They’re swinging hard. It’s Elvin Jones here. Konitz is very melodic. It made me want to investigate those standard songs. Those are tunes we all know and love. He dealt with song forms, but still sounded wild, like on “I Remember April,” you say, “That’s what this is?” Brilliant. I heard a recording of him with Brad Mehldau and Charlie Haden, and they played “Cherokee,” which is usually a macho tempo thing. They played it clever, though. I hope I get to talk to him some day, pick his brain.
JM: Ethan Iverson spoke with him about a few of these ideas for Jazz Times. The piece just went live today.
That’s another one Elvin Jones is on. There’s one oboe cut, but the rest is straight up tenor. “Water Pistol” and all that? Beautiful. But the one that knocks me out is “When You’re Smiling.” It’s so melancholy. There’s something about the way he plays it. When I listen to this record, I go back to that track about 10 times. If I could get that right…I’ve tried to play it myself, but I think I’ve gotta get a little older before I get it right. I read that Elvin picked all the tempos. The [band] maintains the intensity level, even though each tempo is the same. The music still manages to lift up. I dare anyone to try to do a gig like that. Playing every tune at the same tempo? That sometimes happens at jam sessions, but they don’t know they’re doing it. Speak No Evil has the same kind of thing, where every song has the same tempo – although they certainly manage to knock it out the box on that one, too.
JM: This was recorded in 1961, too, like Motion. Maybe guys were trying to keep up with Rollins trio-wise after Way Out West in ’59. Sonny put a lot of stuff into play.
JD: Could be. Way Out West, that record is like a movie, man. So thematic. I see it, the cowboys, the drums, the prairie. Mr. Rollins had a theme going on.
3 Sam Rivers/Dave Holland/Barry Altschul
Oh man, intelligence. Open ended freedom, but a really smart approach. I like what Butch Morris once said, “I’ve seen people choke on freedom.” It happens. Sam Rivers ain’t choking on anything. He’s informed. I hear the tradition in his playing, I hear adventure, I hear the search. Then he jumps on the piano. And flute. He calls it spontaneous combustion, which to me means concentrated energy. He’s an improviser. I went to that Columbia concert, when they got back together in 2007. I wasn’t going to miss that. Mr. Rivers is an older man, but he played with youth. He was vibrant, alive, informed. Hell of a cat, man, bad.
I saw him when I was about 15 or 16 years old. First of all I couldn’t figure out how Jeff played like that and everyone could still keep their place. He played like an elephant falling down the stairs, except Branford was right there with him; they were rolling together. Later I went up and said “Pleasure to meet you Mr. Marsalis.” He said, “Yeah, yeah, call me Branford.” I got so happy. I wanted to be Branford when I was a kid. Thought he was slick. When I got older and I met him, I understood. His personality is right in the horn. His music is his character. Comedic sense, timing, sarcasm. He always sounds like Branford. The personality shines through in various situations. Not enough people give him credit for his playing. This trio takes it to the paint. They gun it. I’m from Detroit. I grew up with the bad boys, the Pistons, you know?We like it when they play a little rough. These guys? Right to the paint.
It’s amazing, and I mean every aspect that word implies. Amazing. He plays older tunes but he sounds free. And the music is so raw. ”Softly As In A Morning Sunrise” – it feels like a cat sneaking in somewhere, spooky sounding. It’s always in my mind. Before I got to town, before I ever went to the Vanguard, I could see the room through that song. It’s a picture of a New York club. When I got there, I was right. He described it perfectly. The pictures on the walls. I love every period of Sonny Rollins.
Free improvisation can use a laugh now and again. Last time drummer Weasel Walter and guitarist Mary Halvorson recorded together, they called their duet disc Opulence, and titled their squalls in a direction that celebrated the good life. “Faberge Eggs Filled With Caviar” and “A Diamond Encrusted Frisbee” were typical tracks, but by the time “Bald Eagle Tartar Washed Down With a Cup of Melted Gold” rolled around, the silliness at hand was revealed. Comprised of choppy string storms, chattering percussion tsunamis and disorienting dissonance, the music wasn’t built for kings and queens. It did provide a nice jab in the eye for the occasional haughtiness of “art,” however.
One of the attractions of their follow up – this time with trumpeter Peter Evans on board – is the unpretentious way it presents itself. Yes, the abstractions they concoct on Electric Fruit have a rich atmosphere. Halvorson’s strings can be wonderfully gooey, Evans’ horn sprays can fill up plenty of space, and the Wease’s addled thumpery is a giddy environment at all times. But there’s a disarming it-is-what-it-is tone to this music, and it attracts listeners to the sharp turns of the trio’s interplay. Whether whispering to each other or wailing together, these three walk off the edge of a cliff so we can sit on the edge of our seats.
The landscape is always in flux. The drummer has a yen for death metal, so aggression is part of the pallet. The trumpeter is expert at post-bop filigree, so fanfare is in the mix as well. Halvorson, whose comparatively straight Saturn Sings was applauded by lots of jazz critics last year, roams her instrument’s neck, generating a parade of textures; psychedelic fuzz might be followed by the gentlest of plinks. “The Stench of Cyber-Durian” puts all of the above to use, and like “Scuppernong Malfunction,” it reminds that, in this throttling program, all the action takes place in the synapses. Let’s hear it for kinetics.
The most intense two minutes of annual sport – that’s what they call the Kentucky Derby, right? Hard to disagree. The horses and their riders prep for a year and they’re done in 125 seconds or so. I’ll assume you’re one of the many who catches the event on the flat-screen, not one of the few who actually make it to Churchill Downs. And I’ll assume you need some tunes to tickle your fancy while fretting about that sizable bet you made earlier in the day. Here,then, are 10 songs with titles that can be applied to the contest at hand. Throw ‘em into a playlist and have fun. If they don’t work, call “Fugue For Tinhorns” jazz (it may well be) and have your fun that way.
Mint Julep, Jelly Roll Morton & His Red Hot Peppers (JSP)
Just keep sipping. Don’t let your mind wander to that wager you’ve made.
Saddle Up! Bill Frisell, Go West: Music For the Films of Buster Keaton (Nonesuch)
Nice soundtrack for limbering up on the morning of the race.
They don’t make a move without injecting their music with sass. But Mostly Other People Do The Killing‘s explosive improv is anything but frivolous – and only a smidge sarcastic. The New York quartet blends puckishness and profundity, and their expertise at both has been obvious for a few years now. The Coimbra Concert, which captures them at their high-flying best, conjuring the eruption of Charles Mingus, the humor of Raymond Scott and the boisterous beauty of the Art Ensemble, is yet another wiseacre triumph (check my review of it on page 111 of this month’s Tone mag). But you really have to see ‘em on stage to get the full hit – especially the depth of drummer Kevin Shea’s swinging mania on a piece like “Round Bottom, Square Top.” That means it would be wise to head to Zebulon this evening. They may be serious improvisers, but they know from droll.
