Matthew Shipp Live in Cleveland + CD Review: William Parker/Matthew Shipp - Re-Union

The last eighteen months has really magnified the importance of live performances to me. (That much should be obvious from the last few posts that have appeared here, regarding Bob Mould and James Brandon Lewis.) So if a Matthew Shipp performance in Cleveland coincides with a day off from work, with no Pittsburgh stop on this tour, it's clear that a road trip is in order. Which is exactly what I did yesterday. 

The Bop Stop, the non-profit jazz space that looks a lot fancier that its status might imply, was the locale for the show. Arriving on the early side, I was determined to get a seat where I could see Shipp's hands as he performed because he has a signature approach to the piano and it adds an extra element of excitement when you can see it happen. However, next time I need to remember to find a seat that places me at more of a 90-degree angle from the piano, in order to see both hands clearly. 

A Matthew Shipp set, especially a solo one, consists of a continuous suite, figuratively speaking. One tune flows into another with plenty of improvisation coming amidst all of it. Snatches of melody might sound familiar, recalling one of his many albums or from a previous show. When a standard theme pops up, it might also seem like one he's recorded before, even if you haven't heard it. As he plays, Shipp looks a bit like he's in a trance, completely devoting himself to the music, knowing exactly where he wants to go next, or where his improvisation will take him. That all happened last night.

Decked out in blue jeans, a blue shirt and a pair of Reeboks, Shipp frequently moved both hands over the keys in a rapid manner that almost looks like he was dusting them off. But instead of gathering clustered keys together, both hands were interacting, sometimes one right on top of the other, sometimes with the left hand playing a snatch of a boogie idea while the right developed little cells of melody. Occasionally it felt tense, but that tension was always followed by release.

His newest solo album, Codebreaker (which will be released officially next month), there aren't as many thundering bass note jabs that often punctuate Shipp's work. He has admitting feeling more introspective, channeling the feeling of Bill Evans (of whom he is a fan). That delicacy was often in place last night. At the same time, he maintained an edge, frequently locking onto a mid-range chord, hammering away on it several times for a different kind of emphasis. (The tune in question might have been "Green Man" from Codebreaker, though I can't say for sure.) 

When he played the Matt Dennis standard "Angel Eyes" (which appears on the Russian-released album Creation Out of Nothing), he used the entire keyboard to reveal the full drama of the song's lyric. (When done right, this song is a very blue tale of heartbreak.) In the final chorus, his left hand built up a march that made it even more ominous - until the bridge restored the lightness of it. 

A similar approach came up during the old warhorse "Yesterdays." He constructed lines with several staccato jabs, moving through melodic fragments of all shapes and sizes. Another piece later in the set sounded a bit like "Meditations For Moses," a piano solo that Charles Mingus created spontaneously on Mingus Plays Piano that had a groove to its opening line. But that could be me reading into it. 

Following his set, Shipp took part in a Q&A with Matt from the Bop Stop, taking questions from the audience. When asked about how his set is constructed the pianist described how one tune "is like your crazy uncle, one is like your annoying aunt that no one likes,' and how the set is a way of "trying to balance everything out."

William Parker - Matthew Shipp

Re-Union

(RogueArt) roguart.com/product/re-union/179

Before hearing that Shipp was playing Cleveland, I had plans to review Re-Union, the recently released set of duets with his longtime friend and collaborator William Parker (bass). Like Shipp, Parker is having a particularly fruitful year in terms of albums. AUM Fidelity released Painters Winter and Mayan Space Station earlier this year. And both friends appear with drummer Whit Dickey on the Village Mothership set, which TAO Forms released last week.

As far as duets go, though, this is the first that Parker and Shipp have done in over 20 years. The last time they teamed up, the year was 1999 and the album was DNA (notable also because it was the first time that Shipp said he was going to stop making albums). Having worked together in the David S. Ware Quarter and Roscoe Mitchell's Sound Factory, these two already have a deep rapport. 

Re-Union evokes the famous story of Charlie Parker and Charles Mingus getting into a deep conversation backstage before playing a set. Realizing that it was time to play, one told the other, "Let's continue this discussion on the bandstand," understanding that, even though they were adhering to changes, the music they played was much deeper than that. 

This recording took place in a studio rather than on a bandstand but the discussion still runs deep. The title track begins with the pianist and bassist playing what almost sounds like a groove, already deep into the conversation. Throughout its 22 minutes, things pull apart, with one player unleashing a rapid string of notes while the other holds back, then doing the same thing while the first one steps back. This alone is worth the admission price, but the nearly hour-long set includes "The New Zo" (a nod to a previous duet album) and "Further DNA" which both feature some uninhibited bowing by Parker. "Song of Two" gets a bit more contemplative, perhaps leaning on that lyrical side that Shipp explored on Codebreak and at last night's show.

While it might be hard for some to determine where to start with all the albums both players have released this year, Re-Union ranks as one of the mandatory picks.

 

James Brandon Lewis/Red Lily Quintet at Alphabet City - What A Couple of Nights!

September 2021 marked the 17th year that City of Asylum staged a Poetry and Jazz Forum. What began as a one-night event that brought exiled Chinese poet Huang Xiang and saxophonist Oliver Lake together for a performance has grown in recent years to a month-long series with music and poetry comingling in CoA's brick and mortar space Alphabet City. This year's installment wrapped up last week with one of the most incredible performances I've witnessed in several years. 

I don't say that lightly either.

James Brandon Lewis' Red Lily Quintet released Jesup Wagon earlier this year. This tribute to the life and work of George Washington Carver will likely end up on a lot of Best of lists in a few months. (Click here for a review of it.) On September 28, Lewis and the Quintet performed several tracks from the album at Alphabet City. The following night, he and cellist Chris Hoffman performed duets and accompanied three poets reading their works.

Before the Tuesday night set began, Lewis told the audience he wasn't the leader of the band. "I'm just a vessel." He also added that, thanks to the pandemic, this was only the second time the quintet had been able to play this music live. That being the case, everyone played like they had stored up a wealth of energy and musical ideas and couldn't wait to let them out. 

The set started with "Chemurgy," named for a movement George Washington Carver spearheaded in the 1930s to find industrial uses for renewable resources. The melody, with a phrase or two similar in a way to Ornette Coleman's "Lonely Woman" featured William Parker starting off on the gimbri, creating some low melodic interplay with Hoffman's cello. The rousing coda had Lewis blowing some low wails while cornetist Kirk Knuffke answered in his upper register. 

Throughout the set, Lewis went deep into his horn for complex solos that combined the visceral frenzy of free jazz without ever forsaking a melodic foundation. It reminded me of some of the masters of tenor saxophone I've heard on recordings and live over the last 30 years, but there's no sense in namedropping here. Lewis is clearly his own person, driven by the desire to get these ideas out of his head and into his instrument. 

Drummer Chad Taylor was pushing things along, responding to the other players and challenging them to take it higher. It was clear there was electricity onstage. During Knuffke's solo in "Lowlands of Sorrow," Lewis leaned his head back and wailed. It wasn't for attention. He was caught in the moment. My first thought was - Okay, good to know it's not just me feeling this way. "Arachnis" was a rather melancholic ballad, but the rhythm was so energetic that it felt uplifting. And Lewis' solo could have continued all night and it would have been just as powerful. 

I almost didn't make it to the Tuesday night show but a scheduling mishap opened my evening, so I jumped on it. In retrospect, it was a lucky break because the Red Lily Quintet's set was the most moving thing I've seen since Mike Reed premiered the set of music that became the Flesh and Bone album at the 2017 Winter Jazz Festival. (Click here for info about the release of that music.) If I had missed the show last Tuesday, I feel like I would've missed the boat on a great leap forward in music. I've gone online telling people to put all their stock in Lewis and that evening was proof positive of that. He has an individual, fully-matured voice. 

William Parker, James Brandon Lewis and Kirk Knuffke,
from the video screen on the corner seating area at Alphabet City

The morning after the Red Lily show, I went online talking up Lewis, giving that night's set a hard sell. Usually such praise never gets a reaction but I was pleasantly surprised at the end of the Wednesday show to discover that I was seated next to a guy who went to school with me, from about 3rd grade on, and whom I hadn't seen since we graduated 30-plus years ago. He and his wife checked it out based on my endorsement, which was really cool to see.

It would be hard to follow Tuesday night, but Lewis and Hoffman really got into the feeling that night. Lewis added his own spoken word pieces to the music, full of verbal snippets that recalled the quick burst of Beat poets with modern observations and concern, no doubt fueled by the past 18 months. Taking a title from his own album, the saxophonist put words to An Unruly Manifesto, a personal declaration inspired by similar ones put forth by poets like Ted Joans and other musicians. 

Lewis was modest to the point of self-deprecating about his own literary work but there were passages where his words hit hard. "Self-Doubt of a 21-Year Old Reed" expressed a musician's uncertainty: "Not II-V-I enough...Not MFA, BFA or 'street' enough." Another featured the moving observation, "W is for War, not 'When Will This End.'" Hoffman held down the foundation on a lot of the music, plucking his instrument, walking fast and bowing some heavy double-stops. Lewis did plenty of speaking, but his still let his horn do the lion's share of the talking, for most of the set. Like the night before, it was an ideal balance of explosive honks and reflective lines.

 

For the second half of the show, Lewis and Hoffman accompanied readings by Joel Dias-Porter (seen above), Danielle Obisie-Orlu and M. Soledad Caballero. All three are strong writers, with Dias-Porter creating as especially compelling piece called "El Magnifico," which recalled the day in his youth when he heard about Roberto Clemente's death. The musicians interacted with the readings very effectively, holding back to elevate the words and not overpower them. The way each piece ended, with words and music concluding in tandem, proved there was effort put into the word, rather than merely improvisation behind them. 

The evening concluded with a tenor/cello reading of "Even the Sparrow" a Lewis original commissioned by the Jazz Coalition which the quintet had also played at the end of the previous evening. As things wrapped up, Abby Lembersky, the City of Asylum Director of Programs, told the audience - which included online viewers - that she hoped that everyone got something from the month's programming that they will take with home them. Two words can sum up the feeling on that idea - no doubt. 

CD/Blu-Ray Review: Anthony Braxton - 12 COMP (ZIM) 2017

Anthony Braxton

12 COMP (ZIM) 2017

(Firehouse 12) firehouse12records.com/album/12-comp-zim-2017

When The Complete Dean Benedetti Recordings of Charlie Parker was released in 1990, a reviewer for Musician magazine admitted that he put several of the discs (out of seven) into his CD player and let them spin while he was sleeping. The idea was that, perhaps subliminally, he would receive further insight into the myriad lo-fi recordings of Parker. Benedetti didn't have enough space to record entire tunes so he settled for the crucial parts - the solos.

The writer's approach made sense. This was a box of seven CDs, which have become known as the Dead Sea Scrolls of jazz. In those pre-internet days, writers still depended on getting a hard copy of a release by mail. Deadlines were tight, so chances are there wasn't time to really dig hard into a massive work like that. Or else, I totally missed the artistic license that the writer took in describing the music. We're going back 31 years, after all.

As hard as it might be to penetrate the Benedetti set, it has nothing on 12 COMP (ZIM) 2017, a dozen new compositions by Anthony Braxton, each anywhere between 40 and 70 minutes each. (The physical edition of the set presents all the compositions on one Blu-Ray Disc. The link above offers the chance to purchase high-resolution digital files.) 

12 COMP (ZIM) 2017 came out in June and while they're have been some pieces written about it, neither of the two main domestic jazz publications have printed a review. Perhaps my peers have been spending the past several months trying to delve into the work, figuring out how to say more than a few over-arching descriptions of the music. It's quite a bit more involved than, for instance, Braxton's own massive Charlie Parker homage, the 11-disc Sextet (Parker) 1993. But the thought of listening to Mr. Braxton's work while sleeping doesn't really seem like a good idea for anyone who already has regular anxiety dreams. The better approach - copious notes, taken while listening.

ZIM Music is Braxton's newest system based on his Language Musics. It derives from gradient logics, which are aspects of music that continually change, such as tempo or color (brighter and brighter or darker and darker). The notation of the music includes "extraction notation" which is technically impossible to play and requires the musicians to "extract" something from the music in their improvisation. How the players react is what makes a gradient process out of the performance.

The instrumentation on the dozen compositions ranges from a sextet (two of the pieces), septet (six of them) and nonet (four pieces). None of the lineups include bass, drums or any percussion instrument. They do all include tuba (Dan Peck), which offers low end foundation and another voice to interact or clamor with the other players. All of them feature two harpists (Jacqui Kerrod with either Brandee Younger, Shelley Burgon or Miriam Overlach). Accordion (Adam Matlock), cello (Tomeka Reid) and violin (Jean Cook) also show up.

As far as fellow horns, longtime Braxton member Taylor Ho Bynum (brass) is a mainstay, but the nonet tracks also feature Stephanie Richards on trumpet and additional saxophonist  Ingrid Laubrock. Braxton himself plays his usual artillery of reeds - sopranino, alto and bass saxophones, contra-bass clarinet and probably a few others. When the dynamics change in a piece, he is often the first to come to the sonic surface, brandishing a different instrument than he had moments prior.

The music features many sonic shifts along the way. At various times, the harps create textures that sound like music boxes. They also play in a manner that was once used in film soundtracks to evoke a screen shift into a dream sequence. These pieces all seem to be united with the regular use of group crescendos and the use of long pauses or breaks in the middle of a piece. The latter seems like the silence that comes between movements of a symphony, though the music doesn't always follow that trajectory. Those elements present what could be considered recurring themes between each piece, but it's unclear whether that was Braxton's intention. 

A 16-page booklet comes with the Blu-ray, in which the composer tries to explain his methods. This often proves to be as enigmatic as the music, especially when Braxton presents numbered points that describe "a five part decision construct" used to play the music. The most illuminated point comes in #1111: "The page order in the ZIM MUSIC can be rearranged to keep the music fresh. This is possible because every notated page is two measures long..." Others directions are even more vague, the best being: "The train in the tunnel is getting closer and closer - in other words get out of the way fool [sic]." Challenging yes, but Braxton wants to have fun too.

"Composition 402," the first track, feels like it has the most sense of direction. (Although this one likely had a decent amount of rehearsal since it premiered in Poland before being recorded at Wake Forest University in 2017.) Braxton plays powerfully, as he does throughout the album, especially on alto, where his rapid technique still sounds jaw-dropping. Here it sounds like the group is "accompanying" him in a more traditional way. In "Composition 419" his alto sounds gentle and a bit lyrical. "Composition 415" might be the most memorable track since it holds together like a piece, with different movements or textures (or gradients) sprouting out of it. Like the others, it's marked by a lot of those pregnant pauses.

A dozen album-length compositions might be something that draws the attention of Braxton fanatics exclusively. But the musicians on this work - not all of them avant players - understand the gradient logics and bring a lot of contagious energy to the proceedings. One good example comes in "Composition 414" where the nonet sounds like they're playing backwards in the opening minutes. Elsewhere it's interesting to try and discern Braxton from Laubrock or Bynum from Richards, so close in spirit do they play. 12 Comp might be a major investment, but it's one that yields many dividends. 

Just don't put it on before bed.

Bob Mould Takes Pittsburgh

When a friend texted me the list of Hüsker Dü songs that Bob Mould played at his 2019 Pittsburgh show, I swore that I would never miss him again. Not simply because I wanted to hear the oldies. Those songs (which included "In A Free Land," which we had played in our tribute band Hüsker Don't) were the icing on the cake that was Sunshine Rock, the solid album that he was supporting on that tour. 

Then Bob released Blue Hearts last year, on which he sounded just as pissed off as he had 40 years ago on Everything Falls Apart. I don't blame him one bit. It came out early last fall, at a time that I was feeling pretty down about the world and worried about the impending doom that was facing us in the election. He wasn't specifically addressing that on the album, but his fury helped lift me up and remember to do that we can to help us all survive. (For a better idea of what drove that album, check out this link to his FB page and read the plaque that he has pictured. It's more illuminating that I realized. Thanks, Bob, for continuing to enlighten me.) 

Having said all that, I was ready, willing and eager to see him this past Tuesday at Small's Theatre. As the tour started, Mould posted regularly on Facebook about how masking was required at his shows and how he wanted everyone to be safe. He could have lashed out at the idiots for posted snarky comments against masking but he kept his cool about it, and held firm. He might be angry, but he has class.

The trio Kestrels opened the show was a tight set of heavy pop. Some of their songs recalled Sebadoh, especially when they dropped some gonzo basslines, driving the power chords of the tunes. They mentioned that J. Mascis of Dinosaur Jr., helped them with one of their singles and that influence was noticeable as well, in the best way. 

Then Bob Mould's trio hit the stage. True to his beliefs, the man walked out with his mask on, hanging it on his mic stand before things started. He wasn't preachy about it, nor was he dead serious, but very matter-of-fact. Or, a better way to look at it might be that he was showing common sense. And courtesy. 

Then we were off. A whole slew of songs from Blue Hearts came out in full force, with very little time to breathe between them. That album should be experienced with lyric sheet in hand, since the vocals are mixed low. In person, my crazy ears couldn't always make out everything but the power of the group (with bassist Jason Narducy and drummer Jon Wurster) carried it.

From there, the band jumped all over the place through the Mould catalog. At least two songs from Workbook, his first solo album, factored into it - "Sinners and Their Repentences" and "See A Little Light," the latter with a message that seems especially true after what the last 18 months have been like.

Then it started. The band kicked into a stop-start intro that could only mean one thing - the moody Hüsker epic "Celebrated Summer." It seems a little maudlin to say that it made me a little misty but I only got to see Hüsker Dü once, and they weren't at their best (playing the entire Warehouse album from top to bottom.) So hearing this baby sung by the man himself was a little overwhelming. Even if he couldn't quit hit the high notes like he used to. (He knows his limits. Gotta dig that.)

The hits just kept coming. "Something I Learned Today" (a song which takes me back to September of 1984 when I bought Zen Arcade). "Hardly Getting Over It," the pensive not-quite ballad from Candy Apple Grey. "I Apologize." Hearing "Flip Your Wig" was meaningful too, since this was a song where Mould and Grant Hart traded vocals in the original. Narducy, who helped with harmonies and high notes throughout the evening, took care of the Grant lines well. When the evening finally wrapped up after about 75 minutes (longer than his last set, according to my accomplice for the night), "Makes No Sense At All" closed it up. Like everything, it still sounds plenty relevant today. 

I have to wonder how Bob feels since everything he sang in "Divide and Conquer" has become true. But that's a thought for another time. It was a great night, and like the jazz festival (see previous post), it was great to be among kindred spirits. 

2021 Pittsburgh International Jazz Festival - A Slight Recap

The Pittsburgh International Jazz Festival took place last weekend, spread over three days. One ticketed concert was staged on Friday at the Benedum (Chaka Khan) and the rest - aside from post-festival jam sessions - took place outdoors on Saturday and Sunday at Highmark Stadium at the far end of Station Square. 

In previous years, most of the performances were free to the public, taking place on stages set up around Downtown's Cultural District. This time, the outdoor events came with an admission price, which, considering what came with the purchase (and comparing it to similar events in other cities), was still a good value. It was also a way to make up for the lost revenue of 2020. Attendees could purchase VIP tickets to sit in a roped-in center-stage area, or a field seat, where you were free to roam across the whole field, or get a bleacher seat, which was from a distance from the stage but good for shade.

Like a goof, or someone who hasn't had the chance to going back to shaping the day job around live events like this one, I missed several chunks of the festival due to work. Chaka Khan isn't really my thing so I was okay with missing her show but it was kind of disappointing having to miss most of Saturday. (Though I could missed all of it, had my boss not switched me off the evening schedule, which was appreciated.) But enough about me. What follows is my dispatch on what I saw. 

Saturday September 17 was a beautiful evening. Not hot, not chilly as dusk started to fall. The perfect kind of evening to walk onto a field and set up a folding chair and listen to music. Gregory Porter was well into his set when I got there and my first thought upon walking onto the field was, It's so great to be around a bunch of people again. Most had masks and nearly everyone seemed safely distant. Within minutes, I ran into Gail and Mensah from the Kente Arts Alliance, two great people who always seem to cross paths with me at the right moment. 

The second thought was how great the set-up of the show was. Two huge stages were set up on the field, which meant there only had to be about 30 minutes between sets. That gave the audience enough time to shift their seats from one part of the field to another. This was really well-thought out and it won't surprise me if they stick to this locale and set-up for future fests.  Field seats were perfect because the line of vision was solid and the sound was great.

Gregory Porter (pictured above) is quite the dynamic performer, with a voice that makes you sit up and listen. That explains why he has become such a highly regarded and well known singer. And his set kind of takes some liberties with what fits into the jazz repertoire. There's a good deal of soul and contemporary R&B mixed in, without watering down the mood of the set. "No Love Dying" from his Liquid Spirit album, turned into a tribute to his brother, who passed away earlier into the COVID-19 pandemic. Porter's insistence that the audience join him in singing the chorus was an uplifting moment rather than a showbiz trick. It was also another reminder of how great it was to be among a flock of music enthusiasts again.

Bassist Marcus Miller closed out the night, following Porter. His set was heavy on grooves and massive bass lines, but his group didn't skimp on jazz chops either. One of the highlights of the set was when he brought out tenor saxophonist Winston Bell, the son of Poogie Bell, who drummed with Miller's band. The younger Bell (who is 18 years old, if my online research proves accurate) already has a rich, throaty tone on the tenor and fit right in with the band, especially on a reading of "Tutu," which Miller wrote for Miles Davis. 

The Sunday afternoon sun was beating down on Highmark Stadium as Jeff "Tain" Watts' group was tearing up the stage. Speaking of beating down, Tain's dear Steelers were in the midst of getting a beatdown across the river during his set. In hopes of cheering them on, he changed the last tune of the set on the fly, switching out a new piece for a groovy tune called "Steely McBlue," inspired by 'that mascot no one likes," he said referring to poor Steely McBeam. The groovy number included a sideways insertion of the city's infamous "Here We Go Steelers" cheer. It was clever and solid but alas, it didn't help the team.

Watts' set was titled "Pittsburgh Suite," as it paid tribute to his hometown. His group featured hometown native David Budway on piano, along with guitarist Paul Bollenback, bassist Robert Hurst III and tenor saxophonist Ravi Coltrane.  The group had a strong blend of acoustic sounds (piano, tenor) with more electronic effects (guitar) which really added to the weight of the music.

There's something spellbinding about hearing Eddie Palmieri's Afro Caribbean Jazz Septet in a setting like this. There are a lot of groups that incorporate Latin music with jazz. Some do it pretty well. But hearing the 84-year old pianist leading a group with two drummers (neither behind a trap kit; timbales and congas here), it feels like we're getting an unfiltered version of this music. It's tight and full of excitement, so much so that a few people in the audience got up to dance during the set, stealing Palmieri's heart in the process. (It says something that these two women didn't dance for the whole set. Moving like that can take it out of you.)    

Forgive the faraway picture of Branford Marsalis' quartet. The sun wasn't blaring down on us by the time they took the stage but it was still hard to look at my phone and see if the photo was good or not. And it was hard to get out of my chair. By now, you can see that I didn't exactly feel like my ambitious Scoop Shanley personality. (Then again, my day started at about 6 a.m. with seven hours on my feet.)

Marsalis was joined by longtime quartet members Joey Calderazzo (piano), Eric Revis (bass) and Jason Faulkner (drums). The driving energy of "The Mighty Sword," opened the set, with Marsalis on soprano. Two songs later he switched to tenor for a tune where he seemed to evoke the dry-toned leaps of Charlie Rouse. It made sense because the song in question was "Teo," a Thelonious Monk tune which the pianist recorded when Rouse was in the band. When Marsalis traded fours with Faulkner, the drummer's attack felt good and taut. Overall, though, it seemed like the saxophonist was playing it rather safe, opting for long, flowing tones when something with a little more rhythmic and melodic adventure would have lifted things up a little more. Things did get more exciting during a reading of Jeff "Tain" Watt's "Blue Tain." The drummer himself slid into Faulkner's chair and trumpeter Brian Lynch (from the Palmieri band) dropped in too.

When I discovered, a few days prior, who I was going to miss in the festival, I started wondering if I still wanted to go. Lakecia Benjamin (who did an online performance via Kente Arts Alliance earlier this year), Christian Scott A Tunde Adjuah, Christian McBride and Kenny Garrett were all people who I wanted to see, all but one of them appearing on Saturday afternoon. 

But part of the reason I still attended was to check out people I normally might not see. The thought I frequently have when listening to any new album, whether I like it or not, is usually, "I wonder how they sound live." For that reason, I thought I should check out keyboardist Patrice Rushen, who followed Marsalis. No doubt, she has chops to spare but I wondered if her sound might be a little slick for these ears. 

Turns out it was a little from Column A and a little from Column B. Rushen's sextet kicked off their set with a funky groove, delivered with enough volume to make Rayford Griffin's kick drum rattle your sternum. It might have been on the contemporary side, but that was a jazz piano solo that Rushen ripped off once the group got past the theme. Her clavinet sound in "The Hump" sounded like it was referencing either "Rock It" or "Chameleon" but it maintained some grit, as did the Rhodes break that followed. Alto saxophonist Eric Marienthal - who's had a lot of success on the smoother side of jazz - took the spotlight later in a tune that was in keeping with his track record, and Rushen opted for some rather moist sounding keys to back him. Marienthal's unaccompanied coda pulled out all the stops to wow the crowd: fast flurries of notes, long high wails. A little too showbiz for me, but I had to admire his range on that horn.

Dianne Reeves closed out the evening, but a pending deadline for JazzTimes pulled me out of there early. By that time, it had felt like a good investment anyway. Again, it was great to be around a bunch of jazz fans again. Here's hoping that more people will be smart enough to help squash this pandemic so that events like this will continue in the coming year. Hey, New York Winter Jazz Fest, any thoughts?

 

CD Review: Barry Altschul's 3Dom Factor - Long Tall Sunshine

Barry Altschul's 3Dom Factor
Long Tall Sunshine

(Not Two) nottwo.com

Of the five tracks on Barry Altschul's latest release, four of them appeared on the debut release by 3Dom Factor. My thoughts on the album can be found here, but for those whose attention is staying on this page, suffice to say it was my favorite album of 2013. A few years later, on their Live at Krakow album, they revisited three of those four tracks and, once again, knocked it out of the time zone. 

Which brings us to Long Tall Sunshine, named for the one composition that is making its debut on disc. In explaining the recurring set list, Altschul has stated that he believes more in "fresh" than "new" ideas that improvisations can create. He also admits being a little lazy. But, hell, when you're playing with the kind of gusto and invention that has always been a part of his work, the lazy factor clearly isn't hampering the music. There's nothing wrong with Altschul (who's just a few months shy of 80, anyway), Jon Irabagon and Joe Fonda taking another swing at "Martin's Stew."

That aforementioned Altschul composition appears at the end of the set, introduced and concluded by the leader's  drum solo. After all these years, he's still unique and dynamic, never totally out, always discovering new ways of making his kit sound fresh and vital. As many times as they might have released "Martin's Stew," this one has its own unique fire, from the way Fonda's bass enters in the wake of the drum solo to the way Irabagon lets loose with a non-stop flurry of tenor lines that seems like he could go for hours and never wane.

Earlier, the group revisits "Irina" with Irabagon switching to clarinet. At first, his attack sounds very close to his sopranino, which he played on the earlier 3Dom Factor version. Here, he puts some brawn into the b-flat instrument, keeping it gentle at the same time. 

In "Be Out S'cool," after a hard driving, elastic solo by Fonda, Irabagon trades his tenor for another another red headed stepchild of the saxophone family - the soprillo. It sounds like a sopranino at double speed (akin to the pitch-riding tricks Frank Zappa performed on Bunk Gardner's horns on Mothers albums like Uncle Meat). Once the initial jolt of the instrument's tone settles, Irabagon uses it for more adventurous tears through the music, highlighted by some rapid tongue action and some reed squeezing that sounds like it creates some high multiphonics. 

On top of being a propulsive drummer and leader, Altschul continues to excel in the composition department. The band's namesake tune, a rapid-but-catchy line among some wild three way chases in the music (some popping harmonics from Fonda, some too-smoochy noises sans mouthpiece from Irabagon), offers a reminder. But "Long Tall Sunshine" also gives the band a grooving AABA form that they devour with enthusiasm that can be felt by listeners. 

The performance features occasional audience applause, although the CD liner doesn't list what audience was lucky to be there that night, or what night it was. Turns out the band forget to document the date of this show. Oh well. It's nice to have a little bit of mystery after all that.

Remembering Tom, Don and Charlie

After church on Sunday, my mom would often make a quick stop at a convenience store to pick up something she needed for dinner that night. The time period I'm envisioning is late '70s/early '80s, before the term "convenience store" was actually a standard term. In Pittsburgh, we had Open Pantry, and my brothers John and Tom both worked at a few of them. 

One Sunday, we were making the trip and Mom had the AM radio on. It was must have late '70s because KDKA and WTAE were still playing music. There was a song playing where the guy kept saying, "I like beer." He had a weird voice and something about it made me think it could be the actor Harry Morgan, best known as Col. Potter on MASH or Bill Gannon, Joe Friday's partner on Dragnet. I knew Morgan wasn't a singer but that's all I could think of. Besides, I liked the way he proudly proclaimed his love of the suds, following the sound of a chorus.

Several  years later I discovered the real voice behind the song - Tom T. Hall. When I came across his Greatest Hits., Vol. 2 at a Carnegie Library record sale, I would have been a fool to pass it up. Not only does it contain "I Like Beer," it also has "I Love" and a beautiful musical question: "Who's Gonna Feed Them Hogs?" Damn - if Volume 2 was this crammed with goodies, what was Volume One like? Hall also penned the liner notes, which he titled "My Garbage" ("Before anyone gets the wrong idea, this is not an album review."), a hilarious list of items that can't be done justice in this short space.

The songs on this album struck some common ground with friends of mine from different backgrounds, like a local musician who knew exactly when to join the back-up singers during the "awwww" in "I Like Beer"'s third verse, or the friend who still gets really animated at the mention of "Sneaky Snake." But the biggest connection between me and these songs was when I played "I Like Beer," "I Love" and "Who's Gonna Feed Them Hogs" with my pal Sharon Spell in her comedy cabaret. Not sure if it was my idea or her idea, but it worked really well, especially when the gender change required her to change the line "It makes me a jolly good fellow" to include her stage name: "It makes me a much better Mama."

I came to the Everly Brothers a little later than most. Their music was always around but it wasn't until I found a greatest hits album that I came to fully appreciate them. The big hits were familiar but I was slayed by "Till I Kissed You," in large part because of the drum roll that followed the titular line. It acted almost like a rim shot. Then there was "Bird Dog" which had a little bit of punch to the intro, not to mention the low-voiced commentary between the lines. I liked the song so much that I talked the Pundits - a power-pop band I was in at the time, fronted by my pal John Young, a bigtime Everly fan - to cover it. We played it a couple times though I don't recall if we had some harmonies going. (Harmony wasn't my strong point and John could sing the pants off of me.) All I know is I got to deadpan, "He's a bird.... he's a dawwwg."

But the biggest way that the late Don Everly and his brother Phil affected me comes with "Devoted to You." It was clear the first time I heard that song that there was something really deep about it, lyrically and harmonically. When Jennie and I got married, that had to the The Song. Lila from Bone of Contention and her husband Rob (who for all intents and purposes was part of the band too, if you know our history) sang it from the rafters of the Homewood Cemetery chapel as we made our way down the aisle. It was swell.

I don't have a Charlie Watts story but I do have an observation about him, which begins with someone else. Even when I was into punk rock during high school, I could still dig the Count Basie Orchestra with my parents. We often joked about guitarist Freddie Green, who sat there throughout the set, plunk-plunk-plunking on his guitar, never taking a solo. (I seem to recall there was a joke that Basie would make during a show about Freddie finally taking a solo, which was followed by the man playing one note. Ho ho ho.)

My folks and I used to think that Freddie had the easiest job in the world, just playing those chords. Then it became clear that Freddie played a chord in every bar. And he was never off, making sure that there was indeed rhythm in the rhythm section. He was in the pocket, or to use the title of a song that Freddie wrote for the band, he was in the "Corner Pocket." 

To me, that's the kind of player that Charlie Watts was. He wasn't flashy, he wasn't bombastic. When he launched his own big band, he wasn't even the only drummer. He enlisted two others! (He also had the likes of Evan Parker, Alan Skidmore, Annie Whitehead and Jack Bruce [on cello!] in the personnel]. 

But if you wanted someone who was reliable and always there, elevating what you were playing, he was the man. It's great to have wild-ass drummers kicking you along, but you also want to have a drummer who listens to you and plays with the intention of lifting the music up. That was a big part of what made the Rolling Stones what they were. 

Thanks, Tom. Really got a kick out of your work.

Thanks, Don. Everybody probably tells you how music wouldn't be the same without you and Phil, but for me, it was personal too. 

Thanks, Charlie. Everyone knew that Mick was your singer. But it's good that you reminded him in such a classy way. 

CD Review: Anna Webber - Idiom

Anna Webber
Idiom

(Pi) www.pirecordings.com

The term "extended technique" pops up on this blog often (hopefully not too excessively). It describes a non-traditional approach to getting sounds out of an instrument. Noticeable examples include a trumpet player getting some sub-basement tuba growls on the horn or a saxophonist creating some banshee wails beyond the high F key (where the range of all saxophones, in the formal sense, end). But extended technique can be used in more subtle ways too, such as the use of alternate fingering on an instrument, which creates buzzes or microtonal shifts in pitch.

As a fan of untethered free improv, I can get into sounds created this way - most of the time. A while back, I explored an album by two trumpeters going at it whole hog, growling, whispering, splatting and generally sounding a little flatulent, and I had to turn it off after a quick preview of a few tracks. It was probably the moment, but it sounded like a free jazz equivalent to metal hammering on the fretboard and it soured me on the idea for a while. 

Saxophonist/flutist/composer Anna Webber based all of Idiom on specific extended techniques played on woodwinds. One of the pieces, "Idiom II," appeared on her 2019 album Clockwise. The other five pieces appear here, along with interludes. Once again, there are moments that feel pretty jarring but the forward motion of music pulls you in even when things feel tense.

The first of the two discs features Webber in a trio with pianist Matt Mitchell and drummer John Hollenbeck. "Idiom I" kicks things off with Webber's flute playing a rapid 7/8 ostinato which makes her breathing technique alone impressive. While the riff alone could be a bit much, the fascination lies in the way things keep shifting underneath it and the way the trio seems to volley the seven-note line around.

By contrast "Idiom IV" sounds spare, at least initially.. Mitchell plinks alone for 96 seconds before Webber enters with a single buzzing tenor note. Just shy of the three minute mark, the trio launches into an angular piece with Webber playing a series of lost notes. When Hollenbeck breaks away, it sounds like an extension of the tenor sounds. 

Running order is crucial on Disc One. Heard in numerical order the Idioms might sound similar in pitch, but Webber scrambles the set, breaking from the program with "Forgotten Best." The center track sounds the closest to a pure "jazz" piece, at times sounds like a ballad but never long enough settle easily into that, or any description. Like everything else, the point seems to be to keep the sounds flowing. "Idiom III" highlights several static techniques on tenor, with rhythms providing the variations. As Mitchell hammers on the lower end of the piano - and adding striking colors at the opposite end - it rocks, sounding much larger than a trio.

A 12-piece ensemble, of jazz musicians and new music players, join Webber on Disc Two to play "Idiom VI," a piece broken into six movements, with four interludes. With brass, reeds, strings, bass, drums and a synthesizer joining the leader (on tenor, flute and bass flute) dissonant clusters of sound bounce around, What sounds a bit abrasive and repetitive at the start of "Movement I" slowly comes together as an oddly engaging riff. The instruments rumbling beneath the proceedings provide the forward momentum this time. As one technique evokes the shower scene music from Psycho, the vibrations between pitches becomes more noticeable and add to the intrigue.

Only "Movement IV" gets to be too much, with the repetition of high synth note, that again recalls a cinematic moment, this time an eerie scene when a Theremin ratchets up the suspense. Here the note lasts less than a second and it repeats ad nauseum. 

Several players from the ensemble get solo spotlights. Unlike her part in "Movement IV" synth player Liz Kozack rips things apart in "Movement I." Trumpeter Adam O'Farrill also contributes a lot to one movement and to one of the interludes, the series of passages which create some rather beautiful moments of low drones in between. It all leads up to the final movement, where everyone seems to take an individual extended technique idea and creates a rolling wave of sound. 

Building a book of compositions from a set of extended techniques might sound like an effort with limited results. But Anna Webber has managed to take the edginess of these sounds and build a wide dimension of music from them. 

PS Anyone interested in Idiom is advised to check out Rectangles, a 34-minute piece by a Webber quartet released last year on Out Of Your Head's digital-only Untamed series. Quite different in many ways, but quite good.

CD Review: Broken Shadows: Tim Berne, Chris Speed, Reid Anderson, Dave King

Tim Berne/ Chris Speed/ Reid Anderson/ Dave King
Broken Shadows

(Intakt)   intaktrec.bandcamp.com/album/broken-shadows (for digital album) or screwgunrecords.com/album/broken-shadows-2 (for CD orders in US)

The release of Broken Shadows marks a major collision of worlds, two of which run in close proximity to one another, yet never seem to meet. I mean, here's an album on the Swiss Intakt label by two-thirds of the Bad Plus, along with Tim Berne and Chris Speed - AND BRANFORD MARSALIS WROTE THE LINER NOTES FOR IT! Woah! 

Don't get me wrong, I think this meeting of the worlds is great. I'm just kind of surprised that the opinionated member of that family would be interested in checking this music out, let alone penning a set of liner notes about it. Kudos to you, Mr. Marsalis. 

Broken Shadows captures Berne (alto), Speed (tenor), Reid Anderson (bass) and Dave King (drums) digging into a set of works by Ornette Coleman, Julius Hemphill, Dewey Redman and Charlie Haden. The quartet began as a gathering of friends doing gigs in Brooklyn only, with no rehearsal, playing other people's music. In other words, the ground rules were very similar to what might be found at a weekly jam session in days of yore, with the additional rule of keeping the solos short and concise. (Only two tracks last longer than five minutes and one is Hemphill's "Dogon A.D.," which requires a little more time anyway.) Ten of the 12 tracks originally appeared on the vinyl-only Newvelle label in 2019 with a different running order.

With just a couple exceptions the Ornette pieces hail from his late '60s/early '70s albums like Ornette at 12, Science Fiction and Crisis. "Una Muy Bonita" and "Ecars" go back to the Atlantic days. Berne, of course, ripped through a wealth of the Ornette book on John Zorn's Spy Vs. Spy project, so he's no stranger to this work. But it's interesting to hear his distinct tone (by now, a great blend of crisp and gruff) in the middle of these bright melodies. 

Speed frequently blows in a way that sounds like he's squeezing his reed hard, letting only the minimum amount of air get through. The rugged sound recalls Dewey Redman's blend of singing and blowing on albums like Ornette at 12 or the tenor player's own "Walls-Bridges." But Speed also tightens up on Hemphill's funky "Body."

Speaking of funky, Anderson and King know how to groove on this music, when to hold back and when to lock in with the horns on the themes. Known once for interpreting other people with tongue somewhat in cheek, they take this music seriously, even as they sound like they're having a blast. For a group that doesn't believe in rehearsing, the members of Broken Shadows really know the contours of this music. Only "Una Muy Bonita" seemed to miss a bit of the groove of the original.

If this was supposed to be a casual gathering of friends, the players came with a set of discipline. Playing works by the masters can have a stigmatizing effect when you're committed to original music,  ("I really like it when you play something I know"). The quartet is careful to keep the focus on the original without resorting to fawning over the work (a pitfall with many tributes) while simultaneously revealing their own personalities. It leaves you with a greater appreciation of both the source material and the people who played it. Maybe that's what Branford appreciated about it.

CD Review: Roy Brooks - Understanding

Roy Brooks
Understanding

(Reel to Real) www.cellarlive.com

In an interview with Cecil McBee that appears in the Understanding booklet, the bassist says that the group on this album - much like the similar lineup on the 1972 release The Free Slave - was not a regular working band. It was a simply a group of musicians which drummer Roy Brooks assembled and rehearsed for specific gigs, in this case for Baltimore's Left Bank Jazz Society at the Famous Ballroom. This tidbit of information says a great deal about the music on these two discs because the quintet works like a well-established group that knows how to lift each other up at the right moments. 

Brooks might be best known as a consummate sidemen. He appeared most notably on several Horace Silver albums (including Song for My Father, where drumming duties were split between him and Pittsburgh's Roger Humphries), Yusef Lateef and Chet Baker, to name just a few. Sadly, his name came up in more recent years due to his bout with mental illness. He passed in 2005 at the age of 67.

Understanding serves as an appropriate title for this two-disc set (which was also a three-album set released on Record Store Day) since it provides a deeper appreciation of Brooks' creativity. Not only was he a powerhouse behind the drum kit, the set's myriad interviews with McBee, saxophonist Carlos Garnett and others talk about his various project around Detroit, which could be compared to multi-discipline events staged by AACM members in Chicago.

Then there is the music. Two discs contain just six tracks, in which Brooks, Garnett, trumpeter Woody Shaw and pianist Harold Mabern dig into the music, exploring all facets without worrying about how long they take to do that. It wasn't a recording session, where time was a consideration. (The fact that it was taped, not withstanding.) First and foremost, this was a gig for people who came to hear serious explorations. 

The performance took place in November 1970, a few months after The Free Slave was recorded at the same place, at a time when jazz was being pulled in different directions. For the most part, the Brooks quintet plays it straight, guided by chord changes, though there are moments when free fire also seeps into the music. This comes most notably from Garnett's tenor, which frequently explores some low register overtones, influenced by Coltrane but using the ideas in his own rhythmical way. The group stretches his "Taurus Woman" out the longest, delivering 32 minutes of passion. Built largely on a vamp, the tune has a turnaround straight out of hard bop that comes just frequently enough to give it a hook and the right amount of contrast. Like most of the set, Harold Mabern's driving piano work really pushes the band.

Woody Shaw, at the time a month shy of his 26th birthday, plays with astounding clarity and ideas throughout the set, His "Zoltan," previously recorded with organist Larry Young on Unity, is played with extra speed and aggression. The album's opening track "Prelude to Understanding" forgoes any opening theme. Instead the group (sans Garnett) explores a modal vamp. Another 21-miute track, 11 of them find Shaw holding the floor, whose his use of vast intervals and melodies is nothing short of jaw-dropping. 

McBee (whose name Brooks pronounces "MAC-bee" rather than "mick-BEE," by the way) is a bit low in the mix, but when some of his careening lines cut through, it indicates how memorable this evening must have been. (Further proving how rewarding "just another night" must have been when a group like this got together.) Brooks' accompaniment to the other soloist sounds exciting enough but he also gets plenty of room to stretch out once everyone else has said their pieces. 

As time goes on, more recordings from the Left Band Jazz Society are being released, and each one has the high level of quality, showing what was possible on a Sunday afternoon in Baltimore. In retrospect, it shows how important gatherings like this were too. This one also shines a much-needed light on an artist whose commitment as a band leader might not be as recognized as other parts of his life. Dig in. 

CD Review: Devin Gray/ Ralph Alessi/ Angelica Sanchez - Melt All The Guns

Devin Gray/ Ralph Alessi/ Angelica Sanchez
Melt All The Guns

(Rataplan) devingraymusic.bandcamp.com/album/melt-all-the-guns

Social commentary has been a part of jazz music since the beginning. Granted, it can offer an escape from the bleakness of the world around us, but from "Black and Blue" to bebop to We Insist: Max Roach's Freedom Now Suite to Mike Reed's Flesh and Bone, the music has also served as a call to arms, a reminder of what needs to be done to make the world a better place.

Drummer Devin Gray wrote the five tracks on Melt All the Guns in late 2019, following several incidents of gun violence. He could very easily have written it in the last month or two, since the issue continues. The album was officially issued on June 7, the Seventh National Gun Awareness Day. 

Potent though his intentions might be, Gray does not produce a set of songs that attempt to translate the issue of gun violence directly into chaotic, free music. The EP (the entire set lasts just 20 minutes) concludes with "Protect Our Environment," which might be the one blatant effort to deliver a musical message, and it comes across like a prayer of hope for the future. 

Prior to that Gray, trumpeter Ralph Alessi and pianist Angelica Sanchez work together to create melodies that often have all three playing in unison, even the drums. The music, for the most part, doesn't seem to rely on standard solos. It leans on trio interaction where everyone might be improvising but the results feel like a three-way presentation. When Sanchez and Alessi play a theme, Gray often rolls freely but he never sounds thunderous. He focuses a lot of his sound on his snare and the dynamics he creates have a more deliberate impact, raising the intensity of a piece. Sanchez adds left hand chords that flesh out the harmonic structure. "Micro Waves" features the pianist digging into an extended riff that features open space as well as chords. Alessi can sound tough and direct (the kind of voice needed to address this subject, perhaps), adding some upper register yelps in the title track which, on further thought, might be part of the message. 

Regarding the number of tracks, one can come away from the set feeling like the group is just warming up as "Protect Our Environment" winds down. Nothing lasts longer than 4-1/2 minutes, which reveals an admirable sense of economy as it delivers a message. More music might have diluted the message of the release, though it surely would have produced equally strong tunes. This way, the message is clear,  tight and articulate.

LP/CD Review: Liz Phair - Soberish

 

Liz Phair

Soberish

(Chrysalis) www.lizphairofficial.com/  

What impressed me most about Liz Phair's debut, Exile in Guyville, was not the candid sexuality of the lyrics or the supposed track-by-track takedown of the Rolling Stones' Exile On Main St. (to this day, I still don't know the '70s classic as an album, never having gotten around to it in its entirety). Instead, Phair's songwriting style, which didn't follow standard conventions and varied with almost every track, stood out from the first cut. On "6'1"," the thought in that first line stretched out over an unusually long set of bars and chords. The cascade of vocal lines in "Johnny Sunshine" offered another great example of her musical ear. Phair definitely had a way with words but she also had a way with changing a chord pattern at an unexpected moment to make a sharp left turn ("X-Ray Man" on the equally solid sophomore release Whip-Smart).

It's been a long time since I've heard a new Liz Phair album. That can be attributed to her self-titled 2003 album. Maybe that comes as no surprise. Legions of listeners felt the same way about an album that brought in the production team The Matrix, who had worked with pop singer Avril Lavigne and Britney Spears. They only worked on four of the 14 tracks but what they did left a stain on the whole disc, an aural spraypaint that said, "Don't expect anything close to Exile In Guyville here." 

And no, you can't fault Phair for wanting to do something that did not replicate her past glories, but Liz Phair felt like the equivalent of a creative friend throwing themselves into a new style without really knowing what they were getting into. That move resulted in an album that tried very hard to present an image or identity, something that the post-college grad who wrote on her four-track would never do.

The Hot Mom look (spread-eagle on the cover, straddling a guitar, hair in her face) seemed awkward. (The CD also came with more posed photos that could be downloaded as wallpaper or screensavers.) Then there was the song "H.W.C." which sounded more like a Phair imitator who hadn't mastered much more than raunchiness. (The song's initials stood for "Hot White Come," which I spell out for clarity's sake but feel icky in the process.) Or worse, it sounded like a dude's idea of  Phair lyric.

I meant to check out the albums that followed Liz Phair, but never felt the urgency. When a review compared her next album, Somebody's Miracle, to Sheryl Crow that's all that was needed to keep walking. Seeing Dave Matthews' name in the credits on 2010's Funstyle didn't assuage any concerns. Nor did the mention of a rap track on the album.

Then the most unlikely media (at least for this writer) came calling: music videos. Phair made videos for "Spanish Doors" and "The Game," the two songs that open Soberish. What came across in the former was the riff in the chorus that gives it one of those unexpected turns just like her early work. "The Game" includes an anthemic power-chord chorus that also tugs on the ear, and overrides the metronomic synths in the introduction. Speaking of electronics, the chorus of "Spanish Doors" has some back-up vocals that sound auto-tuned and threaten to drown out the main lyrics. Thanks to the lyric sheet, they don't, but it's hard to tell of the effect is used for irony or not. Regardless of the intention (maybe it's not even auto-tune) "Spanish Doors" makes a strong opening, which "The Game" continues. 

Soberish reunites Phair with Brad Wood, who produced and played on Guyville and Whip-smart. Guitarist Casey Rice, who also appeared on them, shows up to play some guitar and co-write "Hey Lou," a puzzling if catchy song that takes the late Velvet Underground singer to task for his irascible attitude. (The third verse seems to take aim at his late partner Laurie Anderson, though she gets off a bit easier.) 

Whether or not Wood and Rice had any direct influence on her, Phair sounds rejuvenated and focused. She always was a good storyteller and while many of the songs deal with relationships on the rocks, each comes with its own angle on the topic. They could all be of a piece or they could stand separately. Speaking as someone who's only a few months younger than Phair and continues to try and write songs, it can be easier to sing convincingly about romantic tension than romantic bliss. The reflective mood of "Sheridan Rd.," feels poignant without being too dramatic ("Winding down Sheridan/ the wind in our hair/ we notice the new but the old is still there"). 

Aside from the repetitive "Soul Sucker" she never lets anything go on too long. She couldn't go without getting a bit raunchy but "Bad Kitty" couches it in a slightly witty metaphor ("My pussy in a big dumb cat/ it lies around lazy and fat/ But when it gets a taste for a man/ it goes out hunting for him anyway it can"). Plus it's anchored by a solid guitar groove. The big surprise here is that her son James receives credit for "additional engineering" on this and one other track. 

Musical textures change with almost every song. Several tracks could fit in with more commercial electronic pop, taking a streamlined, clean sound and adding something to it that is rarely heard in popular music anymore. That element in this case is Phair herself - a somewhat understated vocalist who knows how to spin a yarn better than most people in her position. She's still got it. 

 

Getting My Hands On A Unsung Classic (Marion Brown), Checking Out Two New Things (Ocelot, Maria Grand): Quick Takes, Relatively Speaking

Not that anyone seems to notice (I've checked the number of hits I get on each post) but I want to get back into the habit of posting more often. I really fell off the wagon last month in part because I was getting ready for a Record Fest and had a lot of stuff to prep for it. There was also some time that I was sidelined with a summer cold, which really zapped my focus. After writing the assigned stuff (album reviews) that I had during the month too, I just couldn't psyche myself up to do any posts. There was plenty I could've have written about but the question of where to start just overwhelmed me, made me feel completely unprepared and just sort of bummed me out. Then I sought refuge in albums that I've listened to a million times. Or worse, I'd spend time poking around on social media. I got really hooked on what I call "jazz porn": the search for original pressings of classic albums, posts from people who have them, what differentiates one pressing from another, how much they're worth and if a copy can't be found for sale. 

All of that kind of leads into this post, which I decided did NOT need to be a full blown review of a new release, complete with critical insight and description. It's a more personal piece about one person's quest, along with a few random thoughts on two other current releases. 

Sometime ago, I got it in my head that I really wanted a copy of alto saxophonist Marion Brown's Three For Shepp. Not just any copy, like the reissue on Superior Viaduct that is fairly easy to come by (at least in my sphere). I wanted an original orange label copy on Impulse! Records. Yes, it's one of those first world quests of people my age. But - with all due respect to the people at Superior Viaduct, who I'm sure do a great job - there's something about reissues that make me suspicious. Blame it on way off-center pressings on Actuel albums (I had to return one, it was so bad) and Blue Notes (I still have it them but they make me grumble). The act of picking up a first pressing also makes me feel a connection with the person who bought it when it first came out, creating wonder in my head about how this music affected them. 

The problem is Three For Shepp (which does include three compositions penned by Archie Shepp and three by the leader - a tip of the hat to Shepp's own Four for Trane album) doesn't come easy. Or cheap. A copy sitting on Discogs is going for the bottom end of three figures. A copy on eBay was a little less, but the seller lives in Japan, which means the postage is through the roof. 

Last weekend, someone I follow on Instagram posted about the album and, responding to a comment I made, mentioned that Reckless Records in Chicago had an OG pressing for $75. I jumped at the prospect, contacted an old friend who worked for the store, inquiring how to see if it's still there for sale. 

It was, but it wasn't OG. The copy was an Impulse/ABC pressing which came a few years later. But I was fixated on this album, talking to friends about it enough that they were probably going to smack me if I didn't shut up about it. "Near mint" too? Why not. 

The package arrived on Saturday. I had to sweat it out through a busy work shift and a few post-work errands before I could get home and open it. But, man, it was beautiful. Like the first press, it still has the trademark Impulse! laminated cover. The pinhole (why do so many Impulse! albums have them?) is noticeable in the photo above, but I can live with that. And the music itself - awesome. I forgot that trombonist Grachan Moncur III is the second horn on it, which makes it even better. I played the record last night and then first thing this morning as I made coffee. 

One album I had been meaning to write about over the past couple months is the self-titled debut from Ocelot, the trio of Yuma Uesaka (tenor, clarinets), Cat Toren (piano, nord) and Colin Hinton (drums, percussion). Toren's late 2020 release with her Human Kind group, Scintillating Beauty, was a strong, unique session that gave this trio's album on 577 some strong anticipation.

All three musicians write for the group, creating music where open space has as much value as the moments that are filled with sound. To that end, they recall the trio Paradoxical Frog, in both instrumentation and sound, more specifically the works of that group's composer/drummer Tyshawn Sorey. 

The problem with Ocelot is the long, drawn out reed tones and piano clusters take a long time to land after circling the air. Specifically, three of Hinton's compositions last between eight and 10 minutes and spend three-quarters of that time slowly moving towards a cohesive theme, and the sparsity doesn't always justify the wait. Uesaka stirs up some fire in  his "Iterations I," aided by Hinton, while Toren thunders underneath him. His other contribution "Post" is built on a tense trill, played by all three members. The length of time that  Uesaka blows without breathing is impressive, but beyond that it's pretty grating. 

Toren's two offerings have some of the album's strongest moments. "Crocus," which closes the set, begins like a straightforward piano ballad (in the beset way possible) rising up and getting a bit spiritual even as Hinton maintains a relatively steady 4/4 beat. "Anemone" combines free tempo and dynamics (along with mid-song horn changes, something Uesaka does throughout the album) with good results. 

In live performance the sparse quality of the music could fill a room with suspense. But on album, at least this time, it leaves a little more to be desired.   Go 577Records.com or 577records.bandcamp.com/album/ocelot to check it out. 

Usually when I'm going to review an album, I listen to it several times, making sure I have an idea of what's happening on it. Tenor saxophonist Maria Grand's album Reciprocity (Biophilia) has been out for a while and I finally gave it a spin last week. After just one listen, it was clear I needed to write something about it soon because it's a powerful album. With bassist Kanoa Mendenhall and drummer Savannah Harris accompanying her, Grand turns in a set of original works that groove and push the rhythmic envelope as well. 

Reciprocity was recorded while Grand was pregnant with her son and that fact overshadows the album in a way, like the whole thing could be considered a conversation between the two of them. In her liner notes, Grand talks about playing shows while pregnant, saying that baby Anyí danced in utero during the performances. Several tracks have vocals from all three members of the group, the most impressive being the arresting harmonies on "Now, Take, Your, Day," which recalls the Haden Triplets in its rich blend of voices. As a soloist and composer, Grand reminds of JD Allen's approach to the trio setting, getting a wide swath of ideas out of what could be a limited harmonic setting. Look for this one on the End of the Year lists, or raise cain if you don't. 

PS the photo above is just one side of the origami-style fold-out cover that has become Biophilia Records' environmentally-conscious trademark look. Visit Grand's Bandcamp page or the Biophilia page for more info. 

CD Review: Wadada Leo Smith with Milford Graves & Bill Laswell - Sacred Ceremonies/ Wadada Leo Smith - Trumpet

Wadada Leo Smith with Milford Gravers & Bill Laswell

Sacred Ceremonies

(TUM) tumrecords.com/box-003-sacred-ceremonies 

Wadada Leo Smith

Trumpet

(TUM) tumrecords.com/box-002-trumpet

Wadada Leo Smith likes to create works on a large scale. Looking back over the last decade or so, he released Ten Freedom Summers (2012), which took up for four discs. America's National Parks (2016) consisted of two discs. There were also several two-disc works by his Golden Quartet, a duet with Vijay Iyer and an album for a 22-piece improvising orchestra. Smith has also released six albums of solo trumpet works, including one that paid tribute to Thelonious Monk. (In addition to creating new works, Smith is very reverent to past masters.) 

Which brings us to his two latest releases, which each contain three discs of music. Sacred Ceremonies contains a disc's worth of duets with the late drummer/percussionist Milford Graves, one with bassist Bill Laswell and a third with all three players coming together. Trumpet, is another set of works by Smith, alone with his horn. All this from a man who turned 80 this year. 

Both sets require commitments, not merely of time but of attention. However, once the music begins, it pulls the listener deeply, piquing the curiosity.

One interesting characteristic of the first two discs of Sacred Ceremonies relates to the way that the instrumentation, which might be considered "spare," actually fills up the space. Smith alone can fill the room with his bold trumpet tone, even when he uses a mute. But Milford Graves (who passed away right as this set was released earlier this year) occupies a unique space in the music with his unique style.

His kit alone, photographed several times in the album's booklet, is a hybrid of various types of drums, none of which have bottom heads on them. The sound resonates differently than other kits and Graves approached his artillery in a way that met at the crossroads of rhythmic foundation and freedom, creating something much more flowing. In the middle of "Baby Dodds At Congo Square," Graves sounds like he's playing tablas, bending notes out of the skins of his drums, while Smith works first with a mute and then without. The drummer's hi-hat can be heard tapping in the background, almost like a human pulse.

Laswell's bass has a signature sound, both limited in range and vast in scope. The heavy attack that he utilized in groups like Last Exit is traded for something much more subdued and reflective here. He lets Smith lead the way most of the time, creating a foundation under him that never gets in the way. Smith responds during Disc Two by blowing some wild multiphonics. Although the music might be loose rhythmically, a connection can be detected between both players as they pay tribute to Prince, Donald Ayler, Tony Williams and Minnie Riperton in their unique way. (Laswell almost gets a riff going in "Earth - A Morning Song.") Throughout the set, some phantom instruments (overdubs presumably) float up between both players to add some more depth.

On Disc Three, it's sometimes hard to hear the connection between the three players, as opposed to three random sounds going at once. But when Graves begins unaccompanied on "The Healer's Direct Journey," he creates an energy that makes the whole thing sound full and connected when Laswell and Smith join in. Muted trumpet and bass do the same thing in "Waves of Elevated Forces," bringing the energy to a high level. Graves starts a polyrhythmical groove which sounds like he's doing it all with his hands and no sticks. 

Considering the impact that Smith's trumpet can have on a room with good acoustics, it makes perfect sense that he recorded the three discs of Trumpet in a church. The sessions took place over four days at St. Mary's Church in Pohja, Finland. From the opening notes of "Albert Ayler" on Disc One, it's clear that every note has significant weight and any growls will be even more dramatic.

All the music on the set pays tribute to friends and artists who have impacted the trumpeter throughout his life. Musicians like Reggie Workman, Steve McCall, Amina Claudine Myers receive their due, along with James Baldwin, Malik al-Shabazz (Malcolm X), as well as family and the film Rashomon. As he explains in the accompanying booklet, in reference to "Howard and Miles - A Photographic Image," it's not Howard McGhee and Miles Davis he's specifically evoking in the music: "What I am referencing is the idea of a creative language, which is the real energy that defines the dynamics of musical traditions."

Likewise, "Albert Ayler" doesn't feature wide vibrato. (On the contrary, that track actually contains a few melodic fragments that touch on "Nature Boy.") In fact, nowhere throughout the whole set does Smith engage heavily in extended techniques at either end of his instrument's register. He throws in a few growls and some high shouts, but these act as added emphasis rather than the main focus. One of his graceful skills comes when he continues to blow his horn while moving the mute in and out of the bell. It creates an almost ghostlike effect, sounding like another trumpet flittering in the background. 

Smith's playing has always utilized open space for dramatic effect and he never overplays with a more simplified line can deliver his message. For that reason, it can be a challenge to listen to a lot of Trumpet in one sitting. Without any accompanying instrument to play off of, much of the music seems to reside in a slow tempo. 

However, each disc lasts an average of 45 minutes, a reasonable amount to absorb in one sitting. There are moments of contrast as well. "Festival of Breaths," from Disc Three's suite "Discourses on the Sufi Path - A Remembrance of  Dr. Javad Nurbakhsh," gets a little more upbeat, with some upper register trips getting equal time with the open space. A later passage also feels fast and finds Smith smearing his notes a bit. 

Like most TUM releases, Sacred Ceremonies and Trumpet come with full color booklets filled with biographies of the artists, Smith's poetry and liner notes about the music. The music might be challenging but the packaging makes it easy to grasp and well worth the exploration.