CD Review: Ches Smith - Interpret It Well

Ches Smith

Interpret It Well

(Pyroclastic) pyroclasticrecords.com or chessmithpyroclastic.bandcamp.com/album/interpret-it-well

Ches Smith explains, in the liner notes to Interpret It Well, how he invited guitarist Bill Frisell to play a show with Smith's trio (pianist Craig Taborn, violist Mat Maneri and Smith on drums and vibes). The trio had been together for a few years with an ECM release (The Bell, 2016) to their credit and Smith was trying to make the trio his "road" band. After Frisell called asking about the music, the drummer invited him to play a show with the trio, which took about a year to schedule. . But "as we played the show, Bill felt like a natural part of the band," Smith says.

I can back him up on this. I was there when the group played at the Stone in January 2020. The music still had amorphous moments - similar to The Bell  - where it moved slowly, with direction coming gradually, from anyone of the four players at any given time. The guitarist's gestures felt like the most galvanizing moments too.

Interpret It Well brings that open feeling into the studio, with more than half the tracks lasting between 11 and 16 minutes each. What might start out feeling noodly and directionless gradually locks into a structure, or in some cases, feels like it reveals a structure that's been there all along but only begins to make sense after awhile. Don't blink or you'll miss something. The title track progresses in this manner, from a lone, snaky vibraphone line that gets joined by everyone else, leading to Smith to jump to the trap kit, with Taborn eventually ushering in a final movement, which grows out of a choppy solo.

"Mixed Metaphor" has an equally sprawling relief map of sound. Frisell begins alone in minor tranquility, joined by Taborn and Smith, whose vibes have the vibrato cranked on them. Around 7:30, the vibes lock into a 9/8 ostinato that Taborn picks up so Smith can return to the kit. Maneri bobs and weaves on top, bending notes and generally toying with the pitch. Eventually, the rhythm shifts to 5/8 which Taborn devours before things come to a close.

Throughout the album, the group stays true to Smith's assessment that they were a quartet, rather than a trio with a guest. The blend of viola and guitar in "Clear Major" flows over a two-note piano vamp and free drums. Everything breaks loose for a while, until Taborn whips up a stop-start piano riff, aided by Smith. There's no leader here but there is direction. In "Morbid," Frisell's harmonics inspire Maneri to bow some melancholia, which leads to vibes and whooping electronics before the guitarist brings in some of his trademark Americana twang. 

Many of these pieces change shape every few minutes, like free improvisation that's guided by some higher power with good ideas about how things should sound. In some ways, it's hard to talk about the album without giving the blow-by-blow details. When a piano part gets a little repetitious or it sounds like there's no theme in sight, the group always confounds expectations and delivers something that brings cohesion to both elements. 

In an interesting confluence of jazz and punk rock, the album's title and cover art come from Raymond Pettibon, whose often provocative illustrations graced the covers of many releases on SST Records, the label started by his brother Greg Ginn (Black Flag). 

 

Remembering Anton Fier & Pharoah Sanders, plus other things from this month

What a month it's been - good and bad. First the good. After 11 months in the making, my album is finally all recorded and mixed. When I say "my album," I don't mean it's a solo album. It includes all four members of the Harry Von Zells, plus a few friends. It'll likely be another 12 months until you can hold it, as I want to get it pressed on vinyl once it's mastered. But keep this info in your memory bank. 

Back on September 10, vocalist Catherine Russell came to the New Hazlett Theater for a show presented by the Kente Arts Alliance. I wasn't familiar with Russell before that night, but Kente shows are always a good time, so I felt like I had to check it out.

Russell said she likes music from "the 19-teens to the 1960s - that's it," and she knows how to keep the older material fresh. Along with standards like "You Stepped Out of a Dream" and "East of the Sun (West of the Moon)," she got the theater jumping with "Swing Cats Ball" - a number written by her dad, Luis Russell, and recorded by Louis Jordan - and "Swing, Brother, Swing," her opening number, recorded previously by Billie Holiday. 

The four-piece band accompanying Russell was tight and spare, never overplaying when direct simplicity was the way to go. Drummer Mark McLean (pictured above along with Russell and bassist Tal Ronen) was a master of restraint. Every time it seemed like he would end a tune with a big run across his kit, he instead concluded with a simple crash, which elevated the whole band. 

One weekend later, the Pittsburgh International Jazz Festival came to town. I covered it for JazzTimes and the dispatch might be available only to people with a subscription but here's a link to it. If you can't read it, the short answer is, it was a great time. 

Then there was the bad news, which of course is common knowledge at this point. Along with the passing of Anton Fier and Pharoah Sanders, I just read this afternoon that Sue Mingus, the fourth wife of Charles Mingus and gatekeeper of his music, died on September 24 (location and cause of death haven't been announced yet.) She was 92. 

Certain albums could be considered watersheds in my collection, meaning they turned me on to people or music that I might not have discovered otherwise. The self-titled debut by the Golden Palominos was one such album. By 1983, I was fascinated by anything that included guitarist/vocalist Arto Lindsay. I had finally gotten into his band DNA earlier that year and wanted to hear everything he was doing. To add to the intrigue, a review in downbeat gave the album a rare five-star review, calling it a new classic or words to that effect. I wish I had that issue with me (it's probably still at my mom's house) to quote it directly. 

Lindsay's name was all over this album, along with a rotating list of names like Bill Laswell, Jamaaladeen Tacuma and John Zorn, who not only play alto saxophone (my instrument!) but something called "game calls." The other constant musician on all seven tracks was drummer Anton Fier, who had played in the first Lounge Lizards with Lindsay. Fier played on every track on the Palominos debut, while Lindsay sat out "Cookout," an amazing blend of drum machine, live drums from Fier and turntable scratching and bass from Laswell. (It was likely the first time scratching appeared outside the context of rap music. Laswell had it down too.) 

Opening track "Clean Plate" lived up to the downbeat praise, but the rest of the album was a head-scratcher. It was hard to make heads or tails of things, or who was playing what. Could Arto really play or was he just making a racket? What were those game calls that Zorn had, and did he know what he was doing? So I kept on listening. Becoming obsessed with Zorn, I soon followed him onto That's the Way I Feel Now, a Thelonious Monk tribute album and my entrance to the magical world of that pianist. 

I'm getting off track here but the point it, if it weren't for Anton Fier's vision of the Golden Palominos, I wouldn't have discovered all this music. The album has been combined to work by Material, the band helmed by Laswell and Michael Beinhorn, which also had musicians coming and going from track to track. But in 2017, Lindsay told me:

Those songs were totally built in the studio. I was so naïve coming out of DNA. I had no notion of musical structure. Anton, on the other hand, was a budding indie rock producer who was really clear on that. We really butted heads. We wanted to form this band together because in the Lounge Lizards, we had kind of wanted to make a rock band. And we wanted to call the Lounge Lizards 'The Golden Palominos' at one point. 

"Anton and I went to a motel upstate to write these songs. And we, basically, couldn’t really write together. That record was kind of stitched together in a way. The structures, that’s really Anton...Like he’d do a rhythm track and he’d kind of structure everything together. But the way that he put together the grooves and the improvisors, that’s pretty much him." 

Of course, that album was lightening in a bottle, never to be captured again in the studio (though I have a live tape of the core lineup playing some of that music.) The Palominos are better known for their songs with Syd Straw on vocals, or Michael Stipe singing the Moby Grape classic "Omaha," For my money, though, that first album - and the Feelies' Crazy Rhythm - are Fier's finest works.  

In reading about his passing, a friend of a friend on FB said he met Fier later in life, after the drummer had stopped playing music and got some (unspecified) day job. I couldn't believe it. Sure the Golden Palominos, the Feelies and Lounge Lizards might not be huge but this guy was in Sugar with Bob Mould too, and probably had myriad contacts in music. And he gives it up for a day job?! I can only hope that he left us with some inkling about the impact he had on adventurous ears. 

It's very likely that I heard Pharoah Sanders' "The Creator Has a Master Plan" on the radio around the same time that I read about the Golden Palominos. WYEP-FM had a number of jazz shows in the early '80s, including a weeknight one called Fat Tuesday. I'm not sure if that was where I heard  "The Creator" but the title was already familiar to me. Pharoah's albums were printed on the inner sleeve to my Steppenwolf albums, since both were on ABC-affiliated labels (Impulse! and Dunhill, respectively). Other titles like "Hum-Allah-Hum-Allah-Hum-Allah" and "Summun Bukmun Umyun (Deaf Dumb Blind)" stuck in my head from a young age, making me wonder what they meant or what they sounded like. I'm not sure if that radio show was my introduction to Pharoah's hair-raising altissimo shrieks on the tenor, but a few years later, I was snatching up the few used albums of his that floated my way. 

Kente brought him to town in 2010, and I knew that it was my mission to interview the great saxophonist. It wasn't easy. I called him at several specific times but only got his answering machine. When I finally did get him on the line, he was a man of few words, despite my meticulous way of phrasing questions so they wouldn't sound like the same old inquiries. I felt a little vindicated upon hearing that another local scribe had the same difficulty. I also felt privileged because I got him to talk about John Coltrane, and that's when he opened up.

But Pharoah wasn't the type of guy who would suddenly be loquacious with an interviewer whom he had just met minutes before. A few stories I heard over the years offered a great understanding of the enigmatic musician, who was nowhere near as fierce as the cover shot on The Village of the Pharoahs might have implied. One story came from a session that he did with a significantly younger group of adventurous musicians. When I wondered what the conversation was like, a person close to the band said that topics that would get Pharoah going usually involved subjects like what people were planting in their garden that season.

The other story came from New York trumpeter/bass & alto clarinetist Matt Lavelle. Several years ago, he and Pharoah were walking through Times Square in bitter cold weather. When Lavelle expressed the desire to get out of the cold, Pharoah protested: "No, man, this is nature. And I want to feel it, cold or not." 

Thank you, Pharoah.

Thank you, Anton.

Thank you, Sue.

CD Review: Ethan Philion - Meditations on Mingus / Harry Skoler - Living in Sound: The Music of Charles Mingus

Ethan Philion

Meditations on Mingus

(Sunnyside) sunnysiderecords.bandcamp.com/album/meditations-on-mingus-2

Harry Skoler

Living in Sound: The Music of Charles Mingus

(Sunnyside) sunnysiderecords.bandcamp.com/album/living-in-sound-the-music-of-charles-mingus

With this being the centennial of Charles Mingus' birth (on April 22, 1922) there has been much effort spent celebrating and opining about the great bassist, composer and occasional pianist. And no milestone birthday is complete without a tribute album. Or two.

Tribute albums can be a slippery slope, and a salute to Mingus proves more challenging than most. It isn't enough to blow his tune and perhaps improvise over the changes. The participants need to understand Mingus the personality or, to put it another way, try to consider all the layers that made the man - volatile at one moment, sensitive and gentle the next. It can almost be like taking on an acting role. 

Unlike his hero Duke Ellington, Mingus didn't make music geared towards mere entertainment; he forced his listeners to feel something. Stephanie Nilles understood that when making I Pledge Allegiance to the Flag - the While Flag, her 2021 album of  Mingus tunes for solo piano. As mentioned in another post recently, Kirk Knuffke and Jesse Stacken pulled off a tribute to the Baron with just cornet and piano (Orange Was the Color, 2011).. Ku'Umba Frank Lacy created a set of Mingus vocal pieces in 2015 on Mingus Sings which was successful for the most part, as long as Joni Mitchell or Elvis Costello's lyrics weren't involved. It helped that his Mingus Big Band friends were on hand. Not to forget Hal Wilner's sprawling Weird Nightmare (Meditations on Mingus).

Coincidentally, two of the albums above were released on Sunnyside, the same label that has released two new Mingus tribute albums. (The label was also responsible for the live Mingus album At Bremen 1964 & 1975 last year.) Both approach the music from different angles, bringing out different qualities in the music. 

 

For his eight-song set, bassist Ethan Philion's chose compositions that touch on social and economic issues still as relevant today as they were when Mingus composed them, up to half a century ago. Philion assembled a 10-piece band for Meditation on Mingus. The lineup harkens back to the groups that appeared on Mingus Ah Um in 1959 and, more specifically, Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus which featured a similar large ensemble four years later. The size of the group launches the rich sonorities of "Once Upon A Time There Was a Holding Corporation Called Old America" (later retitled "The Shoes of the Fisherman's Wife Are Some Jive Ass Slippers" when it was released). One of the bassist's more composed works, Philion still leaves room for members of the band to blow a bit, some doing it all at once.

"Self Portrait in 3 Colors" was originally presented in three layered choruses with no improvisation. Philion's arrangement expands on the theme, having saxophonists Geof Bradfield, Max Bessesen and Rajiv Halim play the melody each with a slight delay in the opening chorus for a lush effect, then giving trumpeter Russ Johnson the rare chance to solo on the great ballad, which he does gracefully. 

"Haitian Fight Song" was one of Mingus' hard hitting pieces both in message and delivery, built simply on a vamp and a single line played in canon form, with the expectation that the players would lift the bandstand as it proceeded. Mingus' remake of it as "II BS" added extra punch, due in large part to drummer Walter Perkins. Philion's band plays skillfully here but their execution lacks some of the visceral quality of the original. This could be attributed to a production that underplays Dana Hall's drumming.  Punch can be heard in "Prayer for Passive Resistance," though, which features a biting solo from Halim's alto. 

Perhaps the most ambitious undertaking was the multi-sectioned "Meditation on a Pair of Wirecutters" which often blurs the line between written and improvised, with precision playing second fiddle to drama. The group captures the fury that Mingus strove for in the original. Special mention should also be made for "Better Git It In Your Soul," which concludes the album with the coda from the Mingus Mingus version, a stomping blues that takes it home. It has a good time feeling to it, but Philion and his comrades make sure that gravity comes along with the upbeat mood.

Clarinetist Henry Skoler's first exposure to Mingus on record was 1974's Mingus Moves, a transitional and somewhat overlooked piece in the bassist's extensive catalog. The album included a female vocalist on the title track and a rare instance of compositions by other members of the bassist's quintet. This gateway helps provide a more unique perspective for Skoler's tribute, which was assembled with help from tenor saxophonist Walter Smith III (who produces but does not play on the album). 

Along with Skoler's rich clarinet playing, Living In Sound includes only one other horn, Nicholas Payton's trumpet. Instead, the music relies on a string quartet along with an A-list rhythm section (pianist Kenny Barron, bassist Christian McBride, drummer Johnathan Blake). Vocalist Jazzmeia Horn sings the vocal on "Moves."  The album concludes boldly with an Skoler original, "Underdog," the name referencing Mingus' infamous book Beneath the Underdog.

If clarinet might seem like a questionable instrument to lead a Mingus tribute, Skoler casts aside any doubt in the opening moments of "Goodbye Pork Pie Hat." He plays with a muscular tone that gets to the heart of the piece. Skoler, a professor at the Berklee College of Music, understands the efforts needed to produce convincing versions of the music.

The arrangements are divided between Darcy James Argue, Ambrose Akinmusire and Fabian Almazan. Argue adds some Psycho-style strings to the intro of "Peggy's Blue Skylight." Even if it serves as a red herring, it offers a good gateway to the tune. Akinmusire's take on Don Pullen's "Newcomer" (from Mingus Moves) turns it into a haunting chamber piece that brings new life to unheralded work. He brings a similar type of misterioso to "Invisible Lady." 

"Moves," which was penned by Doug Hammond, the trumpeter with Mingus in 1974, also gets a new lease on life. Almazan's arrangement leaves the strings out, and Horn gives an understated performance, with McBride, Payton and Skoler (with some high register wails) convincing listeners that it might be time to reexamine the original album.

Although the strings never really veer into sweet territory, they don't always seem to fit the mood either. "Remember Rockefeller at Attica" (the one tune that overlaps both of these albums) benefits from Skoler's out of tempo interludes, with Payton adding a strong counterpart, but the piece might have been better had it just been the quintet. Moments like this also compare to Philion's set, where the group plays well but the crisp recording doesn't capture the rugged atmosphere of a Mingus session. The success of "Newcomer" and "Moves" almost begs for Skoler and Smith to dig deeper into Mingus' more orchestral works like "Eclipse" or "Weird Nightmare" which would benefit from this sonic backdrop.  

But like Mingus, the album offers new discoveries with each listen. The clarinetist's original "Underdog" wraps things up with a free moving piece that leans into the duality of its inspiration, both turbulent and gentle at the same time. 

CD Reviews: Kirk Knuffke Trio - Gravity Without Airs / Whit Dickey Quartet - Astral Long Forms: Staircase In Space

Kirk Knuffke Trio

Gravity Without Airs

(TAO Forms) taoforms.com or listen and purchase here

Gravity Without Airs can't be described as a typical trio album, as if anything cornetist Kirk Knuffke plays could be mistaken for typical. This is a guy who impressively pared down Charles Mingus tunes to a duo setting (2011's Orange Was the Color, with pianist Jesse Stacken). His last two trio albums, both from 2020, got him together with drums and tuba (Tight Like This) as well as drums and bass (Brightness: Live in Amsterdam). Both were variations on the slightly standard horn-and-rhythm-section set-up. But on these two Gravity discs, Knuffke convenes a trio with bassist Michael Bisio (a longtime collaborator) and pianist Matthew Shipp, the latter playing with the cornetist for the first time. 

In some ways, the album - more than half of it improvised - could be heard as the longtime Shipp/Bisio duo bringing a third element into their musical world. Or Knuffke and Bisio adding a heavy extra element to their duo. No matter which way you spin it, the sessions end up feeling more like some deep three-way conversations than merely two-plus-one meetings.

Each disc features seven tracks, with the first, third and seventh on each based on Knuffke compositions. Everything in between is spontaneous. Sometimes the writing asserts itself, like the pedal point foundation of "The Water Will Win," giving it a distinct direction. But even an improvised track like "Stars Go Up" sounds like it could be based on a tune, in light of the way the piano and bass sound like they're moving together over a structure. Here, and throughout the album, Shipp and Knuffke meet and react to each other in ways that pushes the music further.

"Between Today and May" shows off Shipp's flexibility in a manner not always associated with his own albums. While the pianist can have a soft touch, especially on more recent work, he really gets caught up in the ballad quality of this piece, sounding especially gentle. Bisio, who begins playing arco, shows facility that goes far beyond the role of accompanist or a spark to start a free fire. Here, he sounds like another horn, playing counter to Knuffke's warm, deep tone. A few songs later, the cornet beautifully leads "Paint Pale Silver," rendering it like a tone poem.

The album also features plenty of open-ended blowing too. Knuffke relishes getting into the upper register and twisting the notes until they grasp for air. Bisio's plucking under the bass's bridge kicks off "Shadows to Dance" and his bent notes set an exciting course in "June Stretched." Shipp, who sounds more and more distinct as a pianist, plays in a manner than can be heavy without ever feeling dense. He also knows when to stop playing and let his friends have time to themselves. Hopefully these three will get back together again sometime soon.

Whit Dickey Quartet

Astral Long Form: Staircase in Space

(TAO Forms) taoforms.com or listen and purchase here

Drummer Whit Dickey, the man behind TAO Forms, could have been the ideal fourth element on Gravity Without Airs if that session needed a drummer. He doesn't play in an overbearing manner, preferring to approach his trap kit in a manner that might be simple but adds significant elements to the music. In the opening of "The Pendulum Turns," he pumps the hi-hat and adds single hits on the toms, moving casually but with a flow. 

The other members of the quartet - Rob Brown (alto saxophone), Mat Maneri (viola), Brandon Lopez (bass) - play like they've absorbed Dickey's concept into their playing. There is a period in "Blue Circuit," the album's 19-minute opener, when they all seem to be collectively trying to negotiate which direction to take next. Eventually Maneri and Lopez lock in together, blurring the sonic lines between the strings, making it hard to tell who is bowing some upper harmonics and who is playing some fast lines. As engaging as the whole quartet gets, it's easy to imagine listening to a whole set of these two string players by themselves.

But Brown, one of the most distinctive free blowing alto players around, adds welcome energy any time he jumps into the fray. His tone continues to thrill, with a punchy execution and an endless supply of  harmonic ideas. 

All the tracks flow freely but each has a distinct feel to it rather than sounding like slight variations on fire music. "Space Quadrant" begins with strings alone, evoking creaking suspense and tension before building to a boiling point than includes the whole band. "Staircase In Space" moves a bit slower, with Brown digging into some long tones and Maneri bowing in kind. In "Signify" things finally get fully unhinged and frenzied, until Lopez and Dickey take their own duet that creates even more power in its shift.

The one time Dickey comes across as a leader/director might be a coincidence. The aforementioned "The Pendulum Turns" also includes a portion where the whole band sounds like they're swapping ideas and reacting to one another before they take off again. Like Art Blakey warning a horn player that his second chorus is almost up, Dickey starts striking one of his toms and the rim of another drum. It could be a call to a climax since it comes in the final 60 seconds of the tune. Or maybe it's justwhat the song called for. Regardless, this must be what William Parker means in his liner notes when he talks about "human music that will stand up to any dark forces in any universe." Emphasis on the "human" part. 

Catching Shows by James Hart Band, the Beagle Brothers & Action Camp

I've struck up conversations with my friend James Hart the few times that he's come into my workplace (and his former workplace). He co-fronted the Pittsburgh band the Harlan Twins in the late '00s/ early '10s and I thought, at least for a while, that they could be the next band to blow the lid off of Pittsburgh, in the same way the Modey Lemon did at the turn of the century. It didn't happen but James has continued to play music, predominantly in a supporting role since then, a position he's really good at. (Along the way, he and I also took part in a pick-up band that played Canned Heat songs at a Woodstock tribute back in 2010. Looking back, I'm amazed we pulled that together.) 

When he and I talked, I thought nothing of encouraging James to get back to doing his own thing, fronting a band. So when I saw that he was actually doing it again, in a public place, I felt like I had to be there. Plus, if the Beagle Brothers were also playing, all the more reason to get out to the show.

Stepping upstairs to the Brillobox last Saturday was like stepping back in time. The venue (downstairs bar, upstairs live space) had closed following the pandemic. It beat the odds and opened back up again in March, which is a good thing for music and those wanting some suds (and eats) outside their house.

There was a time around 2010 where the Harlan Twins might sell out Brillo. I recall at least one night when I waited downstairs until a few people filtered out so I could make get in. That wasn't happening last week, but it was great to be out at a show and see a flock of people that I knew from several years ago. 

It was funny that the first person to saddle up next to me and say hi was someone I met during my time as the PTA president at my son's elementary school. (For perspective on time that has passed, the kid just started 10th grade today.) Before the night was over, several other conversations involved updates on friends' kids. There was a little more gray hair in the room, maybe a little less hair overall, but why worry about looking young?

James and the band were onstage, getting ready to start, when I got there. (Apologies to Lindsay Dragan, who opened the show while I was finishing up at work. I haven't seen her yet but I've been piqued by her online presence.) While waiting for the band to start, I felt someone shove past me, moving through the crowd. At first I thought it might be some drunk who wanted to get a good spot at the front of the stage. It was actually the soundman, who might be better called a Sound Bro because after charging past me, he jumped onstage and swung a boom mic stand out of his way, spinning it right at James' mouth. I know what it's like to be working and letting pressure get to you. I also know the frustration of equipment that needs to be tweaked. But jeez oh pete, man, there's no reason to be a storm trooper. 

I'm not really a fan of Americana rock or whatever you want to call that style. In fact, I might as well go on the record and say that I feel like I don't know much about rock at all anymore, since the new music I'm listening to is mostly jazz. I know some people play that style and it sounds *nice* and that's about it. It just kind of flows past me. But then some people can hit a G chord that feels like the start of an anthem that makes you pay attention. That happened during the Hart band's set on Saturday. And when James sings in the upper register - his voice coming close to cracking but only adding more of a passionate rasp - it gets even  better. One other impressive moment: seeing him lean over and grab a sip of his drink while he was still playing. That was almost as slick as the scene in Straight No Chaser where Monk plays a piano solo, dabs the sweat off his forehead and picks up his cigarette for a drag in one chorus. James is no Monk, but he is slick.

The Beagle Brothers played next. Back when I first heard them, they were almost completely acoustic. No drums, bull fiddle, about four guitars. The day I heard them go electric was when they played an event at the cemetery chapel where my wife worked. (I had connected them under the thought that they were still acoustic.) 

These days it's all about electricity for them, though they still have some pedal steel and mandolin along with the gitboxes and drums. The other pleasant surprise was seeing my friend Kraig Decker not only filling the bass seat but singing lead on a batch of the songs. 

Their set was plagued by sound issues, mostly dealing with the ups and downs of the steel and mandolin in the mix. A friend had some damning thoughts about Bro's mixing, but that detail is lost in the haze of the second drink so it's better to leave it at that. Clearly I didn't get other details like the names of new band members on a scoop pad (didn't bring it that night). But it didn't diminish the power of what was a solid set of country-inspired tunes. Like the James Hart Band, the Beagle Brothers have always been a group that rises above the umpteen other country-inspired groups through their songwriting and performance chops.

Maybe it was the hooch, maybe it was seeing so many familiar faces, but going out again to see bands felt really good that night. I have been to a few shows in the last several months, but each time feels like a new thing. There's such a rush being around folks. 

One Saturday previous, I had a similar experience at local trio Action Camp's release show for their CD Cusp. Again, it was a night when I was working the closing shift, but I got there right at the trio was starting their set. (Glad to see them but mad that I missed the Long Haul as well as both Normal Creatures and Fortune Teller.) 

The last time Action Camp show I saw took place at Club Café, which is much more intimate space than the Thunderbird. The latter used to be more intimate, in a way that wasn't really built for bigtime shows. Now the room is HUGE, with high ceilings and concrete floors, but the sound is great and it was perfectly suited for Action Camp. Their sound is pretty big for starters, with the addition of drop-tuned bass lines, all of Bengt Alexander's weird guitar textures and Maura Jacob's brawny voice, which can go from low to high easily, with all the appropriate drama. You could feel all of that last week.

I've listened to Cusp once or twice since I bought it that night, and I want to dig into it more. The songs are a bit unconventional in structure and sound, even while they could be easily accessible. They're another band that should be explored by more people looking to hear something that pushes beyond the musical status quo, without completely abandoning a pop structure. 

I do have to wonder how people find out about new music anymore and if the desire to hear more music produced in their own backyard carries any merit anymore. With Jacob getting ready to have a baby this fall, folks will have to wait to hear more from Action Camp in person. In the meantime, it couldn't hurt to explore the new album either. 

LP Review: Raymond Byron - Bond Wire Cur

Raymond Byron

Bond Wire Cur

(ESP) www.espdisk.com or raymondbyronesp.bandcamp.com/album/bond-wire-cur

As usual, the introduction for this piece had been swimming around in my head for at least a month before I could find the time and focus to write about this album. Bond Wire Cur presents another installment in ESP's Drive to Revive Weird Rock, which has resulted in the past year with releases by artists like Bridge of Flowers and ATTITUDE! (click here for details). With offerings like that, this Drive must be encouraged and followed. 

Upon putting Raymond Byron's newest release on the turntable, he reminded me of ...someone. That laconic drawl, the simple musical setting (acoustic guitar, some piano) and a gift for a compelling narrative from which you don't want to turn away. He's an original, but there's a familiarity to him. 

Then it hit me - he's in a league with Vic Chesnutt. That late great singer had a lot going for him - a balance of rough and beautiful, mean and sweet, and so poetic. Lord Byron has that too. 

But before I could sing his praises, he took on another quality similar to that of Chesnutt: He died on July 30, 2022 at the age of 41. A cause of death has not been revealed and I don't mean to imply that he died in the same manner. I only want to mourn the fact that the world has lost another gifted performer. 

Raymond Bryon Magic Raposa has had a rather long and fruitful career, prior to his ESP debut. He recorded several albums under the moniker Castanets, all of them on Sufjan Stevens' Asthmatic Kitty label. In addition to Stevens, he has worked with St. Vincent's Annie Clark and Deer Tick's John McCauley. Clearly I was a bit late to this musical party, but it was still in full swing.

Many songs on Bond Wire Cur last less than two minutes. Moods changes quickly between tracks, from pure acoustic folk to country to some psychedelic hybrid of both of them. A marimba appears out of nowhere during "I Don't Captain" [sic] and it fits in with the acoustic guitar perfectly. Strings appear on "Benediction Mountain," adding to the sanctified feeling of the words. 

No less than ten artists are credited on the back of the album, though no musical or vocal credits are attributed to them. So the plethora of women who harmonize with Byron shall remain something of a mystery. The best examples come in "Wings of a Dove" which sounds like members of the Carter Family working with Sun Studio recording techniques, creating pure reverb by leaving the monitors on while recording and creating an echoey feedback. (We did the same thing in college radio.)  

The patchwork aspect and ever changing dynamics also recall the better moments of '90s era Guided By Voices, when those shifts were part of the charm on an album. The difference here is that a 1:53 track is a full blown song delivered with brevity, not merely an idea that could've been more. It all holds together as an album, delivering 20 songs in about 38 minutes.

All that can be attributed to wit that Byron puts forth in his lyrics. He twists a closing time cliché into a fresh idea ("You don't have to stay/but you can't go home"). "Before What's Left of Our Minds Go" is a wry but charming love song of sorts with a protagonist who wants to live life to the fullest while he still knows what he's doing. The title track stretches out the longest - five minutes - beginning with some random ideas before switching to a second movement where Byron croons (with a delayed double-tracked vocal) over one lonely minor chord that never gets old. 

"Next Trick" ends each verse with a play on a line from a magician's act, the final one being, "For my next trick, I will disappear." It's hard not to look at some of these lines as possible clues that Byron knew the end of the line was coming. But if that's the case, there's nothing we can do now. Nothing, that is, but enjoy what he left for us. And then start to explore the back catalog. 

Remembering jaimie branch

August 23, 2022 was a dark day for jazz music. Deaths usually come in threes, but Fate decided to go one step further. The word came down that we lost producer and Impulse/CTI visionary Creed Taylor, DJ/journalist Michael Bourne, guitarist Monnette Sudler and trumpeter jaimie branch. (The latter preferred no capitals in her name.)

While all of these are tragedies, branch's death hit me the hardest. (She died on Monday, August 22.) Not simply because she was just 39 years old but because I started following her from the moment I heard her 2017 debut Fly or Die. I felt something of an investment in her music. It was clear this was a trumpet player to watch. When other people joined me in listing Fly or Die as the debut album of '17, I was happy that other people noticed her too. 

She had chops and a vision that started with forward-thinking AACM-inspired ideas of freedom and continued on with a fearlessness that included funk, blues and electronics. And when I say "fearlessness," it was clear that branch was going to do her thing her way, regardless of what you thought. Her typical outfit consisted of a ball cap, often worn sideways or backwards, baggy pants and an oversized jersey, which may or may not have had the name of some sports team on it. 

The picture above comes from a 2018 show at City of Asylum/Alphabet City. The drummer was Stoli L. Sozzelberg. Cellist Fred Lonberg-Holm was also onstage with them that night. But the outfit was secondary to what branch played. This is the kind of cliché you typically try to avoid, but she seemed to draw on the whole history of the trumpet. If she wanted to play a ballad, she could melt your heart. If she wanted to blast you against the wall with fury, she could do that too. If she wanted to get you think about the state of the world around you, she could do that too. 

That can be heard on last year's Fly of Die Live album, which included "Prayer for Amerikkka Pr. 1 & 2," a song she later said was not inspired by the 45th president so much as it was about the way people were being treated at our borders. branch was not content to just spew bile either. That same album included a repetitive number called "Love Song" which consisted largely of the line, "It's a love song for assholes and clowns." She knew that hate wasn't going to solve anything. Love was needed. The recording came from a January 2020 concert in Zurich, Switzerland, just before the world shut down. and it wouldn't be released until the following spring. branch didn't know how true her words were, and how important such a sentiment is.

It was barely a month ago that branch came to Pittsburgh with Anteloper, the project she helms with drummer Jason Nazary. The event took place in a former warehouse turned into a raw (to put it mildly) DIY space. There was bad ventilation and a men's room where you had to pour a bucket of water down the toilet to flush it. Fine for the younger set, but for anyone who needs to sit and rest their weary bones mid performance, good luck. It mattered not a whit to Nazary or branch. The duo played with the same intensity that they displayed with I saw them at the comparatively posh environs of New York's SOB's a few years prior

Standing in front of a table lined with samplers and other electronics, her trumpet always within arms reach, branch began the set with a call to arms ("Trans rights are human rights," and a pro-choice mandate) before creating long heavy loops in tandem with Nazary, who often whacked his traps with one hand while turning knobs with the other. What slayed me was the way a vocal whoop that branch looped early on would continue and get remixed into the sound and could still be felt several minutes later, even as things evolved around it. 

I turned fanboy a bit earlier in the evening, talking to branch and buying the latest Anteloper album. Despite the wildness of the evening and the ever-present loud volume, she was gracious and thankful for the effusive words, very down to earth and approachable. Despite playing in a more primitive space, she was well-scrubbed and enthusiastic. A musician of her caliber should be playing places like Le Poisson Rouge all the time, but she seemed happy to be playing music for people that appreciated and understood what she was doing.

That's why her death hurts so much. She was on her way to bigger things, still very approachable along the way and now she's gone. Maybe it's inappropriate to lump her together with Clifford Brown, Fats Navarro, Lee Morgan, Booker Little and Roy Hargrove - all trumpet players that were snatched from us too soon. But jaimie was THAT good. 

After seeing Anteloper at SOB's, I put a post on some social media site as I ran off to the next show: "I love you, jaimie branch." (Though I probably didn't use lower case.) 

I still do. 

CD Review: Secret People

Secret People

Secret People 

(Out of Your Head) outofyourheadrecords.bandcamp.com/album/secret-people

Dustin Carlson (guitar), Kate Gentile (drums, vibraphone) and Nathaniel Morgan (alto saxophone) are no strangers to the Out of Your Head roster of players. All three appeared on Carlson's Air Ceremony, a septet session and the second release on the label in 2018. Beyond that, each one has a significant number of recordings under their own names and as part of other bands. They may be secret now, but that won't last long. 

Moments occur on the trio's self-titled disc where they sound quite a bit like one of Tim Berne's projects. Part of that could be a sonic comparison, since Morgan's alto often has a tart tone similar to Berne's, and Carlson takes swipes at his guitar that recall Marc Ducret. Gentile has also played with Berne, absorbing the ever-shifting rhythmic scope of his melody lines.

A middle section of the 10-minute "Peephole" even sounds like it could have come from a Snake Oil set, with guitar and alto playing just a heartbeat apart. Gentile joins them on both drums and vibraphone, making the whole thing rise out of the improvisation that preceded it. But just as things seem to catch fire, the trio stops on a dime.

Therein lies the difference. Before this Berne-esque knot, the group traverses through a fuzz guitar/alto mix of punk/free fusion, with Gentile providing the kick, before everyone melts into a drone of percussion clatter and moans that can blur the difference between reeds and strings. "Peephole" concludes in a similar vein, with a noirish sea of sounds that create a late night soundtrack to street noises outside the window, or beneath the street level. 

Secret People excel in both this type of loose improv and fully composed works. "Ascetic Dust" (a solo guitar interlude) and "U" (the whole trio) are complete works that present as much protein as the album's longer tracks. With regard to the latter, "Swamp Gaze" tries on several hats, from a manic free introduction to a bit of death metal where Carlson's "Bass VI" credit on the cover rears is low-ended head. Gentile's well-placed crashes ensures that things rock hard and never get excessive or turn into a parody. The same goes for Morgan. As the track morphs through a few different sections, he never resorts to cathartic shrieks. His quick lines joust perfectly with Carlson's restless fretwork. 

His alto does scream earlier in the album, on "Legitimate Perseverance," but that could be because he and Gentile both seem to have trouble keeping up with Carlson's fast lines, which might either be inspired by either hardcore or fusion. As choppy as the rhythm gets at times, Gentile still manages to groove in the rocky terrain of "Choc(h)oyotes" which also ends dynamically with some trippy, bowed vibraphone. 

CD Review: Tyshawn Sorey Trio- Mesmerism

Tyshawn Sorey Trio

Mesmerism

(Yeros7) tyshawn-sorey.bandcamp.com/album/mesmerism

 

The releases of John Coltrane's Ballads album and Thelonious Monk's Plays Duke Ellington were both considered, to some degree, ways to make both of these bold individuals palatable to a greater audience. Familiar tunes could draw in listeners who might not be ready for their own music. While that might really have been Orrin Keepnews' thinking with Monk, it has been debated back and forth whether the Coltrane session was really the idea of the saxophonist or his producer Bob Thiele. 

More than half a century later, it doesn't really matter. They're both good albums. But today, when a musician digs into the "classic" jazz repertoire, it's still often seen as an attempt to cater to a wider audience rather than an attempt to reexamine some past works and add a new signature to it. 

But when you're talking about Tyshawn Sorey - drummer, composer, band leader, Doctor of music who knows his way around a piano and trombone too - one would be a fool to make such an assumption. Sorey calls himself a post-genre artist, meaning his music transcends genres. I've said at least once that he's creating music for which we don't really have accurate descriptions yet. (Here's a sampling of what I've covered on this blog.) 

To discover that Mesmerism finds Sorey (on drums) leading a trio through chestnuts like "Autumn Leaves" and "Detour Ahead," along with works by Horace Silver and Duke Ellington might come as a surprise. But rest assured it also comes with the same depth that fuels the good Doctor's original works.  

Sorey is joined by pianist Aaron Diehl and bassist Matt Brewer. He's worked with the latter before but this marks his first collaboration with the pianist. Mesmerism came together in an afternoon, meaning the musicians didn't have time to overthink the music, but to dive in and listen to one another. The trio doesn't deconstruct the music, although they do stretch in different ways. 

Silver's original "Enchantment" had an exotic feel, coupled with a standard hard bop drive. Sorey, Diehl and Brewer give it a laidback funky feel. It's not a smooth funk, but it has an easy groove to it. "Detour Ahead," which was closely connected to pianist Bill Evans, gets drawn out in a rich 14-minute epic. None of that time is wasted, however. Diehl plays with a lyrical feel that blurs the lines between choruses, making it easy to loose track of time. Brewer also gets a solo early in the piece, and he also steps up in "Autumn Leaves." Along with some time changes in the opening and closing choruses of that song, the bass solo gives some drive to the wistful tune.

Conversely Sorey never demands any solo space throughout the whole album, not even trading fours for tradition's sake. For a player who can make the most angular time signatures swing hard, this is his most deliberately laidback set. But laidback doesn't mean subdued, as his accents really inspire Brewer in "Autumn Leaves," eventually kicking up the mood when Diehl returns.

Motian's "From Time to Time" gets the biggest remodeling job, as the group breaks it down into individual lines with wide gaps between them. Lasting just less than six minutes, its time goes as quickly as the lengthy "Detour Ahead." Ironically, Muhal Richard Abrams' "Two Over One" might be the most straight ahead piece of the whole set, though it retains a unique stamp in Sorey's drum part, which plays across the toms a lot. 

The album closes with "REM Blues," which Duke Ellington brought to the Money Jungle session with Max Roach and Charles Mingus in 1962. It only appears on the CD and streamed versions, which makes a strong case for hearing the album in that format. The downhome groove of the song, with an appropriately loose quality in the band, feels like the ideal way to end the album. It has a familiar, lived-in quality to it, but it doesn't settle for being a simple homage to the master. This version is just as much about Sorey, Diehl and Brewer as it is about Duke.

For someone so committed to developing his own compositional voice and getting his own work out to the public, Sorey took a bold leap in trying his hand at classic jazz. Not everyone could pull off such an artistic gear shift. But a post-genre artist is built with that kind of flexibility. 

CD Reviews: Lisbeth Quartett - Release / Punkt.Vrt.Plastik- Zurich Concert

Lisbeth Quartett

Release

(Intakt) www.intaktrec.ch or intaktrec.bandcamp.com/album/release-2

Alto saxophonist Charlotte Greve has been involved in a number of musical projects both in her new home of Brooklyn home as well as her birthplace of Germany. (Her native country recently lauded her with the Deutscher Jazzpreis Artist of the Year award.) Her Lisbeth Quartett project began a dozen years ago back home, with five albums already to their credit. Release arrives after a five-year hiatus during which the saxophonist worked on a few other projects. 

Greve chooses her lines thoughtfully, as if she's in the midst of a deep meditation. She might not blow hard or cut loose, but she can wail, sliding easily into the upper register of her horn. Pianist Manuel Schiedel locks in with her on "Le Mistral" where both peel off rapid lines in unison with ease. Greve follows with a solo that begins in short clusters of phrases that become lines that float away gently. If her playing sometimes feel spare, she balances things with a strong, crystal-clear tone. It might contrast with the swampy inspiration for "Bayou" but that two-movement track offers one of the highlights of the album.

After launching "Bayou" with splashes across his kit, drummer Moritz Baumgärtner deliberately shifts between backbeats and offbeats during the second part of the piece, to keep things unsettling. In "Arrow" bassist Marc Muellbauer practically solos beneath Schmiedel's piano solo, which pushes the energy along and without making things sound too busy.

The loose, flowing quality of the Lisbeth Quartett sometimes evokes Paul Motian's work as a leader, an observation I noticed on Greve's album with Vinnie Sperrazza and Chris Tordini. This comes in to play during "Full Circling" where Greve repeats a series of circular five-note lines as the rhythm section unfolds, piano and bass eventually joining her

"Outro" closes the album with the saxophonist alone, her lines echoing off a mountain top behind her. (Could it be a siren call to ECM? The group would sound right at home on that imprint.) It's a fitting sign-off but much like the title track, which precedes it, there feels like something more could have come from the group - more of a climax or, to extend the meditation idea, more insight as a result of that reflection. Nevertheless, the time away has done nothing to keep these four from developing strong interactions, which often feel gentle on the surface, but driving and intense beneath the surface.

Punkt.Vrt.Plastik

Zurich Concert

(Intakt) www.intaktrec.ch or  punktvrtplastikintakt.bandcamp.com/album/zurich-concert

Punkt.Vrt.Plastik started out as a 2018 album by Kaja Draksler (piano), Petter Eldh (bass) and Christain Lillinger (drums). But two albums later, it's safe to say that the album title has become synonymous with this band of feisty European players. I've listened to a bit of their other two albums in a noble but futile attempt to keep up their label's vast output. Hearing the live Zurich Concert set indicates that it's time to go back and do a dive into their previous releases. The fire started onstage at unerhӧrt!-Festival provided the perfect blend of manic Euro free improv, along with the knack at keeping a groove somewhere at the heart of it.

"Body Decline - Natt Raum" (two separate compositions by Eldh, played together) presents a good example of the trio's cohesion. Draksler begins slowly in leaps up the keyboard and eventually Eldh starts pedaling a steady line. When Lillinger joins in with a ride cymbal groove, punctuated by a fast set of rolls, the pianist begins twirling over them until all three of them finally come together in a section that isn't quite 4/4. The way they play, it sounds like they're not even sure of a time signature but they're having fun tripping up over it. The sense of esprit de corps can be heard more apparently in other tracks on the album, when members of the band burst out in a laugh in the middle of a performance.

The speed and visceral feeling of the music might account for the first part of the band's moniker, as they feel like a punk trio. Tight editing makes everything run together like a suite, not even leaving space for applause. All three compose individually for the group, with Lillinger submitting more than half of the album. Moods vary with each piece, ensuring that the band never stays on one idea long enough to wear it out, not do they embark on any Cecil Taylor-esque excursions for too long either. 

To that end, it should be noted how distinct Draksler's performance sounds throughout the album. Even at her freest, she knows exactly where she wants her fingers to land. At several moments during the set, she gets a sound out of her piano that resembles bells, with pitches bending slightly. Equal mention should be given to Eldh too, who is equally versed in jerky tense lines ("Nuremburg Amok") and angular leading lines created when Draksler feeds him chords ("Amnion"). 

All the compositions on Zurich Concert appeared on both of their previous albums, but as Alexander Hawkins states in the liner notes, things transpired onstage that were much different than what happened in the studio. This is a great place to start for those who haven't heard the trio before. 

CD Review: Miles Okazaki - Thisness / David Virelles - Nuna

It's been a while since I've written about releases from the Pi Recordings label. 2021 was an especially fruitful year for Pi as it marked its 20th anniversary and released albums by Henry Threadgill (the first artist released on the label back in '01), Snark Horse and Steve Coleman. The Snark Horse release was a six-disc set by the duo of keyboardist Matt Mitchell and drummer Katie Gentile, along with many friends. That, and the other two artists' work were pretty intriguing efforts that involved some head-scratching and deep listening, the qualities I've come to expect from the label. The following albums are much more recent though they both came out a few months ago. Now it's time to put down some thoughts about the sounds on the discs.

Miles Okazaki

Thisness

(Pi Recordings) www.pirecordings.com or milesokazaki.bandcamp.com/album/thisness

Miles Okazaki's last few albums for Pi (including this one) have incorporated the myth of the trickster,  a scalawag from literature who thrives on disrupting the norm and breaking taboos. Like many bands, the title of their first album, Trickster, has become synonymous with Okazaki's quartet with Matt Mitchell (piano, Fender Rhodes, Prophet-6), Anthony Tidd (electric bass) and Sean Rickman (drums). 

As a side note, a different kind of trickster might have been afoot in the production of Thisness. When the disc was placed in my laptop player, all titles appeared in Chinese symbols. When translated through an online system, they all read "How to be a great office worker," or "How to become an excellent office worker." The question becomes, Is the trickster toying with us, or does Okazaki's music improve inter-office skills? 

It should be also be noted that the guitarist came up with actual titles of the four tracks after they had been recorded, all of them coming from successive lines in a poem by Sun Ra, "The Far Off Place."  The music was composed in a manner that evoked the Exquisite Corpse game that was invented by surrealists, in which one artist made a drawing and folded the paper downward so only a little bit could be seen and would give the next artist only a vague cue on how to proceed. Each artist did the same thing, leading to a work that combined several disjointed but entertaining illustrations coming together. 

The writing and the sound of the band make Thisness quite the surreal performance to drop in on. Tidd's fretless bass takes the sound back to '80s electric jazz, all slippery and tight. It's not smooth but it feels like it could be, as it blends with Okazaki's clean guitar lines, played on a Gibson ES-150 "Charlie Christian" model. Rickman often plays  his kit like he's trying to stem the tide, sounding skittery while Tidd is getting funky ("I'll build a world"). 

Like an exquisite corpse image, things change in the middle of each song, sometimes gradually, sometimes radically. What was loose and flowing at first suddenly gives way to a 4/4 groove, though Okazaki keeps things choppy before grooving in his own way ("In some far off place"). Rickman sets up a beat in some hard-to-pin-down cluster that seems to total seven in the track "years in space" and the band makes it swing with authority. When that foundation eventually morphs, so too does Okazaki who sounds like he's switched to acoustic guitar.

Despite that fact that a lot happens in all four of these tracks, the music never sounds complex for complexity's sake. Even when Mitchell snakes in on a keyboard countermelody or sounds emanate from Okazaki's "robots" which are programmed to join the improvisation, the music has an organic feeling to it. When the final track, "and wait for you," folds up with barely a climax, it feels like a conversation that could have continued on, in great detail.

David Virelles

Nuna

(Pi Recordings) see above or davidvirelles.bandcamp.com/album/nuna

David Virelles compiled a list of 35 pianists in the liner of Nuna that inspired him to create the 16 tracks. The roster starts with Johann Sebastian Bach and ends with Geri Allen, including Ethopian pianist Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou, Alice Coltrane and Vladimir Horowitz to name just a few. It's a fascinating list equaled only by the range of the music that Virelles plays on the album, largely unaccompanied. Actually the music exceeds the intrigue of the list, to be honest.

The Cuban-American pianist doesn't single out any of his predecessors for a direct tribute, realizing that would oversimplify things. There are elements in many of the pieces that come from them, a flourish here, a percussive attack there, a low chord resonating thanks to the damper pedal. The overall effect of the music sounds both infectious and challenging, where the source becomes secondary to where Virelles takes the music.

"Spacetime" starts out not at the piano but with the marímbula, a wooden box with metal keys which is often used in Cuban changüí music. It kicks things off boldly, while emphasizing the percussive quality of the instrument Virelles typically plays. Among the 14 originals, two tracks come from composers in Santiago de Cuba. While the bright melody of "Cuando Canta El Cornetín" sounds like it might be an interpretation, it also has the feeling of a Bach invention.  "Germania" has a similar feeling. Percussionist Julio Barreto joins Virelles on three tracks, adding more nuances to a set already full of them. His entrance in "Ignacio Villa" - halfway into the piece - works as a clever move to elevate the music further.

None of the pieces on Nuna sound like spontaneous works. They all come off like compositions, some with room for improvisations but all of them well-formed. Few last more than five minutes, making the album like a vast program of what the modern pianist can do with a fertile imagination. 

For that reason, Villa should be required listening for all college freshman piano students. They don't need to learn how to play it or play "spot the influence." Instead, they should get to know it. Live in it. Ponder how Virelles came up this music. Then use their version of that process to develop their own voices.

4LP Review - Hasaan Ibn Ali - Retrospect In Retirement of Delay: The Solo Recordings

Hasaan Ibn Ali

Retrospect in Retirement of Delay: The Solo Recordings

(Omnivore) omnivorerecordings.com/ov-440/

Stop me if you're heard this one before. Or skip ahead to the next paragraph. Normally I'm not one to get excited about Record Store Day items. Typically there is nothing available on that day that is brand new. If there is, chances are I won't be able to nab a copy in time. And I'm not fighting crowds in the wee hours of the morning to get something like that. I don't do that for estate sales (at least not now) or for pricey new things. 

But at the Illegal Crowns show (covered in the previous post), a friend reminded me of the set of newly discovered solo performances by the elusive, late pianist Hassan Ibn Ali. The music had been released digitally last November, but on Saturday, June 18 the four-record edition of the Ibn Ali set was available as part of an RSD Drop Day, when some RSD releases were made available. When I realized I had that day off from work, I decided to try my luck, not at 6:00 a.m., but around 9:30 a.m. at the Attic in Millvale. Sure enough, several copies of Retrospect in Retirement of Delay: The Solo Recordings were still available. So I grabbed it. Yes, it was pricey but it might be the best $85 I've spent on one release. And that includes The Complete Lee Morgan Live at the Lighthouse. 

Hassan Ibn Ali barely registers as a footnote in jazz history, at least outside of his hometown of Philadelphia. Though he was widely admired as a pianist and composer, he only released one album in his lifetime, and that one piggybacked on the established drummer who helped make it happen: The Max Roach Trio Featuring the Legendary Hasaan (Atlantic, 1965). A second album was recorded, but Atlantic shelved it when Ibn Ali was arrested on a narcotics charge. It finally saw the light of day last year as Metaphysics, a wholly unique quartet set that featured Odean Pope on tenor. Unfortunately, the pianist died 40 years prior, never living to see recognition for his playing.

Retrospect in Retirement of Delay comes as a revelation, one that could actually elevate Hasaan Ibn Ali's stature far beyond the scope of jazz critics and collectors. These solo piano performances were recorded informally by Alan Sukoenig, a friend of Ibn Ali's, between 1962 and 1965 in lounges on the University of Pennsylvania campus and at a few apartments around the city of Brotherly Love. They are to the pianist what Dean Benedetti's tapes were to Charlie Parker - except with much better sound quality (raw as it often is) and complete performances. They provide a greater understanding of a truly unprecedented player. As Matthew Shipp says in the accompanying booklet, "Here we get a full look at his poetic vision and imagination as it manifests as an alternative post-bop universe of sorts, and as a pianistic orchestral complex slab of dense beauty."

The recordings include both originals and jazz standards, which, side-by-side, work together to provide a deeper look at the pianist. Nowhere is better exemplified than the sequence of "Body and Soul" and Thelonious Monk's "Off Minor." The former lasts close to 14 minutes, with Ibn Ali unleashing chorus after chorus without any break in the flow of ideas. He seems to utilize the entire range of the piano for the piece too. "Off Minor" was one of Monk's most characteristically swinging tunes, which inverted a classic chord pattern and produced one of his most hummable melodies. Ibn Ali treats it with respect but, as Shipp points out, bends the song to his own will in a very natural way, something that doesn't always occur in a Monk cover.

Ibn Ali's percussive attack in "Sweet and Lovely" hints at another iconoclastic pianist - Cecil Taylor, who also played this tune on his debut album. Between this and some of the rapid stop-start waves that almost evoke Bud Powell (one might almost expect to hear Ibn Ali quote "Glass Enclosures" in a few spots), the pianist puts himself in league with the major players that preceded him. His torrents of notes also recall Art Tatum (his "On Green Dolphin Street" almost gets a little too heavy), as well as Monk, Powell and Taylor. It's a stature the Hasaan Ibn Ali rightly deserves. 

In reading through the rest of the booklet, penned by Sukoenig with extensive quotes from others who knew the pianist, it's hard not to feel bad for the way for the way the man born William Henry Lankford, Jr. ended up. His odd personality (these days, he might be considered on the spectrum) made it hard for him to get gigs, so he stayed at home with his parents, playing piano all day. If he went visiting friends, he often sat down at their piano and kept playing. When a fire destroyed the Lankford home, eventually taking the lives of both parents, Ibn Ali was devastated and sent to live in a home. Yet, while he was there, Odean Pope visited frequently and his friend was still coherent enough to discuss music with him. 

Too often the word "genius" is thrown around at people who do groundbreaking work that impresses others. Sometimes they get recognition, sometimes they die before a major crowd knows what they've accomplished. Retrospect in Retirement of Delay - both the music and liner notes - might lead some people to call Hasaan Ibn Ali a genius, and maybe they'd be right. But every so-called genius is likely to be a guy from the neighborhood who just happens to be really damn good at what he does. So good that another neighborhood guy named John Coltrane might pick something up from him. Forget about the accolades and just listen, because you might not be the same after you do. 

Yes. It's that good. 

PS Although if your record store doesn't have the four-record set, there are several copies for sale on Discogs as of this writing, all for a bit less than what I paid.