Loss in October

The fall season, and specifically October, used to be my favorite time of the year, bar none. Part of it related to my birthday coming in October, but there was always a sense of renewal closely linked to this time of the year: new school year, new apartments, a sense of adventure that came with it. Plus the October temperatures have a certain romanticism to me. These days if I drive to my mom's house on a Friday in the late afternoon, it takes me back to the days of have a paper route and "going collecting" (getting my customers to pay for the week's paper) and going on some adventure that night.

But as time goes on, the fall season has become synonymous with loss and tragedy. InPittsburgh, the first alt-weekly paper where I worked on staff, was bought out and shut down at the end of September 2001. My position at Whole Foods was eliminated right around the same time in 2005. (I'm back there again, so things come around, but it was a hard couple of years, mentally, in between.) 

Thanks to good old Facebook memories, I was reminded that, in October 2014, I had a seriously bad asthma attack that led to a trip to emergency room - which I got to by hopping on the bus down the street from my house. That had a happy ending too, in a way, but the night it happened, I was worried that my continual huffs off of old albuterol inhalers might result in a heart attack. Thankfully I was well enough to walk home from the hospital that night, which was a far cry from the trip there, when I could barely walk the block from the bus stop to the ER without stopping to catch my breath.

I'm okay. And this really isn't about me. It's about the people around us. 

Again the memories reminded me that six years ago today, Pittsburgh musician Erin Hutter died mysteriously. I had seen her play numerous times with punks-turned-genuine-country-blues players the Deliberate Strangers and we even played together briefly in the band Boxstep. While we were never extremely close, we were always happy to see each other when we crossed paths, usually at a show or a watering hole (or both). She usually had a story about teaching or some music she had heard. It had been awhile since I had seen her and knowing that she was really gone hit sort of hard. Especially because at the time I was dealing with my dad's stint in the hospital which would drag on until he passed in mid-November. 

But everyone in Pittsburgh with a heart knows that today is the second anniversary of the shooting at the Tree of Life synagogue in Squirrel Hill. It's an atrocity that is still hard to come to terms with. You think that hate at that kind of level is something that went away with World War II but tragically, it isn't. And that's what makes it so horrible. So horrible that I feel like me sitting here typing about it doesn't do anyone any good. It feels self-serving.

Then I think about how Squirrel Hill is near where I grew up. Even though our house was over a mile away from Tree of Life, I feel a community connection. Until I started typing, I forgot that my personal doctor's partner - Jerry Rabinowitz - was one of the people killed that day. When I finally saw my doctor a few months later and offered my condolences, he stopped me before I got it all out, thanking me and brushing it off. It made me realize that it's probably on his mind constantly. Everywhere he looks, he sees remnants of his colleague. That kind of feeling could send you into a tailspin and want to retreat from society, yet here he is still practicing and seeing patients. Maybe that also helps him through.

The day before the shooting, I had a band practice for a show with a pickup band that was playing REM songs at a night of tributes called "Smothered and Covered." Our singer, Justin, had just flown into town and was practicing with the three of us for the first time. (We had been working up the set for about a month.) Because of my work schedule, we could only practice in the late morning/early afternoon before I had to take off for work. Thankfully, the guys obliged and they rocked, first thing after waking up.

Between songs, our drummer Joe left the room to take a call. When he came back he told us that Jesse Flati, half the local band the Lopez with his wife Steph, had suffered a heart attack and died. He was only 40. Joe was close to Jesse's friends and asked us to keep it under our hats because it had happened so recently. Naturally, we agreed.

Jesse and I played on a bill together several years earlier, but we had just spoken for an interview a few months before he died. (The conversation worked into an article in the first issue of Pittsburgh Current.) I knew Steph a little better than I knew Jesse but he was the kind of guy that you warmed up to right away. There were several things he said in describing music that have stuck with me since that conversation. 

It was hard enough going to the Smothered and Covered show the next night knowing the sad news about Jesse, but feelings were magnified 1000% after Tree of Life. What do you do? It was hard for me because that night was the first time I was to go on stage since the previous February. I had no band though I was trying desperately to get one together. I wanted to play but wondered if I should be doing something else.

One thing that helped came when Benefits played a set as the Cure. Mike Baltzer, who organized the show and put me together with the REM guys was all done up like Robert Smith with the delivery to match. He introduced a song by saying words to the effect of, "Find the person close to you [maybe he said on your right side or left ide] and give them a hug. Whether you know them or not." Then they played "Close To Me." I hugged a dude in a baseball cap that I didn't know and my friend Greg (who had also played in Boxstep with me and Erin Hutter). It might have been more of a bro-hug and yeah, me and the guy I didn't know were a little awkward but it helped. Because it brought us all together. 

I think us REM guys played after them, but I can't say for sure. Which is funny because I usually remember this stuff. We did have a good set. Although I do recall that part of "It's The End of The World As We Know It" got a little botched up. 

But there were more important things to remember that night. Like being close to people, complete strangers even, and knowing that sometimes music and those hugs can help in times of need and make you realize that there is still some brightness to October. 

CD Review: Dan Weiss Starebaby - Natural Selection

 

Dan Weiss Starebaby

Natural Selection

(Pi) danweiss.bandcamp.com/album/natural-selection

On a bill stacked with innovative players, Dan Weiss' Starebaby quintet nearly stole the show  at Brooklyn's Sultan Room during last January's Winter Jazz Fest . The music was heavy, loud and full of ever-shifting time signature quick cuts, but it never felt bombastic or flashy. Coming shortly after the death of Neal Peart, Weiss' technique as a drummer and composer were on full display, making him a good candidate for the next generation to emulate, much as he did for the Rush drummer.

Most, if not all, of their set drew on the material that appears on their new album. Natural Selection consists of a series of tulpas, "beings that are created through spiritual or mental powers that take on similar forms as the original," according to Weiss. With inspiration coming from David Lynch's Twin Peaks series and a love of heavy rock, "Episode 18" comes out of the gate shredding, with Ben Monder's guitar in the front, sounding like every metal dude's ideal. The track alternates between these taut moments and slow atmospheric breaks. When Monder takes a solo towards the end, he sounds less like a metal player than a prog master, laying down sustained, rich tones rather than some fast pyrotechnics. Trevor Dunn kicks on the fuzz to dirty up his bass, which blends well with the dual keyboards of Matt Mitchell and Craig Taborn. Two seconds shy of 13 minutes, "Episode 18" doesn't waste any of that time, expertly splitting weight and ambiance.

Progressive rock is nowhere near as repetitive as pop music, but there's a certain strain of repetition that can come up with the music. A certain form gets repeated, which is good for the listener because it makes a choppy rhythm more familiar as it proceeds, usually continuing to add more sonic dimension as it goes. King Crimson did something like this on the Red album on the title track and in "Starless," but honestly the idea of repetition plus increased dynamics goes back at least as far as Stan Kenton. 

I'm going off on this tangent because Weiss writes this way throughout Natural Selection. It happens during "Episode 18," where it adds to the phantasmagoria of the music. "A Taste of Memory," however, has almost half of its 14 minutes devoted to a piano motif. After an opening, where Monder gets a great fuzz sound like he's playing through a blown speaker, things break down to a piano part. As it repeats, the rest of the band joins in, slowly building it up, but it never leads to anything further, just the end.

"Today Is Wednesday Tomorrow?" feels like six minutes of an intro. Weiss even adds some tablas and like many tracks, it features acoustic piano (though it's hard to tell Taborn from Mitchell; and Weiss also gets a piano credit!). But once everyone is playing, the piece is over without much climax.

Starebaby brings back the energy of the Sultan Room on the album's last two tracks. "Accina" begins with a rolling rubato, again lead by piano, before slamming into a heavy riff, which the crew continually revisits through these 15 minutes. In between, Monder plays another solo that's sounds just a bit off-mike, which means his tone drapes the rest of the band as he plays. The pianos go off into a section that keeps threatening to go back to a walking straight 4, but never does. After returning to the song's main riff (following a few open seconds of tense silence each time), Weiss tricks listeners with this ending by splitting instead of going back to it.

"Head Wreck," though not quite as lengthy, has plenty of the same strong elements:  power chords. keyboard breaks, plus atonal banging that could be keys or guitar plonks. Not only that, it ends with the closest thing to a drum solo, which either means Weiss overdubbed some extra cymbal crashes or he played like a four-handed drummer, rolling on his kit while unleashing said crashes. Either way, it's a solid closing statement. 

One thing that's clear throughout Natural Selection is how tight Starebaby sounds. The album was made following a tour, so the music was deeply ingrained by then. All eight tracks have some moments that feel electrifying and their atmospheric moments sound pretty eerie and evocative. But the band is best when they're rocking out, keeping it heavy and fleet at the same time. 

Catching Up on Free Improvisation Albums on OutNow Recordings, Gauci Music and ESP-Disk'

Sometimes I wonder if this blog could serve as place that helps to spread the word about about free improvisation music, the radical kind that pushes the limits sonically. There very likely are bigger, more established, more consistant blogs out there that do a more extensive job of covering this noisy stuff. But it would cool to play some part in it: turning someone on to a musician or label, giving the player some more attention, having a couple CDs exchange hands, providing some encouragement to keep going. 

I'm not fishing for effusive comments here. (If you're so inclined, I'll take them, but I'm not hoping to get the equivalent of a bunch of "We LUVVVV you" messages like you see on FB anytime someone is down in the dumps.) The reason I bring this up is because sometimes I get a stack of CDs from independent musicians or label reps and I want to do my part to help spread the word about their efforts. That's really what I started blogging in the first place. I had more to write about than outlets for it. Having put out independent releases myself that got little or no press (except for the first one), I could relate too. 

One of the things about a forum like this is you don't have to worry about timeliness. It's cool when you're one of the first to write about a release, but if there's something that's been out for a while and you really like it, don't worry about the lag. An album can always use a bit of praise a few months down the line (though publicist might disagree).  I might be saying all this to myself to rationalize this post, but it's working so I shouldn't stop now. 

With all that, I give you three albums of frenzied free improvisation, two of which aren't new but are worthy of a belated perusal.

Tyshawn Sorey/Nadav Remez/Antonin Tri Hoang
ELK3

(Out Now) www.outnowrecordings.com or outnowrecordings.bandcamp.com/album/elk3

OutNow Recordings is a label run by saxophonist Yoni Kretzmer, out of Brooklyn. A number of their albums have been reviewed on this blog, and can be found here. The label has released a lot of free blowing groups, often with Kretzmer's strong tenor as a featured soloist. His 2 Bass Quartet has done some strong work but there are others.

ELK3 arrived amongst a batch of new ones during the summer of 2019 and sat on my desk, calling to me. It comes from a 2014 performance by Tyshawn Sorey (drums, piano), Nadav Remez (guitar) and Antonin Tri Hoang (alto saxophone, bass clarinet) at the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity. The album bands a continuous 39-minute performance into nine tracks, with breaks usually coming with a change in dynamics or sounds. The trio begins at a high intensity level, with Hoang bleating a single note over Sorey's spastic drums and Remez's guitar skronk that gradually blends together with the horn. 

The group never lets an idea get worn out and clearly responds to one another as things develop. In "Wapiti," Remez plays a cascading guitar line that sounds like the intro to Television's "Friction" but before long he builds some feedback in duet with Hoang's wailing alto. Sorey's use of open space in his own compositions plays out here too, allowing things to gently transition between movements. When he switches to piano during the last third of the set, he utilizes prepared effects for a percussive attack, with Hoang's bass clarinet latching on to it. Remez frequently plays with a bright twang, like the spirit of a surf guitarist is trying to overpower his instrument.

The trio exemplifies everything that makes free improvisation fun - strong interaction, equal amounts of frenzy and calm, exploration of all sonic possibilities. No wonder the audience waited a full 30 seconds after things died down before roaring theie approval.

Sean Conly/Michaël Attias/Tom Rainey

Live at the Bushwick Series

(Gauci Music) gauchimusic.com or on Bandcamp

Assuming that someday we will return to some normal state where it will be safe to visit a small performance space to see a band, I hope the Bushwick Public House in Brooklyn will still be thriving. Every Monday night saxophonist Stephen Gauci hosts about five or six bands (no lie) who each blow a short but usually sweet set of free music. 

Back in January I visited the Public House to check out one such night. At first I had trouble finding the entrance to the basement/lower level room where Gauci and his friends set up. It was as DIY as DIY comes but it was fun too. (Some details can be found here.) 

In addition to chronicling every week online, Gauci has also released several CDs of performances from the Bushwick series, as well as some studio sessions by some regulars. (A review of some earlier ones can be found here.)  Among the last batch that arrived on my desk before I saw the event live, the trio of Sean Conly (bass), Michaël Attias (alto saxophone) and Tom Rainey (drums) was one that hit the CD player and intrigued me. 

It captures the trio's set from a January 2019 performance, beginning like a composition where Conly embarks on a melodic line and Attias joins him in a countermelody. Unlike the ELK3 group, this trio sets out to take ideas and expand on them and seeing what kind of potential they have. The final piece of their set (banded together in track two, which is labeled "Improvisation 2" on your CD player) climaxes with the band going into a heavy 4/4 groove. Don't say that these guys can't swing.

Owl Xounds Exploding Galaxy

The Coalescence

(ESP-Disk') www.espdisk.com or owlxoundsexplodinggalaxy.bandcamp.com/album/the-coalescence

Bassist Gene Janas and drummer Adam Kriney first starting performing under the name Owl Xounds in the early 2000s, producing a series of small run releases (cassettes, CDrs) and garnering a name for themselves among New York free fans. Janas is something of a veteran free player, having come up in the '60s, eventually playing with guitarist Bern Nix and trumpeter Dewey Johnson in the Sedition Ensemble. Kriney came to New York a bit later but proved an apt foil for Janas.

The addition of "Exploding Galaxy" to the Owl Xounds moniker has been likened to Sun Ra's frequent augmentation of his Arkestra name with addition syllables. In addition to words, the duo is also joined by second bassist Shayna Dulberger and saxophonist Mario Rechtern in a 2007 session which yielded a previous album, Splintered Visions on Blackest Rainbow Records.

Compared to the two above albums, The Coalescence is the most frenzied of the three. (It's also the shortest, clocking in at exactly 30 minutes, with three tracks.) There is a moment on "Aghast at Last" where one of the bassists attempts to lay down something of a two-note line, but that's clearly an exception. Kriney plays explosively from starts to finish, moving across his whole kit in a multi-directional Rashied Ali kind of way, slowing down only in the final moments with some cymbal crashes serving as final proclamations. He serves as the element to follow, holding things together in a way. Rechtern moves in and out of the music, usually beginning in a flurry of rabid notes on alto or soprano. It's only when he steps back that it becomes easier to discern that two basses are playing, with one usually plucking and the other bowing, often rattling it on the strings or scraping viciously.

On the first couple listens, the music just sounds chaotic; four people playing at the same time, though not necessarily together. But listening on earbuds brings out the subtleties of the music. Kriney's performance keeps the music flowing with a high level of energy. Before "Distillation" suddenly stops, Rechtern trades his wild tone for a sound closer to a swing player, with a plucky tone. He plays some unidentifiable instrument at the end of "Cavernous Ode" that might be an electronic reed instrument. The reverb on that track also plays up the divergent sounds of the two bassists. If you can't see this group live, block out everything else and give a close listen, imagining what it would look like in a live setting.

ESP originally released The Coalescence as an extremely limited edition LP. That's sold out but CDs and digital copies can be found on the label's Bandcamp page or website. 

Gauci continues to post music from previous Bushwick Public House shows on youtube, linking them on his FB page. There's even another set by Conly, Attias & Rainey on youtube. Pretty much all of the albums can be found on the Bandcamp page linked above.

The OutNow discography also seems to be up on Bandcamp now as well. 

Go find them. Tell them I sent you.

CD Review: Fumi Tomita - Celebrating Bird / A Tribute To Charlie Parker & The Claire Daly Band - Rah! Rah!

Ah, the jazz tribute album. A way to ensure that a musician's debt to the forefathers will be acknowledged, while at the same time, giving a player an extra boost of attention via association with said the masters. 

Cynicism aside, it's hard to blame a musician for going down this path. It's hard to get one's name out there, to a level where us jaded critics will say, "Oh! A new album by them. Better put that at the top of the pile." (I know they're not player for just for us, really.) Like everything, it's all in how the music is performed. Lean too close to the original and what's the point? Transpose it into a different setting and it feels like a (musical) fish out of water. Besides, after playing your own music, it can be fun to do someone's tunes, so why not give it a shot?

Fumi Tomita featuring David Detweiler

Celebrating Bird/A Tribute to Charlie Parker

(Next Level) www.fumitomitamusic.com

August 29 marked the centennial of Charlie Parker's birth, which has been on everyone's radar since January. Bassist Fumi Tomita celebrates the occasion by doing something that Parker himself did in his prime: appropriating the chord changes of some tunes - in this case written by Bird - and using them as the canvas for new melodies. These are a little more grounded in tradition than Rudresh Mahanthappa's bold Bird Calls but it's still a good way of paying tribute and putting your ideas out there simultaneously. Not all them are obvious and neither aren't drawn just from Parker's signature works. I'm still not sure of the origin of "Waltz Of the Moon," but Art Hirahara leaps into the upbeat ballad, left-hand chords inspiring his right hand, so by then the source is secondary.

Writing credits are split evenly between Tomita and tenor saxophonist David Detweiler. The bassist enjoys playing the melody lines with the tenor, which he does in the two blues, "Oceanology" and "Alice Changes" (the latter an easy source giveaway for Bird fans). "Like Sigmund," a contrafact of "Segment," has a cool minor slink to it, that leads right into a bass solo that's heavy on melody with a good use of space. When Detweiler gets his solo time in this track, he adopts a smoky tone that makes sure he stands out after Tomita and Hirahara. 

Along with "Waltz," the saxophonist also recasts Neal Hefti's "Repetition" with a mid-tempo Latin groove, eating up the changes and rising above a performance by the rhythm section that feels a bit placid. Tomita's performance on the whole album never lets listeners forget who's leading the session, but his instrument could have been a little more present in the mix. The same goes for drummer Jimmy Macbride. He finally gets the spotlight in the closing "Bird Dreams" but he support work sits a little far in the background when a little push forward could have added some extra bite. Still it's good to hear a group think outside the box when it comes to Charlie Parker. 

The Claire Daly Band

Rah! Rah!

(Ride Symbol) ridesymbol.com/product/claire-daly-rah-rah/

Bird isn't the only one who would have celebrated a milestone birthday this year. Had he lived, Rahsaan Roland Kirk would have marked 75 trips around the sun. Baritone saxophonist/flutist Claire Daly sees it as a good reason to celebrates the eccentric musician's life. 

Kirk's ability to play two or three saxophones at once, sing while blowing the flute, and other flamboyant tricks sometimes distracted audiences from the amazing technique and encyclopedic musical knowledge that he possessed. (Or at least that has been written about him in retrospect. Modern liner notes go out at length about Kirk being misunderstood but it seems like dispatches at the time had an appreciation for Kirk's talent.) Rather than attempt to recreate his instrumentation, Daly sticks to one horn and a flute, preferring to salute his compositions.

She opens with her own "Blue Lady" which reworks Kirk's "Lady's Blues." It's a languid opener, with a straightforward swing that evokes a Count Basie groove. On flute, she transforms "Bright Moments" into "Momentus Brighticus," a solid waltz driven by bassist Dave Hofstra's steady groove. Daly puts her spin on the original's call-and-response toward the end but the group seems to approach it cautiously when a little reckless abandon would have been in order. 

Among the Kirk originals, she comes close to singing into the flute on "Serenade to Cuckoo" but just for a second, preferring to develop a melodic solo. "Volunteered Slavery" was originally a semi-gospel/soul tune with a vocal that went into a full band groove, borrowing a melody from the Beatles (the same group Kirk would decry a few years later for coming into the US and "taking all the bread," but that's another story). Daly and the band dig into the song's boogaloo potential and her baritone cuts loose here. But instead of going into a rave-up, they detour into a version of Sly and the Family Stone's "Everyday People," with the saxophonist singing a chorus. The group could have really dug harder into the song's one-chord vamp but again they hold back. Daly hasn't a decent of pipes, but her take on "Alfie," later in the album, puts them to better use. 

Yet the group kicks up some fire in other places. Frank Foster's "Simone" and Charlie Parker's "Blues for Alice" both feature some meaty baritone work, with pianist Eli Yamin providing good contrast with Daly. "Funk Underneath" (originally a lowdown blues recorded with Jack McDuff) and "Theme for the Eulipions" (from his later period) are two deeper Kirk cuts that give Daly a little more time to show some grit on flute and baritone, respectively.  By closing with "I'll Be Seeing You" she really taps into the duality of Kirk - taking an old tune and polishing it to show off its charm while making the song feel like a personal message to listeners. Nice wrap-up.

CD Review: Charlotte Greve/ Vinnie Sperrazza/ Chris Tordini - The Choir Invisible

Charlotte Greve/Vinnie Sperrazza/Chris Tordini

The Choir Invisible

(Intakt) www.intaktrec.ch or intaktrec.bandcamp.com/album/the-choir-invisible

Tom Lehrer, the great satirical composer and pianist, once quipped that most folks songs are so atrocious because they were written by "the people." Although it was said for a laugh (which it rightfully received) it implies that folk music is synonymous with simple forms, which can be utilized by the most amateur musician. When a jazz song is described as having a folk melody, the same thing is implied. The composition isn't based on a complex set of bebop changes. More likely it has to do with a simple melody (maybe built on a pentatonic scale, though I can't say for sure) and a 1-IV-V set of chords, if that. Simple building blocks, but depending on how they're used, they can still form some great music.

These thoughts came to mind while listening to the collaborative trio of Charlotte Greve (alto saxophone), Vinnie Sperrazza (drums) and Chris Tordini (bass), in which all three compose. Several of these pieces sounds simple, built on a vamp or an arpeggio. But their cohesive skill makes sure that even an ostinato like "Chant," which opens the album, kicks things off with immediate direction. Simple or not, the trio makes things sound full and infectious.

Tordini, who plays in a number of sax/bass/drums trios, shows his flexibility here. He might hold down a solid groove with Sperrazza in "Low," but he also joins Greve in playing a melody on "Change Your Name" and "Daily Task." The bassist's "Zuppio" has a stop-start melody that, to these ears, recalls Thelonious Monk's rarely heard "Gallop's Gallop," at least in the version played solo by Steve Lacy. Yet, it moves somewhere else entirely when the trio moves past the theme. Greve's lines never get too complex and even sound spare at times, yet that's just what the music seems to call for in "Low." Her tone is unique - inquisitive like Lee Konitz but fuller, with a smoothness that she maintains in the lower register.

While The Choir Invisible sometimes recalls the lively openness of Ornette Coleman's trio with David Izenzon and Charles Moffatt, the closing title track evokes another practitioner of simple but deep writing: Paul Motian. (I'm not just saying that because Sperrazza wrote the tune either.) Greve and Tordini play the melody, not perfectly in sync but with a slight delay for more drama. Sperrazza rubs his brushes on the snare, adding more color by gradually moving around the kit, finally delivering some cymbal crashes that stop short of overpowering the group. The whole thing sounds through-composed though, by the time we get to this part of the album, it could be that the trio's rapport has developed so much that they can improvise together as easily as they can play a theme.  

While this trio (who will probably be called the Choir Invisible on future releases) are serious about what they play, they also seem like they enjoy each other's company, which comes through in their performance. 

LP Review: Thelonious Monk - Palo Alto

Thelonious Monk

Palo Alto

(Impulse!) impulserecords.com

After a delay of a few months that almost seemed to put the release in jeopardy, it's finally here!

The story of Palo Alto runs the risk of overshadowing the music that came about through this unique turn of events. Most Monk fans know the tale but it bears repeating. It all started with a teenager and a vision. That teen was Danny Scher, who was a senior at Palo Alto High School in the fall of 1968. A jazz fan, he had already brought Vince Guaraldi, Jon Hendricks and Cal Tjader to Paly for concerts that benefited the school's International Club. Through good connections and luck, he contacted Jules Columby, Monk's manager, and secured a date for his hero. Then he started promoting the show. 

The fall of '68 was not a bright time for America, which was reeling after the assassinations of Robert Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, as well as the chaos that erupted at the Democratic Convention in Chicago. (The more things change....) The predominantly African-American neighborhood East Palo Alto was trying get their name changed to Nairobi to instill a sense of pride in the community. The residents of Palo Alto proper fell on the liberal side but it still didn't seem like the typical place where you'd find Thelonious Monk So when Scher ventured into of East Palo Alto to put up flyers, the cops told him to stay away and the residents wondered if this kid was serious.

Scher was serious and what happened next is almost something out of a Frank Capra film. When the budding concert promoter reached Monk at San Francisco's Jazz Workshop a few days before the Paly gig was to occur, Monk said he knew nothing about the show. Columby never returned a signed contract to Scher. Monk, who wasn't in the greatest physical shape, could have just hung up and crushed a young kid's dreams. But somehow they came to an agreement. Scher told him that his older brother would whisk the band from San Francisco to Palo Alto for the afternoon gig, getting them back for their Jazz Workshop set that night. 

And he did. The audience, most of which was lined up in the Paly parking lot and most of them coming from East Palo Alto, paid for tickets as soon as they saw the group pull up in the Scher station wagon, with Larry Gales' bass sticking out of the back. Danny Scher and Monk, whose record label was trying to rebrand him in hopes of reaching a younger market, brought two communities together for the night.

It's a great story but it doesn't answer the question - How is the music? Numerous live Monk sets continue to surface from the '60s, with the pianist leading a quartet, usually with tenor saxophonist Charlie Rouse and a few different bassists and drummers that appeared on his Columbia albums. They're all good, but often seem interchangeable, with a limited setlist. Monk at the time was criticized as being predictable and it wasn't always incorrect. 

It's October 27. 1968 and the quartet is on fire. Monk, Rouse, Gales and Ben Riley play like they realize the once-in-a-lifetime series of events that transpired. A now-unknown janitor recorded the show, with a mix that pushes up the rhythm section in a manner we're not used to hearing from a Monk quartet. The sound quality puts Gales in the driver's seat. He takes lengthy, inspired solos in "Well, You Needn't" and "Blue Monk," using a bow in the former, which is rare since Monk apparently disliked arco solos. 

Monk draws on some of his signature solo licks, playing with the rhythm and utilizing open space. But he spends just as much time moving beyond his comfort zone and digging deeper. The transition from theme to first chorus in his solo version of "Don't Blame Me" possesses a real bounce where his right hand digs into a melody completely independent from the stride he's playing in the left hand, even as both figures complement each other.

The whole set lasts roughly 45 minutes. Rather than signing off with a snatch of "Epistrophy," the group digs in for a few choruses. With no time for a real encore, Monk plays the theme of "I Love You Sweetheart Of All My Dreams," ending with a gorgeously dissonant bang on the keys. Before things fade out, we get to hear him quickly explain why need to get going.

Palo Alto, the first time Monk has ever appeared on the Impulse! label, is packaged exquisitely with a gatefold sleeve, booklet with liner notes by Scher and Monk biographer Robin D. G. Kelley., along with a reproduction of the concert's original program (complete with the sold adverts) and poster. My vinyl had a small warp in it, though it played without skipping or making noise. As far as unearthed Monk concerts go, this one ranks up there Live at Carnegie Hall. 

CD Review: Bob James - Once Upon A Time: The Lost 1965 New York Studio Sessions

Bob James

Once Upon A Time: The Lost 1965 New York Studio Sessions

(Resonance) bobjames.bandcamp.com/

The Eric Dolphy boxset Musical Prophet (released in 2018) solved a mystery over a track that first appeared on the album Other Aspects. "Jim Crow" was the opening track on that collection of unreleased Dolphy works, in the early 1990s, presenting his reeds together with a piano trio in an avant garde piece complete with operatic vocals. 

Other Aspects didn't credit the personnel on the recording. That information came to light on Musical Prophet, which listed the proper title of the piece, "A Personal Statement." The more revealing factoid was that the composer and pianist of the group was none other than Bob James, who would go on to become the unofficial king of Smooth Jazz. (If you've ever watched an episode of Taxi, you know his opening theme song, "Angela," which probably makes him the most heard jazz musician on television, aside from Mister Rogers Neighborhood pianist Johnny Costa.)

"A Personal Statement" sounds today like a curious time piece, combining free jazz, new music and opera along with a Message, delivering it all with little subtlety. But it proves that James had a keen sense of adventure during his college days and wasn't just traveling the yellow brick road to pop-jazz stardom.

The sessions on Once Upon A Time happened two years after "A Personal Statement." James, by then living in New York, was approached by a Columbia University freshman and budding engineer named George Klabin. He wanted to record the pianist and play the results on his radio show at WKCR-FM. They ended up recording two sessions with two different trios, which varied a bit in their approach. An honorable man who launched Resonance years later, Klabin never let the recordings slip out of his care, so they're being released on his label for the first time.

The first four tracks were made in January of that year at Columbia's Wollman Auditorium. Bassist Larry Rockwell and drummer Robert Pozer complete the trio. After a straightforward, brisk reading of "Serenata," the group pushes forward on the other tracks. "Once a Upon a Time," a James original rather than the ballad done by Tony Bennett and others, has a fairly loose structure, allowing the group to toy with the space, never leaping off into freedom but enjoying the possibilities. 

Joe Zawinul's "Lateef Minor 7th" introduces pre-recorded tapes of piano string noise, breaking the tempo apart. The sound of the tapes - seeping in from the background, as if the player was onstage with them instead of run directly into the recording system - gives the music a surreal layer. James frequently blurts out nonsense words, like a beat poet. Thankfully they're not cutesy, insipid or an attempt to incorporate the music into language. Free though it is, it still has a lyrical quality, even with James gets heavy at the piano. "Variations" begins as a pastoral solo piece but James is soon joined by more tapes and his bandmates join him. The open space and quick exclamations recall a George Crumb composition. The piano melody returns, and its pensive quality makes the whole thing feel like it could have worked as a soundtrack. 

That same year, James would record Explosions for ESP-Disk', a deal which came about supposedly after Bernard Stollman heard these recordings, though some of those music-and-tape combinations got a little heavy handed. (A few years later, a similar musique concrete experiment for Phil Ochs' "The Crucifixion" rendered one of the folk singer's most intense songs unlistenable, in an attempt to add apocalyptic effects to the lyrics.)

When James and Klabin returned to Wollman that October, the pianist had a new rhythm section and a more streamlined attitude. Bill Wood (bass) and Otis Clay (drums) were in the trio, who sound a bit closer perhaps to a Bill Evans group. They tear through Sonny Rollins' "Airegin" at a rapid pace without forsaking any of the tune's nuances. The ballad "Indian Summer" feels a little too relaxed without as much spark carrying through the wide open spaces. Miles Davis' "Solar" and the uncredited "Long Forgotten Blues" give Wood and Clay a chance to stretch out a little more, the latter adding a subtle groove akin to Vernell Fournier in Ahmad Jamal's group - not aggressive but grooving with subtlety.

The second session really seems to capture James at a crossroads. He got the avant garde out of his system with the first session and Explosions, as was now playing it straight. Of course, that's oversimplifying it, but the second session coincided with the start of four years with Sarah Vaughn as her music director, a band which included Clay on drums. 

Because this album comes from Resonance, it features a deluxe package with a 40-page booklet loaded with an interview with James, an excerpt of an interview with Robert "Cleve" Pozar and recollections by Klabin and pianist Makoto Ozone. James makes an interesting observation in his interview. He hadn't heard these tapes in decades and was surprised to hear his younger self playing some piano licks that still factor into his music more than half a century later. It goes a long way toward showing that this music was just as much a part of him as what he played in the ensuing years, even if "Angela" sounds light years removed "Lateef Minor 7th." 

CD Review: Joe Fielder's Big Sackbut - Live In Graz

Joe Fielder's Big Sackbut

Live in Graz

(Multiphonics Music) joefiedler.bandcamp.com

A choir requires more than four people to produce a big, impressive sound. Yet while listening to Live in Graz, the latest by trombonist Joe Fiedler's three 'bones/one tuba group, the sound produced by just a quartet of brass sounds rich and expansive, like it emanated for a bigger group. 

Even more impressive is that the player with the foundational responsibility, Jon Sass, was filling in for Big Sackbut's regular tuba player Marcus Rojas. He sounds like a natural as he supports the other players, grooves along or takes a solo. (The album begins with an unaccompanied solo from him.) 

Although it's tempting to draw numerous parallels between the group and choirs, Joe Fiedler's intention with Big Sackbut is more concerned with the sum of the parts (i.e. each player's musical personality) than the whole (the one big sound). Live in Graz also acts as a tribute to the late Roswell Rudd, a trombonist whose sense of adventure is reflected in Big Sackbut. Three of the nine tracks were Rudd compositions. Among the others, Fielder's "Tonal Proportions" was inspired by lessons from Rudd, and the group tackles a track from Charles Mingus' gutsy Oh Yeah album.

Ryan Keberle and Luis Bonilla are Fielder's 'bone brothers in the group. Each gets to put his personality on display. Fiedler sounds especially astounding in "Yankee No-How" during a rapidly-executed ran across his instrument's range, much of tongued and not slurred, following already solid work by Keberle and Bonilla. The latter opens Mingus' "Devil Woman" with a raunchy, unaccompanied solo that has some vocal qualities due his deft use of a mute. At times he approximates a distortion pedal, a characteristic that shows up in "Su Blah Blah Buh Sibi," another Rudd tune with a low deep groove from Sass.

The group's tone experiments could digress into parlor tricks, but Big Sackbut will have none of that. Fiedler's upper register solo in "Peekskill" keeps things serious, never digressing into squawks. His tonguing skills are put on display again in "Ways" as he engages in high swoops. For Bonilla's work, he uses space expertly during "Bethesda Fountain," adding to the impact of the band. 

Whether or not a listener chooses to track which trombonist is soloing when (the cover provides an order), the group itself comes across as a strong and powerful, spilling from one tightly arranged section into solos with ease and energy.

For a good story (or two) about Joe Fiedler's day job, working for Sesame Street, check out my JazzTimes story by clicking here. 

But I Always Thought I'd See You Again (Reflections on My High School Friend and Gary Peacock)

I'm not much of a James Taylor fan but I've always felt the the first verse and chorus of "Fire and Rain" do a really good job of poetically capturing the feeling of losing someone. Having a letter and not knowing where to send it, now that the person can't receive it; thinking that you'd always see someone again - and coming to the realization that you won't anymore - it's kind heartbreaking. If the song just stopped there after "But I always thought I'd see you again," leaving you dangling, it would have been perfect. It leaves it to the listener to figure out the implication themselves. The hardest thing about losing someone is figuring out what to do next.

Those thoughts about "Fire and Rain" have been going through my head off and on for the past 48 hours. On Saturday, Facebook reminded me that it was the birthday of my middle and high school pal Mark Wilson. (Taylor Allderdice, Class of 1985) I went on his personal FB page to leave him a message. We aren't really closely in touch, but we keep tabs on each other and get together every few years when he gets to town. 

Like most FB profiles, it was filled with birthday wishes for Mark, but some of them followed it with "you will be missed." I scrolled through and thought that can't possible mean what I think it means. After a few, there was confirmation - Mark had died. No explanation. No foreshadowing in posts from him. Nothing. He had surgery on his vertebrae back in June and there were some complications from it. He had gone into rehab for a bit, but the last time he wrote, he was headed home. 

Yesterday morning a friend of his in Fort Worth (where he's lived for the last few years) replied to my post where I asked what happened. It turned out Mark had a pulmonary embolism and died in his sleep at home. I'm not sure how soon it happened after he got home but it seemed to be within a couple weeks. 

As if this year couldn't get more depressing.

Mark and I met in eighth grade at Reizenstein Middle school. We weren't in the same class but he was in one of the two scholars classes in House B at the school (the school was divided into three "houses") and so was I, so we saw each other pretty often. I think we were in the same gym class. We became tighter friends in high school. He probably didn't know what to think about my crazy musical tastes back then, but he put up with them and seemed vaguely interested at times. When I discovered William Burroughs, Jack Kerouac and Henry Miller, it gave us something to talk about, since he was a book person too. He was really freakin' smart too. I remember him saying he was reading the dictionary to prepare for the SATs. I thought that was a little extreme but then again, I had no clue on how to prep for the tests, and I bombed them. Mark got into Johns Hopkins. 

Over the years, Mark and I would lose touch and then get back in touch. When we did, things always seemed to pick up where they left off. There was never any awkwardness about how we had changed in different ways or grew apart from one another. He did come out to me at some point but I was fine with that and respected him for telling me and felt even more supportive of him. 

He reconnected with me about 10 years ago after his mother had died. When he and his brother were cleaning out his Mom's house, he came across a stash of her records and thought about giving me a call. Time was of the essence in getting the place cleared so the vinyl ended up going in the dumpster. We laughed about it because I remembered the collection from my high school years. In included a Fugs album as well as a couple Miles Davis albums on Prestige. Hard to give your grieving friend a hard time for not getting them too me, but oh well. 

The last time I saw him, we met up at Gooski's, the bar around the corner from my house. Mark was glad that he could smoke in the bar, but I can't remember if he had a drink or not. (I certainly did.) But he was happy to be in place where you could light up. Plus, the bar was owned by a guy who had gone to school with us. 

One of the consolations to all this is that Mark's other high school friends didn't know that he had died either, until they saw my post on our class' FB page. Some reached out and we're talking about doing a Zoom chat to reminiscence about him. Hopefully we'll find closure that way.

***

When Gary Peacock took a solo on the second version of "Ghosts" on Albert Ayler's Vibrations album, he works his bow roughly over the strings. Initially it sounds like some non-musical scrapes, but as he continues, the melody of "Ghosts" takes shape. To my 15-year-old ears, things were being to make more musical sense to me. I began hearing connections to things that would have seemed simply like noodling before. 

After much speculation and retracted statements by some people, it was confirmed that Peacock did indeed pass away on September 4. He was 85.

Peacock has a remarkably varied musical life. He was the first simpatico bassist that Albert Ayler played with, and he appeared on several of his albums, including the aforementioned Vibrations as well as groundbreakers like Spirits Rejoice and Spiritual Unity. The bassist went on to work closely with pianist Paul Bley, who married Annette Peacock, Gary's ex-wife. Their work together helped to usher in the classic sound of ECM Records, leading to his work as one-third of Keith Jarrett's trio with drummer Jack DeJohnette.

But what really rounds his musical life out for me is something no one seems to be bothered to list in the obits. He played on a couple pretty solid Bud Shank albums on Pacific Jazz before he made it to New York and hooked up with Ayler. (My love of Shank came from my dad and I have written about him here too.) Maybe that part of his career is too vanilla for Ayler or Jarrett fans but the album New Groove isn't just standard West Coast jazz lite. It even features a tune written by Peacock, "Liddledabllduya," which is more impressive than the title might imply. 

Back in high school, I probably tried to get Mark to listen to Albert Ayler, fearing the worst. But maybe he would have heard something in Gary Peacock's playing. (Mark played the cello in orchestra.) Maybe somewhere, they'll cross paths with each other and talk music. Or philosophy. Or something. I just wish I was there with them.

CD Review: Okuden (Mat Walerian/ Matthew Shipp/ William Parker/ Hamid Drake) - Every Dog Has Its Day But It Doesn't Matter Because Fat Cat is Getting Fatter

Okuden (Mat Walerian/ Matthew Shipp/ William Parker/ Hamid Drake)

Every Dog Has It's Day But It Doesn't Matter Because Fat Cat Is Getting Fatter

(ESP-Disk') www.espdisk.com

Multi-reedist Mat Walerian (who hails from Poland) leads this quartet of long time friends through two discs of music that fits comfortably into the free improvisation realm. At the same time, the group also shows that they know how to excel within a more structured setting. 

"The Forest Council" serves as evocative title because the music evokes a scene in the wilderness, unfolding slowly, with Parker acting as a guide during the 18-minute epic. When Walerian finally makes his appearance, his bass clarinet continues calls out from a distance, heightened by some reverb. This sonic touch adds another visual layer to the music, as if to indicate that free blowing doesn't always have to be a no-frills production, documenting it exactly as it sounded in the room.

Drake sticks primarily to hand drum and some cymbals on "The Forest Council" but he works on the trap kit in "Thelonious Forever" when he finally joins Parker, Shipp and Walerian, the latter on alto saxophone. The homage that doesn't necessarily have a Monkian feel, but Shipp and Walerian do touch on his angularity and boldness before Parker's bowing pumps up the frenzy. 

Disc One also features "Magic World,"  a suite broken into three tracks which each average 12 minutes a piece. Walerian begins each one on bass clarinet with a simple, repetitive line, later switching to alto, which he plays with a rugged tone that is ready to growl but just as likely to blow something thick and penetrating in the upper range. Shipp really shines in Part One ("Study") in a solo full of arpeggiated cartwheels. Parker holds down a rather funky vamp in Part Two ("Work"), adding some choice variations as well. The bassist prefers to walk a bit in Part Three ("Life"), giving it a loose but swinging feel that Drake holds together.

The second disc continues the close connection between Walerian and Parker. Half of "Business with William" features a soprano clarinet/bass duet. On "Lesson II" the bassist plays shakuhachi together with Walerian's clarinet and flute. Things move in long tones, to the extent that it's hard to tell what Walerian is playing at certain points. With Drake back on hand drums, the track virtually brings the whole set full circle, back to the setting of "The Forest Council," the setting now sounding a little more minor.

Mat Walerian has indicated in his previous albums (which have all appeared on ESP) that he is capable of creating some pointed free blowing. While things never quite settle into a straightahead structure on Every Dog, Walerian goes to great length to prove his flexibility as a player. As a musical narrator and leader, he continuing to grow. His alto saxophone playing in particular reveals a unique tone, hard and dry but thoughtful. (Next time I wouldn't mind more of that particular horn.) 

And also, the album title proves that there is room for humor in this kind of music as well. 

CD Review: Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers - Just Coolin'

Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers

Just Coolin' 

(Blue Note) www.bluenote.com

In some ways, it's hard to believe that a prime Art Blakey session has been sitting in the Blue Note vaults for 60 years. It would have been a perfect candidate to surface either during the '70s series of lost sessions or the wave of CD reissues that unearthed myriad Blue Note lost tracks. Maybe the abundance of Jazz Messengers recordings already available put it on the backburner indefinitely. Whatever the reason, it represents an A-list version of the Messengers which all but the biggest Blue Note fanatics might not realize only lasted a few months.

Lee Morgan (trumpet) and Hank Mobley (tenor saxophone) both made their mark with the Jazz Messengers, but they each did it at separate times. Mobley was a member of the initial version of the group from 1954 to 1956, which included pianist Horace Silver. He went on to release several albums under his own name for the label, frequently using Blakey as his drummer and often including Morgan as his frontline foil. 

Morgan was one year into his three-year tenure in the Messengers at the time of this recording. Benny Golson had just left the group, a spot that would be filled before long by Wayne Shorter, whose writing would advance the group's hard bop approach even further. In the meantime, Mobley was brought back into the band in early 1959, which at that time included pianist Bobby Timmons - another important composer to the Messengers - and bassist Jymie Merritt.

The story goes that the six tracks on Just Coolin' were abandoned because the quintet recorded four of them live at Birdland a month after this studio session and the live set was considered superior to these. Maybe so, but the music recorded on March 8, 1959 by Rudy Van Gelder is nothing to sneeze at. This was clearly a band that got down to business quickly. When Mobley quotes the melody of Duke Ellington's "It Don't Mean A Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing)," the title was not yet a cliche could be construed as much as a personal statement as a clever musical quip. Because these guys swing plenty hard.

It's interesting to note that the week before this session took place, Miles Davis' sextet recorded the first session for what would become Kind of Blue. While that group was looking towards newer foundations for improvisation, this lineup of the Jazz Messengers could still find plenty of potential in driving jazz that relied heavily on blues changes delivered over a heavy beat with some gospel roots. 

Considering the brevity of this Jazz Messengers lineup, this album could be considered a meeting of the minds of some of the best hard bop players at that time. It's tempting to express how underrated players like Mobley and Timmons are. The former is probably better known for compositing "Moanin'," for the Messengers than for his skill at creating dynamics with fast right-handed chords in the middle of a chorus, and just as quickly switching to light single note lines, which can be heard in "Jimerick." 

Mobley, whose myriad albums for Blue Note (many of which have variations on his name as the title) get mentioned only after his brief tenure with another famous trumpet player, was an extremely creative improviser who knew how to spin a long idea-filled line. As a composer, he was top shelf too, as "Hipsippy Blues" indicates here. It doesn't hurt that he tosses in another sharp paraphrase ("Why Don't You Do Right") during his solo in that song.  

Morgan, not quite as underappreciated as the other two thanks in part to "The Sidewinder" a few years later, is naturally on fire here with his bright, ripping tone. Never one to rely on flash, he begins his testimony on "Hipsippy Blues" sounding puckish and thoughtful. "Close Your Eyes" which would become a standard in the Messengers repertoire, also shows him to good degree as well as Merritt, whose his rich tone also gets some room on the title track. 

Maybe the group outdid this session when they hit Birdland stage a few weeks later and got it all on tape. But after all that time, Just Coolin', which includes a previously unheard Timmons track "Quick Trick" should be heard if nothing else for an additional document of what this A-list group could accomplish. 

 

My ESP-Disk' Article Is Online Now

I've been writing for JazzTimes for almost 19 years and, outside of the Marshall Allen/Sun Ra Arkestra that marked my debut for the magazine, the article of which I'm proudest is on the site right now (there are no print copies being made at the moment). That would be a story about the ESP-Disk' label, its history and its current status as a living, breathing label that is still releasing music. You can find it right here. 

The article was a long time in the making. And I'm not just saying that because I interviewed ESP label manager Steve Holtje back in January (with a follow-up chat in May). When I was in high school, a used record store near to my house often stocked ESP reissues on the Base label. As a budding Albert Ayler fan, I snatched up New York Eye and Ear Control (the somewhat shambolic group improvisation album that featured his quartet, plus a few more guys) and Spirits Rejoice. Then there were the Fugs. Then there were other albums that I'd ponder and think I'd need to hear someday (Burton Greene, who reminded me of James Chance on the cover of the former's debut album). I've blogged at length on the label and various releases. In fact, my uncut talk with founder Bernard Stollman appears here too. 

Along with the story, there is a sidebar mentioning five choice albums in the ESP discography that don't always get mentioned but should be explored, four from the '60s and one from just a few years ago. Click here to read it.  You have to click through all the dots to see all five, plus pass a few ads, but the magazine could use the revenue so an extra click won't kill you. 

While you're there, also check out an article I wrote about Tropos, a group of younger musicians who just released a debut album, half of which consists of Anthony Braxton compositions. The issue also has a cover story on Pittsburgh's native son Errol Garner and a piece by bassist Melvin Gibbs on the changing nature of protests in jazz. All can be found on the main page.  

Creem Magazine and Why I'm Here

The documentary Creem: America's Only Rock 'n' Roll Magazine was made available for streaming online on Friday evening, August 7. When I heard about it, I made a point to block out some time that evening (I wasn't working the closing shift!) to watch it, even if it meant only viewing it on a laptop screen. 

Many things have come together throughout my life to send me on the path (dubious or otherwise) where I am now. When it comes to being a music writer, Creem planted that seed. I started reading it regularly in 1980, after occasionally skimming it at the newsstand, wondering what was up with all those ridiculous captions beneath the photos. (The only one I can recall from that time is a picture of the Knack's Doug Feiger looking pained as he sang into the mic. The caption? "I gotta pee!!" It was juvenile even to my 12-year old mind but still kind of funny but.....what was going on here? And the claim that they were America's ONLY rock 'n' roll magazine - how can they say that? What about Circus and Rolling Stone? I had a lot learn.

The first issue I bought had the Pretenders were on the cover. I'm pretty sure there was also an article about Public Image Ltd., in the same issue, which shocked me because of all the f-bombs in it. Sure, I had seen such language in Circus Magazine but still. Now that I think about it, one of the photo captions in the Pretenders article still resides in the memory banks - a photo of Chrissie Hynde onstage, playing guitar had the caption, "The E chord that rocked the nation?" They weren't all laugh riots.

As I continued buying Creem it soon became clear that reverence and irreverence could sit side by side in music journalism. Some album reviews indicated that the performers were really onto something, tapping into elements that elevated rock music to a higher, literate level, like a review of Sparks' A Woofer In Tweeter's Clothing that I discovered nearly two decades after the fact in a borrowed '70s issue. If a band was full of crap, reviewers weren't afraid to let the band have it either. That summer of 1980 Pretenders issue had a review of a Journey album that, if my timing is right, was probably Departure. The reviewer tore it apart, saying something about the only thing written on his notepad consisted of the word "Sucko" scribbled on every page. 

Let's back up a second. That issue came out 40 years ago. I haven't looked at it in over 30 years. (It's still at my mom's house, I believe.) But it's still relatively fresh and preserved in my brain. Maybe that says something about my brain's m.o. but it says even more about Creem. They wrote the manual on modern journalism, although if you asked anyone at the time (except perhaps Dave Marsh), they probably wouldn't lay claim to such a feat. You might get insight into Rick Wakeman's head in Circus or an in-depth analysis of John Lennon in Rolling Stone but Creem wrote in a way that you could relate to personally. Further - in examining my long sentences in this piece, I think Creem proved that run-ons aren't a bad thing. 

A few other things about the record reviews. That section proved that a review didn't have to be a straight up and down description and analysis of a record. It could be done in metaphor or parable. Or it could be done in a cartoon, as Robot A. Hull did in several issues. When Black Flag came out with Damaged in 1982, it was the lead review in that issue. The reviewer might not have gotten it (that I can't recall for sure) but the space and the photo of the band was remarkable. They also gave a good space to Joy Division's Still in tandem with New Order's Movement. The visual description of the JD album helped me get a grasp on this music that I was hearing for the first time with no reference points. Whoever wrote it said that one might think that a Joy Division concert would be the band surrounded by a bunch of hooded monks, seated and crying. (Remember, on these shores in 1982 there were few photos and no album info about the band). But what a surprise it was to hear people cheering and whooping for them, and to hear Ian Curtis laugh and quip, "You ought to hear our version of 'Louie Louie," after they slaughtered "Sister Ray." Finally, the reviews in Creem motivated me to buy the Smiths' debut album and the Dream Syndicate's The Days of Wine and Roses.

By the time I jumped onto the Creem bandwagon, the early heyday was winding down, from what I gathered from the documentary Creem: America's Only Rock 'n' Roll Magazine. Within a year, founder Barry Kramer would be dead. I missed out on Lester Bangs' prime writing, catching up on it years later with the infamous collection of articles Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung. By 1982 he had left us too. 

Watching the documentary, it seems amazing that these people were able to get anything done on a regular basis. They would spar over everything little thing, it seems. And truth be told, many of them seemed like assholes. Creative ones, but assholes nonetheless. It's sort of interesting to wonder where ego stopped and work ethic took over. But it did. One of the most poignant moments comes when Dave Marsh reflects on Bangs' death, which he's still angry about today. He says that Bangs was writing constantly, often only for himself, and the reason Marsh is still pissed that Bangs had so much more to put out there. 

One of the more refreshing things about the documentary is that it doesn't just focus on the dudes of the magazine, like Kramer, Marsh and Bangs, though they're the ones who are most often remembered. Writer Jann Uhelszki and Kramer's widow Connie do a lot of the story telling. They reflect on how what might have been simply "irreverent" back then can be seen as "politically incorrect" or just plain tasteless by 21st century standards. They don't dismiss it as "those were different times" but they make it clear that it was different mindframe then. Confession: I did hang several of the pin-up style "Creem Dreem" photos in my room as a young teen, but more than just thinking they were hot, I thought Rachel Sweet, Tina Turner, Wendy O. Williams and Poison Ivy Rohrschach were also cool musicians who someday (especially in the case of Rachel), I thought I might meet. 

The years that I read Creem religiously are pretty much glossed over in the documentary. No mention is made of writer J. Kordosh or Eduoard "The Dauph" Dauphin (who a quick Google search just revealed was the pen name of Edward Kelleher), the latter who wrote a column called Eleganza and did a really good job of starting in one place, going off on a major tangent only to reinforce the idea he first proposed - something that I later noticed in the work of Magnet columnist Phil Sheridan. I suppose you can't get everything in there. Luckily there's no mention of the late '80s sub-magazine Creem Rock Shots which put image over substance in a move that smacked of desperation (and also included several photos printed in reverse). 

The point is driven home in the documentary that Creem writers had the attitude that they were just as much a star as anyone they wrote about, which might have been presumptuous but has a great level of truth to it. That attitude also fueled fanzines in the wake of punk rock, fanzine being a "magazine made by fans." As if to reinforce this blurring of stars and writers, I discovered while fact-checking this blog entry that I actually have one degree of separation from the documentary itself. Director Scott Crawford launched Blurt the (now online) music magazine that followed his magazine Harp. I contributed to both of them, dealing more with Fred Mills than Crawford, but still I think we might have exchanged an email or two. 

The inspiration continues.

Don't miss the documentary.

CD Review: Thumbscrew - The Anthony Braxton Project & Michael Formanek Quartet - Pre-Apocalyptic

Thumbscrew

The Anthony Braxton Project

(Cuneiform) cuneiformrecords.bandcamp.com/album/the-anthony-braxton-project-2

Michael Formanek Quartet

Pre-Apocalyptic

(Out Of Your Head) outofyourheadrecords.bandcamp.com/album/pre-apocalyptic

To celebrate Anthony Braxton's 75th birthday, a band could express their wishes for the composer/reed master in several ways. The group Topas (profiled by yours truly in the September 2020 issue of JazzTimes) devoted half of their debut album to compositions by Braxton from the '70s and '80s. Since interpreting Anthony Braxton is much different that interpreting Charlie Parker, for instance, the music relies just as much on the interpreters' personality as much as the sketches that they utilize. Although a piece like "Composition 23B," (a reworking of Parker's "Donna Lee") could be done a relatively straightforward manner. 

Thumbscrew - the trio of Mary Halvorson (guitar), Michael Formanek (bass) and Tomas Fujiwara (drums, vibraphone, percussion) - went one bold step further for The Anthony Braxton Project. Rather than pull out personal Braxton favorites or some "greatest hits," (I'm sure Braxton heads consider some this way) the trio chose nine compositions that have rarely been performed and, with a few exceptions, have never been recorded. 

The potential for such a project could be overwhelming in scope but the trio found works that adapted to their instrumentation. Whether or not they had this goal in mind, the set reveals a good deal about Braxton's musical mindframe, with moods that goes from abstract to works that have a serious swing to them. The opening "Composition 52" has a theme that moves somewhat like a mutant bop line, coming to a quick stop after Halvorson and Formanek play it in unison. Of course that's just the opening and closing moments. What comes in between are bent guitar lines, a bass tries out a groove quickly and drums that also have a groove.

Each member of the group gets a chance to tackle "Composition 14" alone, coming up with a performances that sound vastly from the other two: Havorson bends and loops notes that dangle in the air; Fujiwara creates a composition for drums rather than a solo, with mallets on toms; and Formanek begins pensively and builds to a rich climax.

Fujiwara often moves between vibes and trap kit, adding strong definition to pieces like "Composition 68" rousing it from a dreamscape quality. "Composition 150" might be the "jazziest" tune of the set, thanks to a walking bass line underneath the clean vibes. The trio also tapes into Braxton's Ghost Trance series with "Composition No. 274." Things begin and end with the players moving in staccato lock step (on an angular melody that moves like Monk's "Evidence") but pulls in three directions shortly thereafter.

In addition to the engrossing set of music (which was recorded here in Pittsburgh at Mr. Smalls Studios, like several Thumbscrew albums), the Braxton Project booklet contains large renderings of the images that serve as the "official" composition titles. While some continue the tradition of geometric shapes and numbers attached to them, "Composition No. 150" depicts a street scene of buildings and trucks while "Composition No. 157" features a primitive rendering of a basketball game. They have to be seen to be fully appreciated. (My graphic limitations prevent that from happening here.) Never let it be said that Anthony Braxton doesn't know how to have fun. Hopefully he had a good birthday.

Michael Formanek's writing skills have received as much praise as his bass playing thanks to his ECM albums Small Places and The Rub and Spare Change, both recorded with a quartet that included Gerald Cleaver (drums), Craig Taborn (piano) and Tim Berne (alto saxophone). In fact - for what it's worth - both album received five star reviews in downbeat, a distinction usually reserved only for lost John Coltrane albums and the like. 

But one listen to Pre-Apocalyptic reveals why that group received such kudos. Recorded live "somewhere in 2014," the disc depicts a band on fire, playing a set drawn largely from those two albums. Formanek's opening bass solo on "Rising Tensions and Awesome Light" is worth the price of the album, but that's just the beginning. with a roaring solo from Taborn just around the corner.

Berne as always plays with invention but he comes across as a little more methodical than usual. He digs deeper into Formanek's compositions, staying away from the brawny wails of his own work, though he does emit some altissimo wails in "Twenty Three Neo." The duet of him and Formanek on "The Distance" (first recorded with the large group Ensemble Kolossus) sounds stunning. Listening to pieces like "Pong," where the accents seem to shift the focus away from its 6/8 base, or "Intro and Real Action," a previously unreleased tune, inspire me to pull those earlier albums off the shelf to rediscover them. 

OOYH is releasing the album digitally only. The sound might not be studio clean (some of the bass presence and Cleaver's sound each lose a little depth), it retains the "you-are-there" immediacy of the recording, live in a good room.

CD Review: Jacob Garchik - Clear Line

Jacob Garchik
Clear Line
(Yestereve) jacobgarchik.bandcamp.com/

One of the defining moments of Clear Line occurs in the climax of "Moebius and Mucha." After trumpeters Jonathan Finlayson and Adam O'Farrill joust with each other, they inspire the 13 horns in the trombonist's latest project (Garchik only conducts and composes here) to create a descending line where 11 or 12 notes (it's hard to tell how many after awhile) are stacked on top of one another for a beautiful cluster of sound. When the ensemble comes together a moment later to quickly state a full chord, a sound echoes behind them that leaves a phantom note ringing in the ether. Whether they created a ghostly harmonic or one of the horns snuck that tone in behind everything, it's a testament to the power of acoustic instruments, still able to blow down walls or minds.

While Clear Line indeed features a baker's dozen of horns, Garchik jettisoned a rhythm section, not really needing one with four trumpets, three trombones, one bass trombone, two alto saxophones, two tenor saxophones and one baritone saxophone. They create some vast arpeggios in the opening piece, "Visualization of Interior Space" which might sound a little repetitive and Philip Glass-like (an approach Garchik utilized briefly in his Ye Olde album) were it not for the lifelike swirl of the horns as they rapidly fire off the notes. "Stacked Volumes" combines high-end dissonance, and long drones with silence, getting the saxophones to, among other things, create guitar feedback. In addition to the strong moments of group interaction, the music features pointed solos from saxophonists Anna Webber and Roman Filiu, and trombonists Natalie Kressman and Kalia Vandever and trumpeter Davy Lazar.

Garchik's inspiration came from a few sources, one remote and the other close to home. The music is his meditation on the "Ligne Claire" style of illustration first demonstrated by Hergé, who created the TinTin cartoon. ("Ligne Claire" is a song title, in fact.) Hergé drew his cartoon characters against a realistic background with solid lines and colors. Garchik's interest in architecture, graphic novels and scenery all factored into the music.

As a trombonist, Garchik has a long history of playing in big bands, a place where many musicians playing his instrument often spend a good deal of time. This group offered him a chance to break from the limitations of the style (screeching trumpets, woodwind doubling, mutes and "jazzy" harmonies among them) without mocking it or tearing it down. Sometimes things get a little rigid or repetitive but often times the repetition slyly evolves into another rich permutation of sound, again exploiting the possibilities of having this many horns at one's disposal.

CD Review: Gordon Grdina Septet - Resist / Gordon Grdina's Nomad Trio - Nomad

It's time to look back at some music that's been here a few months that I've been meaning to write about but hadn't had the focus or time (or both) to put words down about them. Like a few other people that have been covered on this blog recently, Gordon Grdina has been on a creative roll for a while. No sooner did he release Cooper's Park (Songlines) with his quartet last year than his Nomad Trio (with Matt Mitchell and Jim Black [more below]) came out in January. He already started making waves a few years ago with his unique approach to the guitar and his use of the oud in an experimental jazz setting. I first heard him on the 2017 album Inroads and have been meaning to blog about him since then. Now it's time to catch up.

Gordon Grdina Septet

Resist

(Irabagast) Bandcamp link: tinyurl.com/y4prs6h5 (NOTE: this is the link to the High Def version of the album. There's also a regular def version on his Bandcamp page.)

Grdina didn't plan to create an extended piece that would encapsulate the turmoil of the last three or four months (Resist was released April 10). The Vancouver native was actually responding to the political rhetoric and just-below-the-surface racism that has been brewing in this country and around the world when he composed the 23-minute title track. It just so happens that the composition rather effectively transposes the turmoil of this year into music. Dark and ominous as it can be, it still maintains a rugged beauty. In other words, it doesn't simply leave us off at the pit of despair, even though a resolution isn't provided either. 

"Resist' puts Grdina's trio (bassist Tommy Babin and drummer Kenton Loewen) together with the East Van Strings quartet and saxophonist Jon Irabagon. The additions to the ensemble leave the strongest impression. In fact, Grdina doesn't make a proper entrance until six minutes into the piece. The strings often sound staccato or rigid in places but that gets balanced by Irabagon's long lines that blow over them. As the music rises up in the final minutes, Irabagon, on tenor, delivers a passionate solo in which his technique almost sounds like a recording being played backwards. In between, Grdina breaks the mood with an unaccompanied oud solo. Often times, string quartets in modern jazz exploit dissonant scraping and whining to evoke drama. Not so here. The entire septet creates a rich sound that could be a soundtrack were it not such a realistic portrait of 2020. 

In some ways that opus is hard act to follow, but after a soothing oud interlude ("Seeds"), "Varsona" finds the group moving away from New Music closer to free jazz, with Irabagon's gruff tenor leading the way. The most impressive moment comes when the saxophonist's line magically (or so it feels) cues in Grdina and the strings who create a raucous pile-up of sounds, eventually climaxing in a taut guitar/saxophone line. 

Irabagon's pinched-reed sopranino squawks in "Resist the Middle" are a bit of a distraction during the blend of free heaviness and haunting minor strings. Luckily they don't last too long amidst the skronk. "Ever Onward" closes the album with a contemplative oud strumming blending with the strings. Hope might not be the answer provided by this music, but it sure offers resolve to continue working towards change.

Gordon Grdina's Nomad Trio
Nomad
(Skirl) gordongrdina.bandcamp.com/album/nomad

Released in January Nomad finds Grdina back in more of his experimental jazz mode, working closely with pianist Matt Mitchell and drummer Jim Black. Occasionally the music recalls Tim Berne's extensive lines that seem to flow freely, suddenly locking in on a structure that all three players seemed to sense long before a listener would notice.

Among the highlights, the title track is especially fascinating for the way that Mitchell doubles Grdina's guitar line with his left hand while the pianist's right hand plays a counterpoint that sounds light years away, rhythmically, from his other half. Again the final track, "Lady Choral," reintroduces the oud which succeeds a ruminative solo by Mitchell, which Grdina follows on lyrically. By waiting to use that instrument until the final track, it makes the oud sound less like an exotic instrument in a jazz context and more like one that can easily adapt to the vocabulary of free improvisation without losing its identity. Black, who avoids his trademark splatter approach to the kit for most of this set, steps away from the group until the very end of "Lady Choral," when it all comes together.

Much of this album sounds spontaneous, but Grdina wrote the music for the album with Mitchell and Black in mind, having desired to undertake a project like this for a few years.

While getting the Bandcamp urls together for this review, I noticed that Grdina has yet another new release too: the solo guitar/oud album Prior Street. Don't fight the feeling.