A few new releases from ESP-Disk' arrived in the mail recently. Before I get to them, I want to do some quick takes on a few things that the long-standing label released a little while ago.
Painted Faces
Normal Street
Painted Faces is the performing and recording moniker used by David Drucker. Though he hails from Florida, he has no connection to THE Painted Faces, a short-lived '60s garage band who coincidentally hailed from the same state. Drucker has been a resident of New York for over a decade now as well.
Normal Street not only continues ESP's crusade to keep rock weird, it continues in the spirit of everyone from the label's early sound pioneers like Cromagnon to artists like Jandek, who turn on the tape and let things flow naturally. Whatever happens becomes the end piece, with extra trimmings added on top as they go. If the players are still warming up (the guitar and guest harmonica in "Paranoid Dollhouse") so be it. "An American Werewolf in Ridgewood" begins with a wall of guitars that recall Eno's "Here Come the Warm Jets." The vocals sound like J. Mascis wandered in, though it also feels like we might be listening on a radio that will collapse into static if the antenna is moved just a few inches. (Anyone who grew up listening to low-watt radio knows what I mean.)
No two tracks are alike. In fact, the first half of one track might be completely different from what happens at the end. "Xea" almost feels like an epic, starting with distorted piano and vocals with delay effects before other voices (protesters?) overpower the song, eventually ending up with droning bass. The electronics that hum in many tracks also recall early Throbbing Gristle.
It's unclear whether underground or college radio still functions with the same purpose of previous decades, which motivates DJs to play the strange and unusual releases, hoping to both unnerve and blow minds of listeners. Normal Street (named for an actual street near a DIY space in Worcester, Mass.) belongs in that category of albums. Maybe this isn't casual listening but the sounds on this record can reel you in, wondering who the hell this is, leading you to keep listening to answer that question and to find out what will happen next. Take this record and play it. For everyone
Allen Lowe
America: The Rough Cut
In The Dark
A composer, author, guitarist and saxophonist, Allen Lowe know a lot about a lot. He's not afraid to let you know either. And if your perspective doesn't jibe with his, watch out. A quick look at his Facebook feed indicates that "cantankerous" might be an understatement when it comes to his opinions on certain topics. I once felt compelled to reach through the screen and backhand him after he went after some friends of mine - who he hadn't met - when they opined on the subject of Art Pepper's salacious memoir. (To his credit, Allen later apologized.)
This is not to say that Lowe thinks everyone is wrong and that his is the final word. He's just very passionate about what he does and thinks. Even if you get rankled by his rants ("No mention of Jo Jones in the recent Max Roach documentary?! What's wrong with people!"), anyone with a lick of sense can walk away saying, "Well, the man has a point."
America: The Rough Cut, Lowe explains in the liner notes "is my statement not only on American music and American song, but also my commentary on the way American musicians of all styles handle that old time music and those old song forms." Most of it features the leader on tenor or alto saxophone, along with guitarist Ray Suhy (who also plays banjo), bassist Alex Tremblay and drummer Kresten Osgood.
Although he doesn't attempt to chart the entire history of American music, Lowe cooks up 13 tracks that follow a trail blazed by all manner of blues, country and jazz forefathers, blowing with a gritty, vast line of tenor ideas, bolstered by Suhy's often vicious, fiery fretwork ("Blues In Shreds," Metallic Taste"), making the latter a player who should be heard more often. In "Cold Was the Night, Dark Was the Ground," Lowe picks up the axe himself but although he references Blind Willie Johnson in the liners, his vocalizing sounds more a bad Tom-Waits-on-a-bender voice. (That's probably going to draw some Lowe wrath.) The album closes with "At A Baptist Meeting," a 2014 live recording of a band with a five-piece horn section including alto saxophonist Darius Jones and the late trombonist Roswell Rudd, who leaves us some beautiful growls. The sound (band and recording) makes a dramatic shift with this finale but the piece is worth it.
In The Dark is textbook Lowe: three discs of music with his sprawling tenor lines in company with some strong fellow horn players: Aaron Johnson (alto, clarinet), Ken Peplowski (clarinet), Lisa Parrott (baritone), Brian Simontacchi (trombone), Kellin Hannas (trumpet). Lest anyone forget, Lowe was voted 2021 Artist of the Year in JazzTimes (the same month in which the magazine ran my feature on him) and this album offers plenty of evidence why he deserved such that recognition. His writing is heavy on detail with unexpected turns in melody, and he knows how to score his works for a larger group. (Not all of the horns play one each of the 30 tracks; each disc sort of divides different sections up, with at least a few of them joining the leader each time.)
At times, I can't help thinking of Mingus Ah Um or Blues and Roots while spinning In the Dark. Not that Lowe is trying to be Mingus, but like the bassist, he's drawing on familiar forms and using them as a springboard for new ideas. Playing in a more straightahead style is not a crime, unless a player thinks that by playing in that way, it alone will carry them. Lowe understands that it's crucial to make it count - in other words, to bring something new to the table besides reverences. Of course, if a wild label like ESP is the label releasing the music, one can't expect a staid set of swing either.
Part of his approach involves irreverence, with titles like "Out To Brunch," "Innuendo In Blue" and "Do You Know What It Means To Leave New Orleans," but that's only the start. For every clever title, he also has ones like "Goodbye Barry Harris" and "Memories of Jaki," which get reflective in the best way. He and Johnson work so well together that it's sometimes easy to miss one passing the solo baton to the other. At other times, it's quite obvious, like when Johnson incorporates some Dolphy-esque bite into his playing, which includes at least one moment when he throws in the Classic Dolphy Alto Line (anyone who's listened to even a small portion of the late multi-instrumentalist's work should know the mangled melody).
As good as both of these Lowe albums are, listeners would be well-advised to snatch up his forthcoming epic, called A Love Supine. I discussed the album at length in my JT piece, as it features an especially strong set of original material played by a powerful band (many of whom show up here). But its release was back-burnered in favor of these two. Supposedly, it's still in the ESP hopper, with a album number and all, so hopefully it will appear sometime soon.
In the meantime, there is plenty to explore here, with all three of these albums presenting both ends of the ESP-Disk' musical spectrum
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