CD Review: Chris Pitsiokos - Art of the Alto

Chris Pitsiokos
Art of the Alto

(Relative Pitch) relativepitchrecords.bandcamp.com/album/art-of-the-alto

Relative Pitch is a New York-based label that specializes in a wide array of avant garde jazz and free improvisation. Their extensive catalog includes groups that swing while they break new ground, as well as skin-searing recitals in which "extended technique" barely scratches the surface of what comes in the recording. The label posts videos frequently on Instagram of the latter style of playing too.

A while back, I took a dive into some new releases on the label and, at the time, I couldn't hack them. Normally raucous free improv like that yanks me right in, especially if I'm seeing it live. It might have been around this time in 2020, when my sensibilities seemed a little vulnerable. But the sound of two trumpets creating some visceral un-trumpet like sounds was so far beyond extended that the technique seemed to split down the middle and become something else entirely. I wasn't feeling it. I was reminded of an experimental musician once talking about how music like that is fun to play but not always fun to listen to.

Chris Pitsiokos' solo alto saxophone album seemed like a good place to dive back into to this kind of music. I have a fondness for solo instrument albums and what better instrument than my former horn of choice. "Dolomite" begins the album with a blast - a harsh metallic blast that last about three seconds and repeats after a two-second pause. This continues for several minutes, evolving from a sound that doesn't resemble an alto to a pattern where Pitsiokos alternates altissimo squeals and low honks, while his circular breathing sustains the sound. Eight minutes in, he's blowing a tart line that gets picks up speed, eventually moving faster than Anthony Braxton did in a similar setting, without forsaking his melody line for wails. What started brutally ends with some soft multiphonics and some semblance of music order, rather than cathartic wailing.

That might be a lot of insight into one track, but "Dolomite" does last 14 minutes, and it sets the tone for the rest of the album. In fact "Obsidian," which appears later in the album, begins almost the same way as "Dolomite," to the point where it eventually sounds like Pitsiokos is playing along with the earlier track. "Basalt" and "Sandstone" find the saxophonist delivering one high shriek for their duration of each track, which last one- and two-minutes respectively. 

As often as Pitsiokos seems to lock into a cluster of notes, he also displays the chops to expand on the line, often incorporating another pitch from the bottom range of his horn. Yet again he does it all without taking a breath, but making it all flow. This happens in "Shale" which also includes a moment that sounds authentically like a skipping CD. (I was listening to a download so it was clearly him.) 

"Anthracite" ends the album like a ballad, compared to what preceded it. Pitsiokos blows long tones at a hushed volume, and although things get a little tense, it ends with a growl floating to the surface over a wave of sustained notes. 

Art of the Alto is a challenging listen. But anyone who comes in contact with the album probably already knows that. When given the time, it becomes more than merely feral technique on parade. Pitsiokos uses that technique to creates some unique sonic sculptures.