4 Originally recorded in 1981 and released in 1983 on FMP—still at the height of the Cold War—Alarm consists of what might be called a Brötzmann little big band interpreting a reaction to a nuclear emergency. The title track is a 37-minute tour de force, with the nine-piece ensemble (Brötzmann, Frank Wright and Willem Breuker on saxophones, Hannes Bauer and Alan Tomlinson on trombones, Toshinori Kondo on trumpet, Alexander von Schlippenbach on piano, Harry Miller on bass and Louis Moholo on drums) setting a sort of clarion call for nuclear disarmament. Saxophonist Brötzmann’s basic composition of a series of waves and straight tones allows the band to hurtle right out of the gate, with the brass howling in unison. After the initial “warning,” the group attacks with urgency, exploring shades of fear, paranoia, violence and confusion, always returning back to the sirenlike alarm. Admittedly, Wright’s amateurish but impassioned approach (of course informed by Ayler) takes the forefront here, but the interaction between these musicians is at such a sophisticated and sympathetic level that it never seems like a free-for-all blowout. Particularly impressive are Bauer and Tomlinson’s trombone work and Schlippenbach’s probing piano. Surprisingly, there are moments where it sounds as if a Dixieland band just got off a spaceship and landed in the middle of a war. Like the best free jazz, “Alarm” runs the gamut of emotions, accurately reflecting life during an uncertain and precarious era. The album—and performance—closes with Wright’s “Jerry Sacem,” a short joyful piece with celebratory vocals and more New Orleans-style Dixieland meets 1940s R&B with the ever-present cacophony of the ’60s revolution. Alarm matches the best of Brötzmann’s visceral, excessive-yet-exhilarating work (1968’s Machine Gun and 1969’s Nipples) but is also a heady concept that succeeds. true 10513 2008-06-20T14:41:41-04:00 false 18510 119 200702 true 74 2007-01-01T00:00:00-05:00

Originally recorded in 1981 and released in 1983 on FMP—still at the height of the Cold War—Alarm consists of what might be called a Brötzmann little big band interpreting a reaction to a nuclear emergency. The title track is a 37-minute tour de force, with the nine-piece ensemble (Brötzmann, Frank Wright and Willem Breuker on saxophones, Hannes Bauer and Alan Tomlinson on trombones, Toshinori Kondo on trumpet, Alexander von Schlippenbach on piano, Harry Miller on bass and Louis Moholo on drums) setting a sort of clarion call for nuclear disarmament. Saxophonist Brötzmann’s basic composition of a series of waves and straight tones allows the band to hurtle right out of the gate, with the brass howling in unison. After the initial “warning,” the group attacks with urgency, exploring shades of fear, paranoia, violence and confusion, always returning back to the sirenlike alarm. Admittedly, Wright’s amateurish but impassioned approach (of course informed by Ayler) takes the forefront here, but the interaction between these musicians is at such a sophisticated and sympathetic level that it never seems like a free-for-all blowout. Particularly impressive are Bauer and Tomlinson’s trombone work and Schlippenbach’s probing piano. Surprisingly, there are moments where it sounds as if a Dixieland band just got off a spaceship and landed in the middle of a war. Like the best free jazz, “Alarm” runs the gamut of emotions, accurately reflecting life during an uncertain and precarious era. The album—and performance—closes with Wright’s “Jerry Sacem,” a short joyful piece with celebratory vocals and more New Orleans-style Dixieland meets...

2009-03-02T00:26:27-05:00

4 Those looking for a jazz recording here, even an experimental one, would be looking in the wrong place: Mountain Air sits squarely in the avant-classical realm, but the spirit of jazz heavily permeates it. “Led” by Dominic Duval, one of Cecil Taylor’s more frequent bassists, this session is largely inspired by the pianist in that the quartet—rounded out by Ron Lawrence (Soldier String Quartet, James Blood Ulmer, Mark Dresser) on viola, Gregor Huebner (Richie Beirach, Harvie Swartz) on violin and Tomas Ulrich (Steve Swell, Kevin Norton, Yuko Fujiyama) on cello—jumps to fresh terrain before examining an idea or motif for too long. This is nervous music that requires intensive, yet rewarding, listening. The quartet incessantly saws away, skittering from theme to theme, with Duval holding it all together with confident plucking and a supple, resonant tone. Counterpoint melodies and staccato bursts are plentiful, as are weeping glissando and fluctuating tempo changes. There are unquestionably hints of Bartok and Stravinsky throughout, making these mini-symphonies an intriguing blend of free jazz and 20th-century classical. true 10513 2008-06-20T14:43:32-04:00 false 18511 119 200702 true 74 2007-01-01T00:00:00-05:00

Those looking for a jazz recording here, even an experimental one, would be looking in the wrong place: Mountain Air sits squarely in the avant-classical realm, but the spirit of jazz heavily permeates it. “Led” by Dominic Duval, one of Cecil Taylor’s more frequent bassists, this session is largely inspired by the pianist in that the quartet—rounded out by Ron Lawrence (Soldier String Quartet, James Blood Ulmer, Mark Dresser) on viola, Gregor Huebner (Richie Beirach, Harvie Swartz) on violin and Tomas Ulrich (Steve Swell, Kevin Norton, Yuko Fujiyama) on cello—jumps to fresh terrain before examining an idea or motif for too long. This is nervous music that requires intensive, yet rewarding, listening. The quartet incessantly saws away, skittering from theme to theme, with Duval holding it all together with confident plucking and a supple, resonant tone. Counterpoint melodies and staccato bursts are plentiful, as are weeping glissando and fluctuating tempo changes. There are unquestionably hints of Bartok and Stravinsky throughout, making these mini-symphonies an intriguing blend of free jazz and 20th-century classical.

2009-03-02T00:26:27-05:00

4 With People of the Ninth, Kali Z. Fasteau attains another remarkable achievement of stylistic and timbral breadth, in a first-time collaboration with tenor saxophonist (and New Orleans native) Kidd Jordan and percussionist Michael T.A. Thompson. Fasteau is renowned for mastering a multitude of instruments and for her ability to improvise within formats ranging from tightly structured postbop to spontaneous, reductionist free jazz. Here she opts for piano, cello, soprano sax, Nai flute and Aquasonic (a bowed metal jug) to convey the struggles and uncertainty—and hopefully, the ultimate redemption—of the residents of New Orleans’ Ninth Ward, where Jordan and his family lived amongst thousands of others whose homes became buried under the Gulf of Mexico. Recorded in New Orleans on the late night of Sept. 25, 2005, mere weeks after Hurricane Katrina devastated the city, People of the Ninth sonically transposes the tumultuous emotions experienced by Jordan as he braved the destruction with his family, watching others become horrifically neglected and denied. Fasteau taps deeply into this well of emotion and mania, at times mimicking underwater sounds with the Aquasonic, creating the illusion of entrapment and drowning. Jordan’s horn cries for the unfortunate and angrily admonishes the uncaring. The titles (e.g. “Levees, Lies & Lives,” “Rising Winds,” “Rescue Denied,” “Concentration Dome”) chronologically tell this tragic tale, and the music does even more so. true 10513 2008-06-20T14:45:50-04:00 false 18513 119 200702 true 74 2007-01-01T00:00:00-05:00

With People of the Ninth, Kali Z. Fasteau attains another remarkable achievement of stylistic and timbral breadth, in a first-time collaboration with tenor saxophonist (and New Orleans native) Kidd Jordan and percussionist Michael T.A. Thompson. Fasteau is renowned for mastering a multitude of instruments and for her ability to improvise within formats ranging from tightly structured postbop to spontaneous, reductionist free jazz. Here she opts for piano, cello, soprano sax, Nai flute and Aquasonic (a bowed metal jug) to convey the struggles and uncertainty—and hopefully, the ultimate redemption—of the residents of New Orleans’ Ninth Ward, where Jordan and his family lived amongst thousands of others whose homes became buried under the Gulf of Mexico. Recorded in New Orleans on the late night of Sept. 25, 2005, mere weeks after Hurricane Katrina devastated the city, People of the Ninth sonically transposes the tumultuous emotions experienced by Jordan as he braved the destruction with his family, watching others become horrifically neglected and denied. Fasteau taps deeply into this well of emotion and mania, at times mimicking underwater sounds with the Aquasonic, creating the illusion of entrapment and drowning. Jordan’s horn cries for the unfortunate and angrily admonishes the uncaring. The titles (e.g. “Levees, Lies & Lives,” “Rising Winds,” “Rescue Denied,” “Concentration Dome”) chronologically tell this tragic tale, and the music does even more so.

2009-03-02T00:26:27-05:00

4 Though his profile may not be that of Cecil Taylor or even Andrew Hill, 69-year-old pianist Burton Greene has been—very arguably—just as proficient and uncompromising. While Taylor favors completely free improv, Greene, like Hill, opts for angular and even exotic composition with wide-open spaces designed for maximum exploration. Nevertheless, the end result for all these artists is the same: total artistic expression unhindered by outside pressure. From his mid-’60s ESP albums to his recent output on CIMP, he’s shown a mastery of a myriad of styles, textures and moods. With this in mind, CIMP asked Greene to record three consecutive and varied sessions (for solo, trio and quintet) in the summer of 2005. Ins and Outs is as much of a basic piano trio as Greene will ever record. For this session—as well as the following quintet recordings—he asked Gunther Schuller’s sons, bassist Ed and drummer George, to join him. The Schuller brothers have been playing together for all of their adult lives (over 30 years), which shows in their uncanny rapport and solid command of diverse styles and techniques, undoubtedly the result of having Gunther as their father and mentor. The material here ranges from the playful jauntiness of opener “Skumpy” (originally a solo composition from 1985) to the pure bebop of “63rd and Cottage Grove” (a Bud Powell-influenced bop rondo dating back to 1957); from the mysterious ambiguity of Gary Burton’s ballad “Gentle Wind and Falling Tear” (a harmonically challenging piece that never resolves) to the closing coda “Summation” (an instantaneous exchange that, in six minutes, revisits the vast emotional ground covered throughout the session). Greene plays with clarity and conviction, perfectly complemented by his sympathetic rhythm section, resulting in an unpredictable yet extremely cohesive piano trio. On Signs of the Times, the triad is augmented by Paul Smoker on trumpet and Russ Nolan on soprano and tenor saxophones and flute. The same spirit flows through these sessions, though now doused with brass color. The album commences with “Afro Balkan Blue,” a stunning rhythmic exercise that blends Eastern European folk melodies—in alternating bars of 7/8 and 4/4—with a 22 bar blues pattern, an effect similar to some of the territory explored on Coltrane’s Africa/Brass. On “Sad Mood,” by Greene’s partner Syl Rollig, the contemplative, expressive nature of Nolan’s flute and Smoker’s muted trumpet stand out. The rest of the pieces are marked by exceptional group interaction and intriguing melodic motifs reminiscent of the post-modern classical composers Greene studied in the ’50s, adding up to yet another impressive recording in a very solid career. true 10513 2008-06-20T14:50:05-04:00 false 18516 119 200702 true 74 2007-01-01T00:00:00-05:00

Though his profile may not be that of Cecil Taylor or even Andrew Hill, 69-year-old pianist Burton Greene has been—very arguably—just as proficient and uncompromising. While Taylor favors completely free improv, Greene, like Hill, opts for angular and even exotic composition with wide-open spaces designed for maximum exploration. Nevertheless, the end result for all these artists is the same: total artistic expression unhindered by outside pressure. From his mid-’60s ESP albums to his recent output on CIMP, he’s shown a mastery of a myriad of styles, textures and moods. With this in mind, CIMP asked Greene to record three consecutive and varied sessions (for solo, trio and quintet) in the summer of 2005. Ins and Outs is as much of a basic piano trio as Greene will ever record. For this session—as well as the following quintet recordings—he asked Gunther Schuller’s sons, bassist Ed and drummer George, to join him. The Schuller brothers have been playing together for all of their adult lives (over 30 years), which shows in their uncanny rapport and solid command of diverse styles and techniques, undoubtedly the result of having Gunther as their father and mentor. The material here ranges from the playful jauntiness of opener “Skumpy” (originally a solo composition from 1985) to the pure bebop of “63rd and Cottage Grove” (a Bud Powell-influenced bop rondo dating back to 1957); from the mysterious ambiguity of Gary Burton’s ballad “Gentle Wind and Falling Tear” (a harmonically challenging piece that never resolves) to the closing coda “Summation” (an instantaneous exchange that, in...

2009-03-02T00:26:27-05:00

4 Like a time capsule dropped smack-dab in the center of left field, this reissue could just as easily be some prehistoric artifact as an object from a futuristic space age. Even in the realm of avant-garde music, where anything and everything is possible, this recording reveals a completely fresh approach to free improvisation in the jazz idiom, undoubtedly influenced by the innovations of ’60s psychedelic rock and dub trickery. Recorded live on Oct. 6 or 7, 1972 at a basement coffeehouse near the University of Pennsylvania and originally released on long-forgotten and defunct Philadelphia label Dogtown Records, Drum Dance to the Motherland was underrated vibraphonist-percussionist Khan Jamal’s album debut as a leader—he appeared, alongside Byard Lancaster, on Sounds of Liberation’s self-titled 1972 album—released a few years before a larger audience noticed him playing with Sun Ra, Charles Tyler, Billy Bang and Ronald Shannon Jackson. His strangely concocted Creative Arts Ensemble (Jamal on vibes, marimba and clarinet; Alex Ellison on drums and percussion; Dwight James on drums, glockenspiel and clarinet; Billy Mills on electric and acoustic bass; Monnette Sudler on electric guitar and percussion) was comprised mostly of childhood friends, who clearly developed an innate empathy evident in the opening improvisation “Cosmic Tones.” The listener is immediately thrust into a foreign soundscape as James’ artificially manipulated drums—not unlike the dub innovations of Lee “Scratch” Perry—lead into a sprinkling of glockenspiel and alien effects and then into “Drum Dance,” as the whole ensemble dives into a ritualistic, tribal frenzy. Jamal moves from braying clarinet to swinging marimba with facility, as the hypnotic, rhythmic underpinning evokes a firm African heritage. “Inner Peace” is marked by the emergence of Sudler’s spacy soloing, drenched in reverb and delay, calmly sailing over a bed of random percussion as Mills lays down a simple bass groove. Overall, the whole performance sounds akin to Sun Ra’s farthest-reaching, hallucinatory journeys such as Atlantis and Strange Strings, but informed as well by dub and experimental rock. Very rarely has an album straddled the line between primal and technological with such grace and sensibility. true 10513 2008-06-20T14:52:09-04:00 false 18518 119 200702 true 74 2007-01-01T00:00:00-05:00

Like a time capsule dropped smack-dab in the center of left field, this reissue could just as easily be some prehistoric artifact as an object from a futuristic space age. Even in the realm of avant-garde music, where anything and everything is possible, this recording reveals a completely fresh approach to free improvisation in the jazz idiom, undoubtedly influenced by the innovations of ’60s psychedelic rock and dub trickery. Recorded live on Oct. 6 or 7, 1972 at a basement coffeehouse near the University of Pennsylvania and originally released on long-forgotten and defunct Philadelphia label Dogtown Records, Drum Dance to the Motherland was underrated vibraphonist-percussionist Khan Jamal’s album debut as a leader—he appeared, alongside Byard Lancaster, on Sounds of Liberation’s self-titled 1972 album—released a few years before a larger audience noticed him playing with Sun Ra, Charles Tyler, Billy Bang and Ronald Shannon Jackson. His strangely concocted Creative Arts Ensemble (Jamal on vibes, marimba and clarinet; Alex Ellison on drums and percussion; Dwight James on drums, glockenspiel and clarinet; Billy Mills on electric and acoustic bass; Monnette Sudler on electric guitar and percussion) was comprised mostly of childhood friends, who clearly developed an innate empathy evident in the opening improvisation “Cosmic Tones.” The listener is immediately thrust into a foreign soundscape as James’ artificially manipulated drums—not unlike the dub innovations of Lee “Scratch” Perry—lead into a sprinkling of glockenspiel and alien effects and then into “Drum Dance,” as the whole ensemble dives into a ritualistic, tribal frenzy. Jamal moves from braying clarinet to swinging marimba with...

2009-03-02T00:26:27-05:00

4 Gate might be Ken Vandermark’s 27th release this year—we lost count a few months ago—but like most of his recordings it exhibits a singular identity and focused approach. This is the second Sound in Action Trio album and the follow-up to 1999’s Design in Time; joining Vandermark in the reeds-and-two-drummers format again is Robert Barry, a veteran of the Sun Ra Arkestra, and Tim Daisy, current Vandermark 5 timekeeper and Tim Mulvenna’s successor. Vandermark composed five of the album’s 11 cuts, the remaining six being adventurous—and successful—renderings of Eric Dolphy’s “The Prophet,” Ed Blackwell’s “Togo,” Coltrane’s “One Down, One Up,” Ayler’s “Love Cry,” Herbie Nichols’ “House Party Starting” and 1950s Sun Ra Arkestra trumpeter Hobart Dotson’s “Enlightenment” (Barry appeared on the original recorded version). Unsurprisingly, the percussionists pervade the sonic spectrum with a barrage of swinging cymbal patterns, crisp snare rolls and richly tuned toms, displaying uncanny communicative ability. Vandermark seems extremely comfortable in this particular setting, smoothly shifting from brawny tenor barking to contemplative clarinet musings. He gives the drummers space to express themselves, which they do by continuously, albeit subtly, transforming their rhythms; Barry and Daisy never venture too far out, maintaining a solid foundation for Vandermark to weave in and around. Although I’d be even more intrigued to hear a textural conceptualist like Paul Lovens in this ensemble, Barry and Daisy are perfectly suited to these particular compositions. true 10513 2008-06-20T14:53:59-04:00 false 18521 119 200702 true 74 2007-01-01T00:00:00-05:00

Gate might be Ken Vandermark’s 27th release this year—we lost count a few months ago—but like most of his recordings it exhibits a singular identity and focused approach. This is the second Sound in Action Trio album and the follow-up to 1999’s Design in Time; joining Vandermark in the reeds-and-two-drummers format again is Robert Barry, a veteran of the Sun Ra Arkestra, and Tim Daisy, current Vandermark 5 timekeeper and Tim Mulvenna’s successor. Vandermark composed five of the album’s 11 cuts, the remaining six being adventurous—and successful—renderings of Eric Dolphy’s “The Prophet,” Ed Blackwell’s “Togo,” Coltrane’s “One Down, One Up,” Ayler’s “Love Cry,” Herbie Nichols’ “House Party Starting” and 1950s Sun Ra Arkestra trumpeter Hobart Dotson’s “Enlightenment” (Barry appeared on the original recorded version). Unsurprisingly, the percussionists pervade the sonic spectrum with a barrage of swinging cymbal patterns, crisp snare rolls and richly tuned toms, displaying uncanny communicative ability. Vandermark seems extremely comfortable in this particular setting, smoothly shifting from brawny tenor barking to contemplative clarinet musings. He gives the drummers space to express themselves, which they do by continuously, albeit subtly, transforming their rhythms; Barry and Daisy never venture too far out, maintaining a solid foundation for Vandermark to weave in and around. Although I’d be even more intrigued to hear a textural conceptualist like Paul Lovens in this ensemble, Barry and Daisy are perfectly suited to these particular compositions.

2009-03-02T00:26:27-05:00

4 Captured live at Jim Staley’s Roulette on March 4, 2005 on the heels of their previous CIMP album, Sugar Hill Suite, Roulette at Location One exhibits Trio X in peak form, opting for spatial exploration by utilizing remarkable restraint and extraordinary dynamics. The rapport of rhythm section Dominic Duval (amplified acoustic bass) and Jay Rosen (drums and percussion)—who’ve been playing together regularly for the past decade—allows them to steer the ebb and flow of sound with facility and conviction, while McPhee—playing mostly soprano here, except for a few brief pocket trumpet passages—responds with eloquent, lyrical and rousing melodic figures. One of their main characteristics is to fleetingly introduce new themes while extrapolating older ones, which they do here by quoting pieces off their previous albums in addition to Monk’s “Bemsha Swing” and “Monk’s Dream,” Ornette Coleman’s “Lonely Woman” and Curtis Mayfield’s “People Get Ready”—one track is even titled “David Danced: variations on Ellington”—effectively straddling the line between familiar and peculiar. Strangely, Duval swings here more than Rosen, who mostly uses his kit for color and shade as he coaxes copious tones and sonorities. Somehow—probably due to their extensive experience playing together—it all ends up making sense. Though Trio X reaches the occasional climactic whirl, the overall mood of this set is a sort of ambiguous pensiveness. true 10513 2008-06-20T14:56:02-04:00 false 18523 119 200702 true 74 2007-01-01T00:00:00-05:00

Captured live at Jim Staley’s Roulette on March 4, 2005 on the heels of their previous CIMP album, Sugar Hill Suite, Roulette at Location One exhibits Trio X in peak form, opting for spatial exploration by utilizing remarkable restraint and extraordinary dynamics. The rapport of rhythm section Dominic Duval (amplified acoustic bass) and Jay Rosen (drums and percussion)—who’ve been playing together regularly for the past decade—allows them to steer the ebb and flow of sound with facility and conviction, while McPhee—playing mostly soprano here, except for a few brief pocket trumpet passages—responds with eloquent, lyrical and rousing melodic figures. One of their main characteristics is to fleetingly introduce new themes while extrapolating older ones, which they do here by quoting pieces off their previous albums in addition to Monk’s “Bemsha Swing” and “Monk’s Dream,” Ornette Coleman’s “Lonely Woman” and Curtis Mayfield’s “People Get Ready”—one track is even titled “David Danced: variations on Ellington”—effectively straddling the line between familiar and peculiar. Strangely, Duval swings here more than Rosen, who mostly uses his kit for color and shade as he coaxes copious tones and sonorities. Somehow—probably due to their extensive experience playing together—it all ends up making sense. Though Trio X reaches the occasional climactic whirl, the overall mood of this set is a sort of ambiguous pensiveness.

2009-03-02T00:26:27-05:00

4 “This album is about peace...We pray for peace everywhere and everyone—especially (but not exclusively) for the cynics.” So say the liner notes for this album. As a card-carrying atheist and cynic, I should be happy someone’s got my back, just in case. But honestly, the A-SE’s stated mission seems like a passive-aggressive way to make me like its music (I told you I’m a cynic), a task I find difficult. On the plus side, the band’s amalgam of jazz, klezmer, world beat and other vernacular music reveals an admirable conviction and palpable high spirits. Pianist Warren Byrd is a fine player, a strong, assertive improviser with a quirky sense of harmony. Unfortunately, not all the soloists work on so high a level. The tunes and arrangements are just OK, the grooves rote. I can imagine this being a fun party band (indeed, this is the kind of CD best sold off the bandstand). Ultimately, however, for all its good intentions, the A-SE is not ready for prime time. true 214 2007-06-07T14:05:44-04:00 17367 106 200610 true 0 74 2006-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

“This album is about peace...We pray for peace everywhere and everyone—especially (but not exclusively) for the cynics.” So say the liner notes for this album. As a card-carrying atheist and cynic, I should be happy someone’s got my back, just in case. But honestly, the A-SE’s stated mission seems like a passive-aggressive way to make me like its music (I told you I’m a cynic), a task I find difficult. On the plus side, the band’s amalgam of jazz, klezmer, world beat and other vernacular music reveals an admirable conviction and palpable high spirits. Pianist Warren Byrd is a fine player, a strong, assertive improviser with a quirky sense of harmony. Unfortunately, not all the soloists work on so high a level. The tunes and arrangements are just OK, the grooves rote. I can imagine this being a fun party band (indeed, this is the kind of CD best sold off the bandstand). Ultimately, however, for all its good intentions, the A-SE is not ready for prime time.

2009-03-02T00:25:50-05:00

4 Thomas Chapin’s death of leukemia in 1998 hit me hard. It hit the people close to him harder, of course—I knew him only slightly—but it upset me to the point that I could no longer listen to his records. This newly released live recording of the alto saxophonist/flutist’s trio at the 1995 North Sea Jazz Festival is the first Chapin I’ve listened to in eight years. It’s both a sad and happy experience—sad because I’m reminded of our loss, happy because we have a fresh example of this outrageously inventive, spirited musician at his exhilarating best. He’s joined by the rhythm section with whom he did his best work (bassist Mario Pavone and drummer Michael Sarin) in a set comprised mostly of Chapin’s ticklish originals, plus a rigorous cover of the Beatles’ “Ticket to Ride.” Everything that made Chapin great is here: the hard-as-a-diamond sense of swing and relentless drive; his melodic ingenuity and ear for tonal color. Most of all, there was his absolute immersion in the task at hand. No jazz musician was more adept than Chapin at dissolving the barriers separating “downtown” and “uptown.” Ride is a priceless testament to his brilliance. true 214 2007-06-07T14:05:44-04:00 17368 106 200610 true 0 74 2006-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

Thomas Chapin’s death of leukemia in 1998 hit me hard. It hit the people close to him harder, of course—I knew him only slightly—but it upset me to the point that I could no longer listen to his records. This newly released live recording of the alto saxophonist/flutist’s trio at the 1995 North Sea Jazz Festival is the first Chapin I’ve listened to in eight years. It’s both a sad and happy experience—sad because I’m reminded of our loss, happy because we have a fresh example of this outrageously inventive, spirited musician at his exhilarating best. He’s joined by the rhythm section with whom he did his best work (bassist Mario Pavone and drummer Michael Sarin) in a set comprised mostly of Chapin’s ticklish originals, plus a rigorous cover of the Beatles’ “Ticket to Ride.” Everything that made Chapin great is here: the hard-as-a-diamond sense of swing and relentless drive; his melodic ingenuity and ear for tonal color. Most of all, there was his absolute immersion in the task at hand. No jazz musician was more adept than Chapin at dissolving the barriers separating “downtown” and “uptown.” Ride is a priceless testament to his brilliance.

2009-03-02T00:25:50-05:00

4 John Flanders is a young, talented saxophonist who seems to be searching for a niche. Despite exploring a variety of grooves and feels, he doesn’t find it here. The problem is two-fold. First, there’s the disparity between Flanders’ rough-hewn improvising style and the smooth jazz backing. Flanders is a passionate, blood-and-guts guy. His funk-based rhythm section is coolly professional. The combination doesn’t work very well. His gruff hyperactivity is simply too jarring in this context. The second involves Flanders’ tunes. Too many of his melodies don’t meld with the harmonies. It’s as if the melody was written as an afterthought, tacked onto the fussy harmonic structure. Neither Flanders nor the other chief soloist, guitarist Pat Terry, seems comfortable playing over the more complex progressions. Were Flanders to muss things up a bit—ditch the electronic instruments and the slick production values, for one thing; simplify his compositional style by dialing up the melody and dialing down the knotty progressions, for another—he might be a musician to reckon with. As it stands, this is an uneven effort, at best. true 214 2007-06-07T14:05:44-04:00 17369 106 200610 true 0 74 2006-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

John Flanders is a young, talented saxophonist who seems to be searching for a niche. Despite exploring a variety of grooves and feels, he doesn’t find it here. The problem is two-fold. First, there’s the disparity between Flanders’ rough-hewn improvising style and the smooth jazz backing. Flanders is a passionate, blood-and-guts guy. His funk-based rhythm section is coolly professional. The combination doesn’t work very well. His gruff hyperactivity is simply too jarring in this context. The second involves Flanders’ tunes. Too many of his melodies don’t meld with the harmonies. It’s as if the melody was written as an afterthought, tacked onto the fussy harmonic structure. Neither Flanders nor the other chief soloist, guitarist Pat Terry, seems comfortable playing over the more complex progressions. Were Flanders to muss things up a bit—ditch the electronic instruments and the slick production values, for one thing; simplify his compositional style by dialing up the melody and dialing down the knotty progressions, for another—he might be a musician to reckon with. As it stands, this is an uneven effort, at best.

2009-03-02T00:25:51-05:00

4 Charles Gayle has gotten too much ink for extramusical reasons and not enough for his playing. That’s a pity, since he is one of the few living saxophonists able to combine imagination and intensity on a level with past free-jazz greats. On this excellent, no-frills concert date, Gayle plays alto in the context that serves him best: a trio with a top-notch bassist (Gerald Benson) and drummer (Michael Wimberly). The set starts with a hyperfast take on “Cherokee.” Gayle subverts convention by openly inviting comparison to the tune’s Bird-based paradigm. Rather than approach the tune from outside the tradition, as a more self-conscious experimentalist might, he embraces what characteristics best suit his concept (melody and tempo) and jettisons what doesn’t (harmony and form). It’s been standard free-jazz-performance practice since Cecil Taylor first did it 50 years ago. Few do it better today than Gayle. He takes the same approach on tunes associated with John Coltrane—“Softly as in a Morning Sunrise” and “Giant Steps”—to similarly inspiring ends. Gayle’s not exactly a man for all seasons, but everybody should experience him at least once. Especially given the excellence of the rhythm section, this disc is as good a place to start as any. true 214 2007-06-07T14:05:44-04:00 17370 106 200610 true 0 74 2006-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

Charles Gayle has gotten too much ink for extramusical reasons and not enough for his playing. That’s a pity, since he is one of the few living saxophonists able to combine imagination and intensity on a level with past free-jazz greats. On this excellent, no-frills concert date, Gayle plays alto in the context that serves him best: a trio with a top-notch bassist (Gerald Benson) and drummer (Michael Wimberly). The set starts with a hyperfast take on “Cherokee.” Gayle subverts convention by openly inviting comparison to the tune’s Bird-based paradigm. Rather than approach the tune from outside the tradition, as a more self-conscious experimentalist might, he embraces what characteristics best suit his concept (melody and tempo) and jettisons what doesn’t (harmony and form). It’s been standard free-jazz-performance practice since Cecil Taylor first did it 50 years ago. Few do it better today than Gayle. He takes the same approach on tunes associated with John Coltrane—“Softly as in a Morning Sunrise” and “Giant Steps”—to similarly inspiring ends. Gayle’s not exactly a man for all seasons, but everybody should experience him at least once. Especially given the excellence of the rhythm section, this disc is as good a place to start as any.

2009-03-02T00:25:51-05:00

4 Of the handful of semi-well-known jazz violinists out there (and let’s face it, even the best jazz violinists are, at most, semi-well-known), Jason Kao Hwang has long been one of my favorites. He is, along with Billy Bang and Charles Burnham, one of earthiest of the bunch. This disc showcases equally Hwang’s skills as a composer and improviser. Both aspects combine his distinctive fusion of the artful and the rustic. Compositionally, Hwang mixes and matches written passages with unaccompanied improvisation and solos-with-rhythm. The sections do not typically run together; one is clearly differentiated from the next, yet they cohere well enough. Joining him are trumpeter Taylor Ho Bynum, bassist Ken Filiano and drummer Andrew Drury. The jazz world ignores Filiano to its discredit. He’s one of the finest jazz bassists, period. The mercurial Bynum gets better every time I hear him, and Drury is a receptive, agile percussionist. As an improviser, Hwang projects an almost naïve sense of vulnerability—a quality that abruptly disappears whenever he’s compelled to assert his mastery by letting loose his colossal chops. Hwang might have hit the jazz violinist’s glass ceiling, but he’s a monster, nevertheless. This is a compelling example of his work. true 214 2007-06-07T14:05:44-04:00 17371 106 200610 true 0 74 2006-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

Of the handful of semi-well-known jazz violinists out there (and let’s face it, even the best jazz violinists are, at most, semi-well-known), Jason Kao Hwang has long been one of my favorites. He is, along with Billy Bang and Charles Burnham, one of earthiest of the bunch. This disc showcases equally Hwang’s skills as a composer and improviser. Both aspects combine his distinctive fusion of the artful and the rustic. Compositionally, Hwang mixes and matches written passages with unaccompanied improvisation and solos-with-rhythm. The sections do not typically run together; one is clearly differentiated from the next, yet they cohere well enough. Joining him are trumpeter Taylor Ho Bynum, bassist Ken Filiano and drummer Andrew Drury. The jazz world ignores Filiano to its discredit. He’s one of the finest jazz bassists, period. The mercurial Bynum gets better every time I hear him, and Drury is a receptive, agile percussionist. As an improviser, Hwang projects an almost naïve sense of vulnerability—a quality that abruptly disappears whenever he’s compelled to assert his mastery by letting loose his colossal chops. Hwang might have hit the jazz violinist’s glass ceiling, but he’s a monster, nevertheless. This is a compelling example of his work.

2009-03-02T00:25:51-05:00

4 The Celestial Answer asks implicitly: Can a free-jazz drummer (William Hooker) and a punk/ambient guitarist (Lee Ranaldo) share a CD without driving each other crazy? Of course they can. But should they? It’s possible this odd couple is absolutely comfortable playing together. Based on the recorded evidence, however, I’m not convinced. Issues of incompatibility arise immediately on the opening “Celestial 2/1.” Hooker is not a colorist by nature. At his best, he’s the direct opposite: an aggressive, propulsive jazz drummer. His playing virtually defines momentum, whereas guitarist Ranaldo’s static soundscape defies motion. It’s the irresistible force versus the immovable object, with precious little interaction. The track resembles an 18-minute drum solo with guitar/synth accompaniment. Better are cuts where Ranaldo plays guitar more conventionally. A greater emphasis on rhythm makes matters of cause-and-effect less ambiguous. Still, the guitarist is either unwilling or unable to engage in the kind of energetic linear improvisation that Hooker would seem to need from a duo partner. Each of the several improvised tracks has its moments. Hooker and Ranaldo are, after all, both gifted musicians. This taken as evidence, however, it’s not apparent that they’re particularly well matched. true 214 2007-06-07T14:05:44-04:00 17372 106 200610 true 0 74 2006-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

The Celestial Answer asks implicitly: Can a free-jazz drummer (William Hooker) and a punk/ambient guitarist (Lee Ranaldo) share a CD without driving each other crazy? Of course they can. But should they? It’s possible this odd couple is absolutely comfortable playing together. Based on the recorded evidence, however, I’m not convinced. Issues of incompatibility arise immediately on the opening “Celestial 2/1.” Hooker is not a colorist by nature. At his best, he’s the direct opposite: an aggressive, propulsive jazz drummer. His playing virtually defines momentum, whereas guitarist Ranaldo’s static soundscape defies motion. It’s the irresistible force versus the immovable object, with precious little interaction. The track resembles an 18-minute drum solo with guitar/synth accompaniment. Better are cuts where Ranaldo plays guitar more conventionally. A greater emphasis on rhythm makes matters of cause-and-effect less ambiguous. Still, the guitarist is either unwilling or unable to engage in the kind of energetic linear improvisation that Hooker would seem to need from a duo partner. Each of the several improvised tracks has its moments. Hooker and Ranaldo are, after all, both gifted musicians. This taken as evidence, however, it’s not apparent that they’re particularly well matched.

2009-03-02T00:25:51-05:00

4 This two-disc package presents the dexterous bassist Joëlle Léandre in performance with five sets of free improvisers at the 2005 LeMans Jazz Festival. Disc one begins with a trio that includes vocalist Maggie Nicols and pianist Irene Schweitzer. The group’s music is charged with a sense of common purpose. Nicols mostly avoids the melodramatic glissing and ululations that mar the wordless vocals of lesser improvisers. Schweitzer is a percussive, reactive pianist—intense and extremely imaginative. Léandre ably negotiates the incorporeal region between texture and melody. Léandre’s three meetings with fellow bassist William Parker are less interesting, in part because the screech of two bassists simultaneously scraping out upper harmonics is one of the most unpleasant sounds known to humankind. It’s much better when one or the other plays pizzicato. Léandre’s duo with violinist India Cooke leads off disc two. Cooke displays an elegant exactitude, and Léandre responds in kind. Precision is also an important part of Léandre’s trio with percussionist Mark Nauseef and trumpeter Markus Stockhausen. Theirs is a low-key, dynamically shaded performance that emphasizes melody to a refreshing degree. Four quartet tracks with the percussionist Paul Lovens, trombonist Sebi Tramontana and violinist Carlos Zingaro bring things to a close. As energetic as the Nicols/Schweitzer group, as finely detailed as the Cooke duo, their free-jazz-tinged music is a wonderful way to end this protean set. It’s rare that a two-disc set grips me from beginning to end. Aside from a couple of stumbles, this does. true 214 2007-06-07T14:05:44-04:00 17373 106 200610 true 0 74 2006-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

This two-disc package presents the dexterous bassist Joëlle Léandre in performance with five sets of free improvisers at the 2005 LeMans Jazz Festival. Disc one begins with a trio that includes vocalist Maggie Nicols and pianist Irene Schweitzer. The group’s music is charged with a sense of common purpose. Nicols mostly avoids the melodramatic glissing and ululations that mar the wordless vocals of lesser improvisers. Schweitzer is a percussive, reactive pianist—intense and extremely imaginative. Léandre ably negotiates the incorporeal region between texture and melody. Léandre’s three meetings with fellow bassist William Parker are less interesting, in part because the screech of two bassists simultaneously scraping out upper harmonics is one of the most unpleasant sounds known to humankind. It’s much better when one or the other plays pizzicato. Léandre’s duo with violinist India Cooke leads off disc two. Cooke displays an elegant exactitude, and Léandre responds in kind. Precision is also an important part of Léandre’s trio with percussionist Mark Nauseef and trumpeter Markus Stockhausen. Theirs is a low-key, dynamically shaded performance that emphasizes melody to a refreshing degree. Four quartet tracks with the percussionist Paul Lovens, trombonist Sebi Tramontana and violinist Carlos Zingaro bring things to a close. As energetic as the Nicols/Schweitzer group, as finely detailed as the Cooke duo, their free-jazz-tinged music is a wonderful way to end this protean set. It’s rare that a two-disc set grips me from beginning to end. Aside from a couple of stumbles, this does.

2009-03-02T00:25:51-05:00

4 Sure, it’s darn near as formulaic as bebop, but I can still get something out of a session like this—four monster improvisers, highly attuned to one another, free-associating together for the better part of an hour. Mujician is pianist Keith Tippett, bassist Paul Rogers, drummer Tony Levin and saxophonist Paul Dunmall. As for the music…well, you know the drill. Webern-ish plinks and plunks, intervallic relationships that avoid any intimation of a tonal center, texturally driven with the occasional melody flying by at warp speed. The substance of such music depends less on the larger (wholly amorphous) form than on the smallest detail. Musicians like these give you infinite facets on which to focus. Swing is seldom made explicit but usually implied in their phrasing. The arc of the performance is natural and effective. For music like this to succeed, the players must be aware of contrasts in dynamics and density. These guys are, absolutely. There’s not much here in the way of blues tonality, but that’s an expected difference between stateside bands and British free-jazz outfits. It certainly takes nothing away from the music, which in terms of content is first-rate. true 214 2007-06-07T14:05:44-04:00 17374 106 200610 true 0 74 2006-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

Sure, it’s darn near as formulaic as bebop, but I can still get something out of a session like this—four monster improvisers, highly attuned to one another, free-associating together for the better part of an hour. Mujician is pianist Keith Tippett, bassist Paul Rogers, drummer Tony Levin and saxophonist Paul Dunmall. As for the music…well, you know the drill. Webern-ish plinks and plunks, intervallic relationships that avoid any intimation of a tonal center, texturally driven with the occasional melody flying by at warp speed. The substance of such music depends less on the larger (wholly amorphous) form than on the smallest detail. Musicians like these give you infinite facets on which to focus. Swing is seldom made explicit but usually implied in their phrasing. The arc of the performance is natural and effective. For music like this to succeed, the players must be aware of contrasts in dynamics and density. These guys are, absolutely. There’s not much here in the way of blues tonality, but that’s an expected difference between stateside bands and British free-jazz outfits. It certainly takes nothing away from the music, which in terms of content is first-rate.

2009-03-02T00:25:51-05:00

4 Bardo Hotel is a painstakingly pieced together series of movements (“spontaneously conceived,” say the credits, though I strongly suspect some composed elements) that bring to mind such disparate music as Miles Davis’ In a Silent Way, Steve Reich’s theatrical work “The Cave” and John Cage’s “Variations.” In any case, a cataloging of influences could only scratch the surface of this hard-to-describe, ambitious music, conceived as the soundtrack to a film planned by Tuxedomoon in collaboration with the visual artist George Kanakis, “loosely connected” to the Brion Gysin novel of the same name. It’s a densely layered work: Ethereal trumpets and woodwinds float over rockish bass ostinatos and processed electronics, while found conversations, taped airport announcements and the sounds of voice-mail operators weave in and out. The musicians’ individual personalities are subsumed by the collective. This is an egoless work. As loathe as I am to quote promo material, the press release accompanying this album calls the music itself “a true ‘Road Movie of the Mind,’” which pretty much nails it. I look forward to seeing the film. On the other hand, the music itself is so evocative that I doubt the visuals could improve on the experience. true 214 2007-06-07T14:05:44-04:00 17375 106 200610 true 0 74 2006-10-01T00:00:00-04:00

Bardo Hotel is a painstakingly pieced together series of movements (“spontaneously conceived,” say the credits, though I strongly suspect some composed elements) that bring to mind such disparate music as Miles Davis’ In a Silent Way, Steve Reich’s theatrical work “The Cave” and John Cage’s “Variations.” In any case, a cataloging of influences could only scratch the surface of this hard-to-describe, ambitious music, conceived as the soundtrack to a film planned by Tuxedomoon in collaboration with the visual artist George Kanakis, “loosely connected” to the Brion Gysin novel of the same name. It’s a densely layered work: Ethereal trumpets and woodwinds float over rockish bass ostinatos and processed electronics, while found conversations, taped airport announcements and the sounds of voice-mail operators weave in and out. The musicians’ individual personalities are subsumed by the collective. This is an egoless work. As loathe as I am to quote promo material, the press release accompanying this album calls the music itself “a true ‘Road Movie of the Mind,’” which pretty much nails it. I look forward to seeing the film. On the other hand, the music itself is so evocative that I doubt the visuals could improve on the experience.

2009-03-02T00:25:51-05:00