Hospitality on Parade

Blurt posted my Hospitality profile yesterday! Check it out here.

I never linked the article I wrote about Alice Bag, which is here. If you have any interest in the first LA punk scene, please check this out, as well as her book.

Among the reviews I've written for them, there's a band called SorryEverAfter, which features Mike Cloward, who played in 28th Day with Barbara Manning. That one's here.

Two Shows in Two Nights in One Place

I spent Tuesday AND Wednesday night at the Thunderbird Cafe, for jazz no less. The bar typically caters to rock and somewhat bluesy bands, but they actually have jazz here and there. Besides over the past couple years I think I've blogged and preview enough shows that it wouldn't see too out of the ordinary.

Tuesday night was the weekly Space Exchange event. (See January entries for an explanation.) The group this week was Book Exchange, a trio of Exchange curators Ben Opie (tenor and alto) and Dave Throckmorton (drums) with bassist Jeff Grubbs. I used to see Jeff on an almost weekly basis when the Crawford Grill was open and they had a Monday night jam session. By day, so to speak, he's a bassist in the Pittsburgh Symphony. He's definitely a great player and it was even more exciting to see him in this capacity: playing tunes by Thelonious Monk, Ornette Coleman and Anthony Braxton. Those three composers are near and dear to Ben's heart, as well as mine.

Considering how Ben will never be really viewed as a "traditional" player, it was great to hear him start off a set with what were essentially two blues tunes, Monk's "Ba-lue Bolivar Ba-lues Are" and Ornette's "Blues Connotation," although the latter could go anywhere after the theme. I was trying to pay close attention to where Jeff was going during the Ornette tunes, but kept getting distracted by the other tunes instruments. Not a bad thing at all, though.

The night had a good crowd, which I was glad to see. I invited a couple friends, and one showed up with three more people in tow, all of whom seemed to dig the music.

The next night brought the return of the Ethnic Heritage Ensemble, Kahil El'Zabar's longstanding unit. He has come here several times over the past couple years, bringing Hamiett Blueitt with him a few of those times, but this lineup was really the tops. The kind that makes you think that a $16 ticket is worth it for what you get. (That was the advance price. It was $20 at the door. I mention this because us Pittsburghers often have sticker shock at covers like that. You big city slickers might be used to it, but we're not. Which may explain why we don't get a lot of jazz like this on a regular basis.) Along with percussionist El'Zabar were trumpeter Corey Wilkes and tenor/alto saxophonist Ernest Dawkins.

They played two sets which were fairly reminiscent of previous El'Zabar shows - a riff that he set up on the kalimba, a tune where he played trap kit, a tune his massive conga drum - but this band had a special electricity going through it. El'Zabar is solid to begin with. It's amazing to watch him stand there for 15 minutes clicking out the riff on the finger piano (which he runs through an amp!), shaking bells around his ankle and never varying the tempo.

The two horn men were really astounding. When Dawkins started soloing, I got the feeling that he's not just a good player, he's top tier. Amazing tone, incredible vocabulary and execution. While Fred Anderson might not be around to guide the younger Chicago players, the city is in good hands as long as Dawkins is around. And damn, why did I miss him in 2010 when he came with his New Horizons Ensemble? (Check out a review of their last CD here.) Wilkes also proved himself to be a really inventive trumpet player, referencing all sorts of styles in his work, be it Harmon mute shadings or wilder moments. A few years ago, he filled the trumpet chair in the Art Ensemble of Chicago vacated by Lester Bowie. That's a tall order, and he was then and he is now fit for the job. On top of that, his own music has a straighter edge to it, so he really draws on a disparate bunch of ideas.

The Ensemble played two sets. The first was about 45 minutes, just three full tunes, including of all things "Cherokee," with El'Zabar on conga. The second set was more like an hour, the only less-than-satisfying thing coming when he told the two horn guys, "I got it," meaning "Don't play anything" and he went off on an extended conga and verbalizing solo that could've been a little shorter. (By the way, Dawkins slayed me with his extra percussion during Wilkes' solos, with the way he threw in little extras here and there, including a Roland Kirk-type whistle.) So it was well worth the cover charge. Don't miss these guys next time.

CD Review: Tim Berne - Snakeoil

Tim Berne
Snakeoil
(ECM) www.ecmrecords.com

This isn't the first time Tim Berne has appeared on ECM. He played on David Torn's prog-improv album Prezens in 2007. But this represents his first session as a leader for the landmark label. Anyone who has followed the label with any regularity realizes that producer Manfred Eicher gives his sessions a unique sound. (So unique that I was able to identify it when I heard an ECM album playing in a coffeeshop last week.) So too does Tim Berne have a singular approach, one that he has admitted to using repeatedly, changing up the musicians when it's necessary to keep it fresh.

And from the opening moments (ever notice that ECM discs always begin with at least five seconds of silence?), Snake Oil is an ECM album. Matt Mitchell's piano has than tranquil sound that evokes snowy European peaks (personal image). It doesn't sound smooth or new age-y, but sonically it's a far cry from Downtown New York, even if it was recorded there.

Berne's alto doesn't enter until three minutes into "Simple City," and when he does it's classic Berne - sharp-tongued and fiercy, jousting with drummer Ches Smith over the scene. Like his best compositions, the piece goes through many shapes and changes, though at 14 minutes, it might be considered a shorter work for him. Oscar Noriega, who rounds out the quartet and acts as the reed foil on clarinet and bass clarinet, solos in the final section, his clear tone fitting in with the ECM aura. Berne had Chris Speed double on clarinet in Bloodcount, but Noriega's parts and even his tone often echo the way guitarist Marc Ducret harmonized in his appearances with several of his groups.

At times throughout Snake Oil, the quartet sounds like Eicher took the edge off of Berne, who is known for screaming crescendos and extended pieces where structures morph into different movements as soloists blow over them. The saxophonist's proclivity for repetitious choppy lines remains ("Scanners") but sometimes the fluid, calmer parts just seem to bask in the mood of that moment. Smith might be playing in a manner like Jim Black but that unpolished crack doesn't quite across.

But the full depth of a Tim Berne album often doesn't come out until numerous, engrossed listens. Snake Oil continues in that way. Just when "Not Sure" doesn't seem to be moving beyond a free interlude of alto and bass clarinet, it shifts into a knotty theme, and Mitchell plays over the jerky changes, which is a new thing for acoustic piano is almost never been heard on a Berne album. I've listened to this a lot in the past two weeks, and I'm still getting surprised each time.

So maybe Berne writes variations on the same thing with different configurations of players, but there's still new discoveries with each excursion.

And no, they don't cover the great Tony Williams Lifetime tune "Snake Oil." Alas.

Another show: Andrea Parkins & Iris

Last night Andrea Parkins and Iris performed at the William Pitt Union at the University of Pittsburgh. Two decades ago that building was my second home, including one semester when I actually did sleep there (or tried to) between finishing my overnight shift at WPTS-FM at 6 a.m. and going to a music theory class at 9 a.m. (Bad idea. I was always sick that semester and even lost my voice about three hours into my shift on one fateful night.)

But anyhow, walking into the Union was a strange step back in time, even though I have been there in recent years. It was really weird, though, to go to an electro-acoustic improvisation show in the fancy room that's normally reserved for quiet study (and sleeping) during the week and the invite-only reception for the Pitt Jazz Seminar at other times. When I was going to school there, we never got to hear free improv in that spot.....

Lo and behold that's where the lovely Ms. Parkins and her European co-horts were to play. Before them, though Ben Opie and Matt Wellins performed a piece where Opie played clarinet and alto, and Wellins manipulated it through a bank of effects, turning the single tones into droning chords, swooshing stereo ping-pong percussive effects and repetitions of what Opie played seconds prior to it coming from the speakers. It was soothing but also engrossing.

Iris reminded me that I have a problem with free improvisers who put an excessive amount of effort into playing an instrument when the sound they produce doesn't sound one-tenth as powerful. The best example would be the guitarist who acts like that E chord is the hardest thing in the world to play. A personal example that made me skeptical was seeing Mats Gustafsson wrench and twist over his baritone sax in order to produce "bweeeeeeeeee." [Note -I keep trying to get that sound to appear in a teeny point size, but it's not working. So just imagine it.]

And I got that feeling while watching two members of Iris last night. Cellist Didier Petit began the set barefoot, and make sweeping gestures where he seemed like he was going to get out of his chair, only to sit back down, hit the back of his cello with his right foot, swing the bow around, hit the cello again.... He swung his bow around so viciously that I prayed it wasn't on loan from Pitt. He also looked like he was casting a circle. Later on, he actually did get up and walk to the back of the room while swinging the cello like a pendulum.

Drummer Edward Perraud did a lot of grand gesturing too, waving his arms like he was about to kick into a Zeppelin song, only to land a crash on his snare or a "whump" on his kick drum. He has some sort of contact mike connected to his high-hat, which he ran through a sampler of some kind, since he bent the sound around with a knob on it. Also, he showed great skill at bowing his cymbals. But none of this ever seemed to come together into one thing. It just seemed like he was running through his various fields of expertise, without using them for a whole concept. And he was overdoing it in the delivery department.

Of course Perraud and Petit might have been acting this way to contrast the looks of Parkins and Hans Tammen, who both sat at tables in front of laptops. Petit especially looked the role of tenured professor in his suit jacket, and at times the duo could've been checking email for all we in the small but rapt audience knew. Parkins picked up her accordion a few times, but she just used it for slow drones, not convoluted groups of notes.

I'll admit I went there expecting an Andrea Parkins performance more in line with what she did with Ellery Eskelin more than a decade ago at Pitt, which means something more in the neighborhood of freewheeling jazz. I'm open to more intense, industrial, noisy electro-acoustic stuff like this, and while moments of it were nice, the four of them didn't lock in to anything as a group.

Correction

I just came across a notepad that I took to the Man Forever show, and realized that I made a mistake. There's a scrawl that mentions how the bass line sounded like a slowed-down intro to "Shaft," two long notes that ring out, probably F to E. So they didn't just play one chord the whole time.

Also, I got word that the Engine label's website is getting redone, so it should be up soon. In the meantime, Steven Walcott the man behind the label, has a blog at http://thecrosspollinator.wordpress.com/about/ Check it out if you like. Buy some of his CDs too.

Man Forever in Pittsburgh - WOAH

Thursday night, Man Forever played at Gooski's. The band is the project of John Kolpitts, who's better known as Kid Millions of the band Oneida and most recently of White Hills. There will be an album out on Thrill Jockey in a few months and judging from the bio for that album, it seems like they played the piece "Ur Eternity" the other night.

Four guys were seated center stage around two snare drums, banging away. I'm not sure how long they had been playingwhen I made my way back because the jukebox was still going in the front of the bar. Each snare was shared by two of the guys, and they were getting this wild overtone that sounded like a guitar or bass. And there were guys onstage with both of those instruments - along with an organ, maybe a Farfisa - but they weren't playing anything yet. The sound was relentless: steady rhythms going on the skins without a break. Gradually the bass, organ and guitar started playing. They played one chord. For about 40 minutes. I think the piece worked kind of like a palindrome, with the instruments dropping out in the opposite order that they started. Can't say for sure because I was in the front of the bar, listening from a distance.

Writing about it now, it sounds pretty interesting. Sort of like Terry Riley for the stoner rock generation. I have to admire the discipline and stamina of the guys too. But Thursday night, I had to step away from the band. Not only was it unbelievable loud - they miked the drums for pete's sake - it just got a little claustrophobic after awhile. For those who haven't had the pleasure of visiting Gooski's, the back room where the bands play is pretty small and intimate. The pool table usually becomes a spot that people lean on to watch the bands, and the ping pong table is folded up in the corner.

Years and years ago, I saw a band of locals play something similar to this: I got there mid-performance as they were banging out an A chord, Velvet Underground-style. (I think narcotics might've factored into the set.) 10 minutes later they were still playing it. Five minutes later I left the room. Man Forever has more method to what he/they do, but it was still a little hard to take, especially after a few gin and sodas.

At the same time, I received an advance of his new album and I'm kind of intrigued to see what it sounds like.

Plasma Expander played first, all done up in hospital scrubs, complete with masks. The bassist hit his strings as they were taking the stage and it was so loud I think I jumped in my seat. Stuff like that usually doesn't faze me. They were kindred spirits with Man Forever: lotta one chord, dropped-tuned drones with the variations coming from the drums.

CD Review: Trio Caveat/Josh Sinton - Introspective Athletics/Pine Barren

Trio Caveat - Introspective Athletics/ Josh Sinton - Pine Barren

(Engine)

(Note: The website for Engine seems to have vanished. The url I listed a couple years ago in a review doesn't work anymore. There are a couple different labels with this name, but it is NOT the one that's in Germany, nor is it the one that James McCartney records for. And by the way, who know that Baby Sir Paul was making music?)

Punk rock bands do split singles and split albums all the time, so it's about time that avant garde cats took that idea and ran with it. This is one time that it makes sense to release a 72-minute disc rather than two 36-minute ones. Further, Engine's production sense (covers printed on recycled chipboard, complete with detailed credits) offers a different take on jamming econo.

Trio Caveat consists of bassist James Ilgenfritz, tenor/soprano saxophonist Jonathan Moritz and guitarist Chris Welcome. With an opening track titled "Clicks, Beeps, Buzzing," it becomes clear that the group gets into free improvisation, with a healthy attitude towards the sounds they create, if the titles are any indication. Things begin with each of them feeling the space, producing some plinking, bowing and blowing, with no one letting a line get too long. This is a subdued free improvisation.

Although Moritz blows almost as hard for quiet sections as the loud ones, this session is not a demonstration of extended techniques, where this reed style joins a steady stream of bows that scrape out extreme harmonics and guitars are ravaged beneath the bridge or over the pick-ups. In fact, "Introspective Athletics" glides along as if it were a composed piece, like a ballad that meets some tension along the way. At 6:57, it's also one of only two tracks out of nine that come in over six minutes. Most are five or under.

Not to write off the aforementioned type of extreme improv, but Trio Caveat balances the temptation for extreme free blowing with measured, empathetic interaction. Ilgenfritz and Moritz seem to naturally pull back in "Fractured Flakes, Torrent of Frantic" to let Welcome play a twangy solo that moves upward. The bassist has the spotlight for his own strong arco approach in "Mellifluous Chirps." Moritz works like the glue that holds it together, going from wild bird noises to more orthodox blowing. It's extreme music but it's very engaging.

Josh Sinton describes his solo saxophone and clarinet album as "a (poor) attempt at spiritual alchemy. I made it in the hopes that my own relived memories would not haunt my daughter Zosia." It's probably a good idea to keep these tracks from Zosia for a few years. Everyone else should check them out.

Sinton's axes of choice work well in the solo format: baritone saxophone, bass clarinet and contrabass clarinet. "Water for My Father" begins softly with a quiet, simple melody, only to explode as Sinton simultaneously blows and growls through his baritone. Perhaps in response that intense, visceral delivery, "The Earth for My Father" finds him firing off rapid arpeggios up and down his horn via circular breathing, as to prove to Pop he knows his way around the horn. Even though it's an exercise, Sinton makes it work as a performance too.

A track called "My Clarinet Teacher" begins with Sinton intoning, "Eeeeeeeesential principles of good clarinet playing," and going into some catchy bass clarinet licks that digress into nasty honks. Again, he balances out the wild and wooly with the pensive "I'm Still Trying."

By the time "Full of it... Love, That Is" comes around, it comes as no surprise that Sinton would dive into the contrabass clarinet's lower register for some ugly squonk. (Hell, I would too.) What's refreshing is his command of the instrument, which sounds like a cross between a gong and an industrial vacuum cleaner. For album closer "Through the Trees I Saw Stone Caves on a Beach," Sinton overdubs all three horns (some multiple times) to create a densely layered, somewhat repetitive, rhythmically loose but ultimately satisfying work that proves these big horns can float easily when given the right ideas.

If he sounds this good on his own, I'd like to hear him with a group.

Double 7-inch review: Zs- 33

Zs

33

(Northern Spy) www.northern-spy.com

This review sort of ties continues with the thought I had in yesterday's post about how to the format of promos can make a big difference in the way new releases are perceived. Although this particular release is a whole different can of worms.

Zs are a trio of free improvisers from Brooklyn, hellbent on creating tense performances whenever they set up. That must be the case when the label uses words like "juggernaut" and phrases like "music that challenges the physical and mental limitations of both performer and listener" to describe the band. And Northern Spy is a label for some reason I trust not to use hyperbole like that loosely. After a dozen years, if Zs hasn't opted to trade in all that free squonk for funk riffs, the description probably fits.

33 comes in the form of a double seven-inch set, packaged in a silk-screened fold-out sheath. Each side contains what sounds like a snippet of a larger improvised performance, each lasting between three and four minutes before abruptly stopping. No balls-to-the-wall noisefest, these pieces focus mainly on drummer Ian Antonio, who plays around on the toms of his kit, creating a dense thunder. On vinyl, this is the kind of sound that could overload your stylus, much like PiL's Metal Box did years ago. Listening to it on CD while driving around (yes, I received a download, which is understandable considering the limited edition status), it felt like the something might be rattling somewhere underneath the car. Turns out it was Antonio, or some post-production reverb effect on his kit.

All four tracks bear the release's title, followed by an extra character. On "33-" the toms are joined by Ben Greenberg's guitar skronk and some pensive tenor sax work from Sam Hillmer, who also has some echo/delay on his horn. The overall impact sounds like a sonic ripple effect. In "33/" Antonio could simply be testing the sound of his toms, as Greenberg plays some short, pensive two-note lines that hang in the air. Hillmer hangs back, adds some low rumbles. As random as these elements sound, a connection can be felt between them, due in part probably to the limited space of the track.

Things get a bit louder on "33~" with more rim clatter coming from Antonio, and Greenberg's tone resembling a gargling surf guitar. Hillmer recreates feedback on his horn, building to a small climax before dropping out and lettings his mates take it down in the last 30 seconds. "33\" has some phantom instruments bobbing in the mix. Hillner is blowing some un-tenor sounding noises, but it also sounds like a phantom baritone sax has wandered into the room. Initially the piece sounds like Zs are ready to kick up some dust, but things just amble along until - snip, it's over.

Having previewed these tracks together on disc, I was able to develop more of a complete feeling for the set. One piece lead into another, making it more of a four-part thing, and a touch more interesting. At the same time, hearing them on vinyl, where the fidelity is open up to different factors, might result in a completely different appreciation. And guys, if they're so short, why not master them at 45? Was that the idea?

I usually don't like asking questions in a review. Then again I usually don't like being so first-person either, but Zs can bring that out in a guy, methinks. Northern Spy - who has also just released albums by Charles Gayle and Chicago Underground Duo - has plans to release a retrospective Zs boxset, as well as solo releases by these guys. The idea sounds both intriguing and foreboding.

CD Review: Amir El Saffar Two Rivers Ensemble - Inana

Amir ElSaffar Two Rivers Ensemble

Inana

(Pi) www.pirecordings.com

As bold and intense as Amir ElSaffar's Two Rivers album (Pi, 2007) was, Inana comes across as an even more intense and beautiful work. Born on these shores to an Iraqi father and an American mother, the trumpeter spent five years studying the maqam in the Middle East and Europe. (To show how eclectic he is, this occurred after he received a degree in classical trumpet and moved to New York to play jazz with Vijay Iyer and Rudresh Mahanthappa.) The way he blends these studies with a probing style of jazz, which bears hints of AACM and Ornette Coleman, sounds astounding, especially in the way that neither influence gets watered down in the process.

In fact what makes the melodies on this album so effective comes in the way that ElSaffar and tenor/soprano saxophonist Ole Mathisen are able to create microtonal pitches used in maqam while playing Western instruments. While it might sound initially like "flat" notes to uninitiated listeners, the blend of instruments eventually helps you adjust to the sound.

All but the last of the nine tracks on the album make up "The Inana Suite," inspired by a Mesopotamian goddess of carnal love and warfare, who could stir up trouble wherever she went. While that scenario seems like it could invite some free blowing, the music is tightly written and arranged. "Dumuzi's Dream" begins with a bass drone courtesy of Carlo DeRosa that evokes Coleman's "Lonely Woman." ElSaffar and Mathisen state the undulating theme which works almost like a call and response with Tareq Abboushi (buzuq) and Zafer Tawil (oud). Afterward, the first solo comes from the leader, who doubles on santour, an Iraqi hammered dulcimer. The sound of its strings have a unique attack that evokes both banjo and tabla, as it slithers over the groove. Behind it all, Nasheeet Waits keeps the pulse flowing and throughout the album makes sure the music has a strong swing to it. Mathisen's solo here sounds much more Western, but he still comes up with a unexpected pattern of melodies, which do much more than build on the drone.

The suite progresses through the four-part "Inana's Dance" (three of which come together in one track), and move among other places into "Infinite Variety," one of the pieces that doesn't draw directly on the maqam. Build on six different counterpoint melodies, it bears an ancestoral link to the Art Ensemble of Chicago, sounding like a loping march with trumpet and soprano sliding in and out of sync with each other, always answering the other right when things seem off.

The 15-minute "Journey to the Underworld" brings the narrative to a head, going through multiple structures, starting with ElSaffar on vocals, which draw on the microtonal approach of the other pieces. While voices like this sometimes can feel even more jarring to these ears than the bent voices of the horns, ElSaffar's rich vocals have a way of making this setting just as captivating as the rest of the set. "Al-Badia," the album's coda and token non-suite track, has a great harmonic bass line that sets the scene for another blend of Eastern melody with jazz structure, complete with muted trumpet.

Stop me if I've made this point before, but the reason so much world music sounds flat to these ears is due to the way it leaves out the essential edge and passion that makes the music so vital and exciting. Amir ElSaffar has again assembled a group of sympathetic musicians who know how to keep the appropriate sparks flying, and the results are enthralling.

Allow me to clear my throat...

The end of the year must've been a dry spell and January must've picked up, or else I wouldn't have waited so long to post again. That's all going to change.... tonight. I think I finally am going to force myself to review a bunch of albums for the past few months.

So what has been going on?

Let's see... about three weeks ago Hospitality came to the Brillobox. I interviewed them for a piece in Blurt which ought to be popping up on the site pretty soon. Hospitality's album came out on Merge last week and seems to be generating some well deserved buzz. When the article runs, I might ask politely if I can get a finished copy of the album. I like my download, but it'd be nice to have a lyric sheet in front of me to help with the full experience.

Which reminds of something I wanted to opine about a couple weeks ago. I wrote about Kathryn Calder's latest album when it came out last fall (Bright and Vivid, on File Under: Music). The interview was conducted via email via a publicist. And it was okay, though there was no rapport there and I was going on a download of the album sent by said publicist.

I don't have a problem with that. The record wasn't out yet. BUT, once the article ran (a print article at that), I asked if I could get a finished copy of the disc. I like Kathryn's stuff a lot and would come back to it. After two emails with promises of yes, I'd get it... it never came. I'm not about to beg, and since I wanted it bad enough, I had it ordered for me here in town. (I'd've gone for the vinyl but it was $25 on the website and the store couldn't get it.)

So with the full artwork in front of me, one song into the album, I had two or three questions spring to mind that could've made the article a lot more compelling.

What's my point? We scribes understand why downloads are an easy way to get new releases to us, but when you take away the tactile part of the release - the stuff that some artists work a long time to complete - you take away an element that could result in the most compelling part of the article.

Did you think I was going to boo-hoo about not getting a freebie? No. That was just a tangent.

Rhapsody Jazz Critic's Poll

Here's a link to the Rhapsody Jazz Critic's Poll, of which I was a part. http://www.rhapsody.com/blog/2012/01/davis

You can view each critic's individual Top 10 at the end of the piece. Mine is there but for some reason they didn't list my affiliation with JazzTimes or this blog. FIE!

Up until about 10 minutes ago, I swore today was Friday.

Herculaneum Came to Pittsburgh

Playing right now: Herculaneum - Uchu

I got to see the above Chicago-based band and thought it fit to spin their album while writing about them this morning. They played at AVA, which hosts a Monday night jazz jam each week but doesn't usually have live bands. Most of the time, they present d.j.s.

There had been some confusion about this show, because at first I wasn't sure if it was going to happen at the Shadow Lounge (the older venue that's connected to AVA) or here. Then, not seeing any listing for it anywhere, I wondered if it was still happening. But I heard from the band's drummer Dylan Ryan that yes, it was going to happen and things would start at 7 p.m. Which of course meant 8 p.m., which is also fine, since that allowed for me to run across the street and get some pizza. (I hadn't had dinner.)

Herculaneum consists of four horns - trombone (Nick Broste), alto sax (David McDonnell), tenor sax/flute (Nate Lepine), and trumpet (Patrick Newbery) - plus Ryan on drums and Greg Danek on bass. A review in NPR described them as "like Charles Mingus if he lived in the 21st century" which gets to the heart of the matter, I suppose. But their tendency to play in non-4/4 time made me think of Dave Holland's larger bands, or something in league with another great horn-heavy band, Dead Cat Bounce.

Their tunes, many written by Ryan, with some by McDonell, Lepine and Newbery, often have simple chordal structures, with Danek holding things together with a steady riff, which leaves the horns to play melodies and countermelodies and harmonies on top of them. Things never got too free, though it was often at arms length. I especially liked McDonell's approach on alto, since he sounded pretty melodic but he wasn't after to overblow a little or get into a high trill for dramatic sake. There simply aren't enough trombone players doing this kind of music so I always seem to get caught up what they do. Broste was no exception. I thought of Roswell Rudd during one of his solos and I'm not sure if that's an accurate assessment or if it came to mind because he sounded gruff. Ryan really kept things swinging too, especially in the 5/4 tunes. Every so often he'd let fly with some killer accent during a solo. One time he even started a song sounding like George Hurley. (I heard he's actually from California, so maybe that's why.)

Uchu, the album I'm playing, is out on vinyl, so I had to buy it. I had a no-cover advance sent to me that didn't even have the song titles on the one-sheet, so it was a necessary purchase. I also got a copy of a previous disc that Clean Feed put out. Look these cats up at Herculaneumsound.com

Best of 2011? I forget

Before we get too involved in 2012, I want to weigh in on the subject of "Best of 2011" lists. And I have a feeling that this commentary will be very similar to what I wrote about a year ago on the subject.

I was asked to participate not only in the JazzTimes Best Of tabulations but also the Jazz List for what used to run in conjunction with the Village Voice, but this year will be posted on rhapsody.com next week. This year, I felt like I was a lot more familiar with more albums and would have a more vast opinion on the subject. Compared to last year, when I bought two of the Top 10 albums after reading about the list (Jason Moran's Ten and Paul Motian's Lost in a Dream, which both deserved their accolades, by the way). But I did a lot of hemming and hawing anyway: "Yeah, I heard that and it's good, but, ah........ I don't know if it'd go in my Top 10. What about this? I'm not sure about that either."

Much to my surprise, when I looked at downbeat's round-up of all the albums that received five-, four-and-a-half and four-star reviews, I didn't even know the albums that got five. Maybe I shouldn't confess all this in a public forum, because it might lead my editors to question my opinion on the subject. Or maybe it indicates that it's good to have a guy like me, whose tastes don't always cater to the status quo, adding some extra titles to the fray.

Here's the JazzTimes list. It doesn't surprise me that Sonny Rollins made #1. It shouldn't surprise you that I plan on buying that album today after work. The first album on this list that appeared on my list is #4. And I was pleasantly surprised to see that my personal #1 actually made the cut as #36 all around. (By the way, I realize I always unapologetically say, "Buy JazzTimes," to help keep print media going, and this is no exception. However the other good reason to do it is because the current issue has a great article on Vijay Iyer.)

I inadvertently blew off writing a Best Of list for Blurt in part because I didn't pay attention to when we were supposed to submit one. Besides, I feel like my rock list is full of even more holes than my jazz list. And when I saw their tabulations........woah, I really felt out of touch. Every year around this time, I tell myself, "This is why you shouldn't feel inhibited about asking for promos of stuff that you might not review anywhere: Because those labels should realize this one extra copy might actually get them into a Best Of list at the end of the year." Or I might just blog about them.

These end of the year lists are really for readers. People love checking them out. I know I do. I just don't like compiling them. They're also for the p.r. brass. I'm sure Sonny Rollins doesn't care, although I'm sure he'd express some appreciation.

Now before I make breakfast, I'm going to fire off an email to a friend of mine who usually sends an email out to me and some other friends of his, which triggers a discussion of releases from the year. That made contradict everything I concluded a moment ago, but I'm doing it more as a way to keep in touch with these guys.

Space Exchange in Pittsburgh

Last night was the first installment of Space Exchange, a new weekly series at the Thunderbird Cafe. Each week it's hosted by a different musician, all of which plays some strain of modern jazz, be it electric, acoustic, traditional or somewhere on the outs. Here's an article explaining it.

Last night Dave Throckmorton, drummer extraordinaire, sort of played host in a trio with guitarist Chris Parker (also one of the Space Exchange hosts) and bass guitarist Jeremy McDonald. Dave was his usual powerful self, throwing all sorts of accents in and strrrretching the tempo for just a few beats, like he was trying to slow it down, only to pull it back. Chris and Jeremy seemed to be playing with restrain at first. The tunes (no titles were mentioned) were chordally pretty simple and kind of repetitive. But Chris has two banks of pedals, and two amps too. He was playing a Silvertone which gave the music a great sharp sound. Plus he had some effect that made it sound like there was some keyboard backing up what they were playing.

Jeremy's playing really anchored the group. Occasionally he let loose a bit with some melodic lines, and I really envied both his tone and his bass - a Fender Precision. (I've never been one of those musicians who knows squat about different instruments and what different pickups do. But I love the sound of a Precision. I think Mike Watt had one the first time the Minutemen came to town. I also think that John Wetton played one in King Crimson, and a few years ago I realized that Wetton's attack and slightly distorted sound was something I tried to emulate in my playing.)

Anyhow, they played two sets. After the first I started getting a little restless. Might've been the hooch. They also seemed to be veering just a tad towards New Tony Williams Lifetime sounds, without dipping into something as badass as "Snake Oil." It was good but it didn't grab me as much. But I stayed the whole night and was glad I did.

On top of that, there was a really decent, attentive crowd there. That was really encouraging and I hope it'll sustain itself over the coming weeks.

There's actually a number of good shows coming up this month. In addition to all the Space Exchange shows, a Chicago jazz group called Herculaneum are coming to AVA next Wednesday, and a new Merge band called Hospitality are playing at the Brillobox on January 17, which wouldn't you know it, is the night Ben Opie's Flexure group is playing the Thunderbird.

On Jim Krenn

Somebody searched this blog in the past week using the phrase, "Where's Jim Krenn." And while I didn't have any information to answer that question, then or now, I felt like it was a good idea to start off the new year by opining on the situation with at-least-until-recently, longtime WDVE DJ Mr. Krenn.

I am a fan of the morning show hosted by Krenn and Randy Baumann. I'm not sure how long I've been listening to it, but I know it's been at least the last five years (basing that on when my son was born, which will be five years in a few months). The reason I like these two is because they're clearly pretty sharp guys. They're sharp in their commentary, because they don't cater to lunkhead responses to issues, unlike say the morning team on WJAS-AM, Jack Bogut or whoever is anchoring. (Yes, I listen to them too. We have the bathroom radio tuned to WJAS, though I'm getting less and less enamored as time goes on. But that's a different story.)

Granted, the latter team's curmudgeon responses to what us young folks and what that crazy liberal president does, caters to their target crowd, which is the retiree crowd. But by the same token, it would be easy for Krenn and Baumann to go for the blue collar, knee jerk response of the Pittsburghese crowd. And they don't. I'll even go farther and say they're pretty progressive in terms of their politics. They balance their opinions in such a way that they don't alienate guys like me, or the other crowd who want to hear AC/DC every morning and want to hear more opinions about how Troy or Sid the Kid played last night. To go out on a limb, they virtually carry on in the fine tradition of Lenny Bruce and Mort Sahl, who clearly had more liberal ideas about the world, rather than dismissing all the freaks as such, but they love good cheap sex joke once in a while. I can dig that.

Further, their skits are hilarious and have a level of thought that Saturday Night Live could really use. (I thought that show was through with their "let's take one sorta of funny joke and just repeat it through the skit" formula, but once Amy Pohler left, that seemed to be their m.o.) For one thing, Jim and Randy know that brevity is the soul of wit. I've never heard a skit of theirs drag on too long. Many times, I've wished they wouldn't end. That, my friend, seems to be rare in comedy, and they deserve an award for that.

This might seem to contradict my SNL bash in the last 'graph, but as much as the variations on the Pittsburgh Prom Kings might follow the same pattern, they put enough of a spin on each one that it never sounds like a rehash. And the Wilfred Brimley bit... they manage to make that funny every time. Bad puns and everything.

As the relative of a Pittsburgh Morning Radio originator (Rege Cordic, FYI), I'm well familiar with the issue of local stereotypes used in this format. Rege said in interviews that what he and his team did was never mean spirited, and I feel the same way about most of Jim and Randy's stuff. It walks the line, but it never crosses it.

A year or two ago, Whirl did a profile on the guys and there was a section where they asked each guy to list some albums they'd been listening to lately. Jim listed a bunch of classic rock stuff and Randy listed a bunch of things that looked similar to my playlist of the time. (The only thing I can remember now is the Arcade Fire, so you get the idea.) So maybe Jimmy and I would disagree on some points. But I'm sure he would join me in rocking out to Deep Purple's "Child In Time" (studio version from In Rock).

So what the hell is going on with him and WDVE? I can't tell you the many times I've said to my wife, "Man, those guys must be the station's meal ticket, since they replay their bits so much." Is he tired of getting up so early, after doing it for two decades? Is the station putting the screws to him in the name of numbers? Is he okay? The PG said today that he's still employed by the station, which is probably because they want to be able to keep playing the skits.

Losing that morning duo is bad for this city. And not just him. I know the PG said today that Randy will be back on Tuesday, along with Val Porter and Mike Prisuta (who always seems like the voice that balances out the others' progressives). I can only imagine how challenging it could be to be in their shoes, having to conduct business as usual with all this going down, plus having to field calls or comments from people who either just want to know the truth or be jagoffs about it.

Whatever is going on, I doubt we'll ever hear the truth.

CD Review: Taylor Ho Bynum Sextet - Apparent Distance

Taylor Ho Bynum Sextet

Apparent Distance

(Firehouse 12) firehouse12.com

Taylor Ho Bynum plays with a sharp clarity which indicates that he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. Even when he's rapidly spraying notes, somewhat reminiscent of Donald Ayler, he tongues some of the notes instead of merely letting his fingers run wild on his cornet valves as he blows. It indicates this isn't just random energy gone wild. A master of extended technique on his horn, he emits some incredible intervallic leaps in a fast blow, deceptively making it sound like a high harmonic that can naturally be felt on the horn.

Apparent Distance came together through from a 2010 New Jazz Works grant from Chamber Music America and the Doris Duke Charitable Foundation. Bynum states in the liner notes that he wanted to blur the lines between composition and improvisation and "upend listeners' expectations in other ways: circular melodies without beginnings or ends... transitions that are simultaneously jarring and organic." Considering his extensive performance career, not to mention his affiliation with Anthony Braxton (Bynum serves as president of the saxophonist's Tri-Centric Foundation) anyone familiar with the cornetist should probably come to expect such vision from him. And this music delivers it, wrapping such adventure in an approach that still manages to swing hard.

"Shift" opens with a couple minutes of unaccompanied Bynum, almost serving as an introduction to his cornet approach, sounding puckish and bright, along with some smears and squirts. It becomes more of a chamber ballad when Jim Hobbs (alto saxophone) and Bill Lowe (bass trombone, and later tuba) join in after a few minutes. Along with their wildest moments, it shows the sextet can be lyrical.

The piece is considered a four-part suite but each section has several different movements of its own. "Strike" follows "Shift" immediately, with Ken Filiano hitting a groovy vamp that adds an extra beat with each repetition, and then following it by subtracting it in the next series of riffs. Hobbs blows in the upper register while Mary Halvorson bangs out chords that threaten the foundation of the riff, eventually turning into interstellar space noise. This breakdown turns the presentation over to Lowe, who whips out the tuba, growling as he drones, methodically. When the group returns with some gentle but jarring intervals, Filiano bows his bass in the upper register like a cello.

The 20-minute "Source" is a virtual suite-within-in-a-suite, and it begins with one of Halvorson's strongest solos yet. In a lot of her work, she uses some sort of effect pedal that bends the pitch, which as great as it sounds, can become pretty similar each time. Here, she manages to blend that effect in with her mutant fretwork in such a manner that sounds unprecedented. Hobbs follows her with another wailing solo that could serve as a textbook lesson on how to play free jazz with passion. It makes me want to hear more from this guy.

"Layer" also crams a lot into the confines of nine minutes, although "crams" might be the wrong word because like everything else on the album, nothing comes across as excessive or overstuffed. This music has plenty of room to breathe freely. Bynum gets back in the spotlight here, at one point shifting from high scrapes down to clear bass notes in a matter of seconds. Gradually the sextet begins playing what sounds like a funeral procession, complemented by alto squonks, frenzied bass bowing and - in the final moments - fuzzed out power chords from Halvorson.

The lines that Bynum says he wanted to blur don't actually seem that blurry to anyone who enjoys music like this. But that only goes to show that composer and ensemble were successful with the execution of this suite. It's an amazing work by an amazing group of players.

CD Review: Kieran Hebden/Steve Reid/Mats Gustafsson - Live at the South Bank

Kieran Hebden/Steve Reid/Mats Gustafsson

Live at the South Bank

(Smalltown Superjazzz) www.smalltownsupersound.com

Maybe you just had to be there.

The unlikely union of British electronic musician Kieran Hebden and American jazz drummer Steve Reid was already four years underway when they teamed up with Swedish free saxophonist Mats Gustafsson at the Meltdown Festival in London, an event curated by Ornette Coleman. A former member of Fridge, Hebden has been working under the name Four Tet, doing remixes and working with the likes of Thom Yorke when he met Reid. His partner's resume includes Miles Davis' Tutu album and extends back to the soul-jazz Legendary Master Brotherhood and, prior to dates with Sun Ra and Frank Wright, begins with the house band at the Apollo Theater. He died in 2010, less than a year after this concert, from throat cancer.

From the way the two musicians talked about each other, they felt a kinship that bridged the gap between their ages (Hebden was 33 years younger than Reid.) Reid went so far as to call the event a "special relationship, like Miles and Coltrane, or Dizzy and Bird." It's nice to hear about such a strong bond, but that unfortunately doesn't come across in the music.

The group didn't lay any claim to being a jazz unit. They played free improvisation group, open to wherever the sound took them. But Hebden's contributions don't sound like much more than samples or loops, and most of the time, none of them last longer than a few beats so they get repetitive quickly. "Morning Prayer" begins hopefully with a swelling chord but never really expands beyond that idea, aside from a few noises that drop in on top. Reid doesn't really forego tempo for free splatter. He straddles fills and groovy accents. Clearly he was an aggressive player but the mix flattens the impact. It sounds like it was all recorded overhead, making his performance sound more like a series of rolls on the rack toms and cymbals splashes, all echoing behind Hebden.

Gustafsson allegedly got so caught up in what they were playing that he didn't join in for nearly 20 minutes. When his baritone sax finally makes its entrance, it adds some more dimension to the texture. But no one really seems to be responding to his co-conspirators, at least not in an audible manner. Gustafsson blows in the Ayler/Brotzmann tradition of growling overtones, which can get a little much on its own. In "25th Street" he just blows the mouthpiece while an organ riff repeats without regard for the drums, and everything just gets grating.

The final track of the two-disc set, "The Sun Never Stops," reveals a little more of a connection. Hebden's keyboard sounds come from early '80s new wave, which sounds oddly intriguing in the setting. They gradually collapse into noise, including metallic clatter like cowbells, which may or may not come from Reid. Either way, the energy is contagious, with Gustafsson's guttural blowing generating excitement onstage and off. But it arrives after too long of a journey to fully appreciate that final destination, cohesive as it is.

CD Review: Jason Stein Quartet - The Story This Time

Jason Stein Quartet

The Story This Time

(Delmark) www.delmark.com

It's been a good 14 months for Jason Stein. Last November, he released Three Kinds of Happiness with his trio Locksmith Isidore (go here for a review of it) and less than a year later this fine release hit the streets.

Stein plays bass clarinet exclusively, a rarity (maybe a first) in jazz, and he continues to develop his own identity on the instrument, incorporating the past accomplishments on the big stick, and using them in a way that's highly original. Taking that originality a step further, he has tenor saxophonist Keefe Jackson along as his frontline foil. Jackson is a great choice on the basis of his musicianship, but the combined sound of the two reeds gives the music a snaky quality. Bassist Joshua Abrams and drummer Frank Rosaly round out this A-list of Chicago adventurers.

The Story This Time is divided pretty evenly between Stein originals and interpretations of others. The latter category presents a good idea of the bass clarinetist's bold thought process: While many musicians think nothing of playing three Monk tunes on an album, only a certain breed would choose "Skippy," "Gallop's Gallop" and "Work," three of his more obscure and, in at least one case, challenging pieces. For "Work," Jackson switches to contrabass clarinet, adding more of a low-end gait to the piece, making it even more playful. Abrams plays like a third voice in this track too, bowing along side the horns.

The other covers come from the Lennie Tristano lineage, with one tune each by the great pianist, and his proteges Warne Marsh and Lee Konitz. Marsh's "Background Music" speeds along sounding like vintage Ornette Coleman with this arrangement. Stein and Jackson almost sound like they have trouble keeping up with the tempo, though that is not a criticism. Konitz's "Palo Alto" begins with some very un-Konitz like honks and squawks from the horns before they settle into the theme. "Lennie Bird" doesn't leave a lot of room for horn players to breath between phrases, but it energizes these two, who solo simultaneously for three concise minutes.

The quartet stretches out in "Laced Case," Stein's nine-minute tribute to Steve Lacy, which is marked by tempo accelerations and open sections where the composer runs wild all over his instrument, moving from rumbles to simulated feedback. "Little Big Horse" could pass for a hard bop classic, with its easy going line and off-beat accents, and flow of ideas from the horns. Jackson enters during Stein's solo to add some color the bass clarinet, and the transition to his own solo feels impeccable. For "Hoke's Dream" the horns plays a series of long toned themes, while Rosaly gently moves freely around his kit. Stein begins in kind, eventually escalating his feeling to keep the excitement going. As wild as he gets, he never forsakes the melodic voice in favor of visceral shrieks, though.

With its combination of challenging covers and strong original works, The Story This Time is definitely one of the year's best releases.

Honoring Sonny Rollins, missing Sam Rivers

Last night, Sonny Rollins was honored on the Kennedy Center Awards show. Just the thought of that is pretty exciting. Naturally I think ol' Newk is more than deserving of the honor, and it's good to know that others feel the same way.

I love Sonny, as a musician and as a human being. He was one of the first interviews I did as an intern at InPittsburgh and we talked for about an hour. A few years later, he wasn't doing interviews around the time of his appearance at the Pittsburgh Jazz Festival. So I faxed him some questions. Not only did he answer back a day later, his answers were very thoughtful and looked great in print.

Bill Cosby did the "induction" speech for Sonny, and while I feel like Cos has reached the point in his life where his shtick comes across more like a rambling old man (and the whole grumpy old guy act just isn't funny), he ended on a note of sincerity that was moving in its directness. The speech focused on how Cos traveled around the world, and in remote places like a dentist's office in Greece and a rickshaw in Japan, he heard Sonny Rollins' music - making it universal. "And tonight, we say, Sonny - welcome home." Something about those last two words carried a lot of weight.

For the musical part, Joe Lovano and Ravi Coltrane played with Christian McBride and a drummer who I can't remember. Then across the stage, out came Herbie Hancock, Jim Hall and Jack DeJohnette, along with Roy Hargrove, Benny Golson and Jimmy Heath. (McBride put together the film in between Cos and the performance and he probably assembled the band, which explains why there were two drummers but only one bassist.) It was brief and concise but good.

Much to my surprise, there was no sign of Wynton Marsalis.

Right before the show started, I went onto Facebook and found out that Sam Rivers died the day after Christmas. That hurt. Maybe it shouldn't, maybe it was a selfish, "now I'll never get to meet him" hurt but nevertheless, it got to me. It's hard enough losing a jazz musician, but losing such a mover and shaker of free jazz, feels even worse. If I didn't have the urge to write a review right now, I'd put on some wild Sam. Maybe I will on the way to work.

The American Song-Poem Christmas: Daddy, Is Santa Really Six Foot Four?

(Note: I wrote this review eight years ago at Pulp, a Pittsburgh alt-weekly for which I served as arts and entertainment editor. Back then, I wanted to give this CD five stars, but our star criteria didn't go up that high. It stopped at four. I stand behind this review all these years later and I'm reprinting here as a salute to what I think is a mandatory holiday release. Much like my original review, I'm publishing this too close to the holidays to generate any sales, but oh well. Maybe the cyberworld can offer a quicker fix than it did back then.)

Various Artists

The American Song-Poem Christmas: Daddy, Is Santa Really Six Foot Four?

(Bar None) www.bar-none.com

One thing that made vinyl records so enthraling in their heyday was the sheer number of so many weird and unusual recordings - the kind that made listeners wonder who in the Sam Hill believed that such ridiculous ideas deserved to be pressed and unleashed on unsuspecting ears. The dawn of recordable CDs makes it even easier for anyone to clog the market, but burning your own disc is now the equivalent of dubbing cassettes: They often have the basic look of a blank tape, regardless of the sound quality.

A record, on the other hand, brought with it at least some credibility, from the look of the label to the artwork on the cover - even if it came in a plain, white single sleeve. So when budding songwriters around the country received a single with their lyrics put to music, sung and played by some, er, "professional" musicians, it's no wonder they might think they could be the next Neil Diamond or Carole King.

The American Song-Poem Music Archives documents this institution - scam, some some might say - where folks submitted a check along with their preference for the tempo, style and gender of the singer who would immortalize their prose. After the music was whipped up, a not-quite-crack team of musicians would bang it out, usually in one take that ended with a fade-out so the players wouldn't have to worry about a clean ending.

The holiday season is perfect fodder for such lyical inspiration, with many yokels figuring they could write the next "White Christmas" or "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." This compilation, the second culled from the the Song-Poem archives, documents 21 such exercises. There's no reason this slice of Americana deserves any less than four stars, despite the fact that most of the lyrics are horrible. They're still catchy.

Besides, if we have to get bombarded each year with Steve and Eydie's insipid version of "Sleigh Ride" or Lou Monte's "Dominick the Donkey (The Italian Christmas Donkey)," there's no reason why catchy hokum like "Christmas Treat, Peppermint" can't fit right in. Sung by the studio gals under the name the Sisterhood, it sounds like something straight off the Lawrence Welk show. On the comp's title cut, Saint Nick becomes Mom's back door man, and singer Kay Brown sings it with all the subtlety of a high school choir soprano ripping through "Whatever Lola Wants." In other words, all the right pitches and none of the appropriate conviction - which is what makes this disc so entertaining.

Forget "so-bad-it's-good" ideology, just revel in the fact that this exists. The quaintness of tracks like "The New Year Song" or "Snowbows" (first line: "I know you've all seen rainbows...") evokes visions of lyricists resembling the woman in Far Side cartoons or Tex and Edna Boyle from SCTV. Even "The Rocking Disco Santa Claus," another Sisterhood monstrosity, sounds less like the handiwork of Giorgio Moroder wannabe than a dad - in this case, one William Dibble - in a desperate attempt at hipness. If you think about it hard enough, the Sisterhood starts to sound like Silver Convention rather than the Lennon Sisters.

These tracks all deserve to be holiday perennials, because no matter how bad they are, they're still a better listen that, say, the Manheim Steamroller and Celine Dion holiday bombast.

(Afterthought - I don't think I've heard Steve & Eydie's aforementioned "Sleigh Ride" anywhere since I wrote this review. And I've come to a point where I'd like to. Irony.)