Friday Night - George Lewis

Trombonist/composer/music professor George Lewis actually spent this past week in Pittsburgh for a residency at the University of Pittsburgh. On Tuesday night, he spoke on a panel, Thursday night he lectured about his book on the AACM and Friday and Saturday nights were devoted to his compositions. I couldn't make Tuesday's night, recovering from the previous night's events, and on Thursday I opted for the Ches Smith et all show (see previous post for details; and check this out for my profile on George Lewis, Jack DeJohnette and Jeff "Tain" Watts).

Friday night, Lewis staged a performance of his composition Spooky Interaction, Lesson II (2016) at Pitt's Bellefield Hall. He and Geri Allen were to perform onstage there. In Irvine, California, flutist Nicole Mitchell and trombonist Michael Dessen were going to perform with them, through an internet hookup that Lewis referred to as "Skype on steroids." Saxophonist Francis Wong would also be part of the mix too, in San Francisco. As if that concept wasn't enough, two additional pianos were set up in Pittsburgh and Irvine. Both would be part of the performance, playing "themselves" courtesy of Lewis' Voyager interactive software which enables them to analyse what is being playing around them and use that knowledge to generate more music.

The West Coast participants were visible to us through a screen projected at the back of the stage. Everyone could hear each other clearly when they spoke beforehand. The only time things seemed out of sync was when the director of SF Jazz (where Wong was set up) spoke. The image didn't match up with the words.

Before it started, Lewis, who makes all of this work seem very accessible and engaging, told us to "listen for resonance and interaction...that you may be doing in your daily life as you muddle through." He was implying that improvisation is not merely something that is done onstage with instruments. It's a daily occurrence. When we spoke he talked about the upcoming Oxford Handbook of Critical Improvisation Studies, which will detail this at great length.

Without any genuine adieu, Lewis told Wong to start the performance on his own, and the trombonist left the stage. For about the next 40 minutes, the music came in waves, with each location taking roughly four minutes (the timing was explained afterwards) before passing it on to the next group. This was free improvisation, beginning calmly and moving in waves. Dessen and Mitchell entered with some high slides and guttural flutters, respectively.

When Lewis and Allen started playing, they offered some of the most exciting parts of the piece, not just because we were there in person. (The other locations came through loud and clear, incidentally.) Lewis later quipped that he looses his technique after ten minutes of playing, but when he was playing there was no weakness on display. He sounded extremely expressive, adding rapid vocal sounds in the upper register. It was the kind of tone that exudes authority. Allen was the same way. Sometimes she was pensive and lyrical, other times she was putting her elbows on the keys for punctuation, adding a Cecil Taylor-esque percussive quality.

The other pianos started playing about ten minutes into the piece. Visually, it looked like the Invisible Man was playing them. Keys were moving, sound was generating and it did work within the context of the piece. It seemed like it might be hard for the participants to hear each other clearly but they seemed to do fine. The secret might have been that no one ever got too loud. When all five of the live musicians started playing together, it was of course rather wild, but never too busy and crowded. After about 40 minutes, everything faded down. Lewis commented later that this was the first time that the piece was performed and everyone ended together.

I'm not sure how many seats Bellefield Hall has, but it was pretty full, in part probably because it was a free show. The audience was made up largely of students, who may or may not have been there as a requirement or for extra class credit. I have to wonder what they thought of the show because as soon as it was done, I mean after the final note and right as the participants were preparing for Q&A, there was a massive exodus toward the door.

Afterwards, I managed to tag along with Lewis and Allen to a sort of afterparty at the eatery the Porch, which was just down the street. Sitting next to him, I got to chat about the Yankees album he made with John Zorn and Derek Bailey (my introduction to him) and listen to him tell stories about his works. He was extremely down to earth, listening intently to everyone, and even stopping in front of the Carnegie Museum to take a picture of Dippy the Dinosaur (who was wearing a knit tie) for his son.

This Week in review: Kurt Vile, Ches Smith/Craig Taborn/Mat Maneri

I can't think of a week that was as jam-packed with music as the current week. It began on Monday night with Kurt Vile & the Violators who played a sold-out show at Mr. Small's (that's not them in the picture above). My old Pitt/WPTS friend Jesse Trbovich has been playing guitar, bass and saxophone with Kurt for several years and he helped me get a ticket after I waited too long to get one on my own. 

I don't really know a whole lot of Vile music but I really enjoyed the show. There was a lot of mid-tempo groove stuff going on, but the way they colored in the songs made all the difference. Jesse's alto got buried in the mix for the one song he played, but I could sort of feel it. 

After the set, I yelled out Jesse's name at the stage and he jumped off and came down to chat. I haven't seen that guy in over 15 years, no exaggeration. And despite being in a super-successful touring band, he's still one of the sweetest guys there is. Always has been. I miss that dude. But a lot of rock and a short chat really made my night.

Then on Thursday night, I saw the guys in the photo: Ches Smith (drums), Craig Taborn (electric piano) and Mat Maneri (viola) at the City of Asylum loft/space. (To read my preview of this group, go here.) This same space presented Mary Halvorson and Stephan Crump last April, but back then it was a very casual, intimate set-up. This time, they had a whole stage set up, with mikes and everything, and whole lot more chairs. Note: Those three orbs that look like they're hanging above Smith's head are actually lights further behind him. Though it would be cool if they were percussive bells.

The trio just released The Bell, an album on ECM and they also performed at Jazz Connect last month in New York. Their music is based largely on improvisation, though written themes very slowly creep in after they've had a chance to stretch out. That was really the case on Thursday. Snatches of themes from the album occasionally popped up, tying things together. Maneri or Taborn often came back to a riff or even just a series of notes, but most of the time, things were left to chance. Sometimes things had a pointillist quality to it, but there was always a lot of forward movement to the sound. You always knew that it was proceeding towards something. This was the penultimate date of the tour, so after a series of shows, the guys were really in tune with one other.

Smith had his vibes there, which he played with four mallets, occasionally bowed and played percussively by running a drum stick across the pipes, sometimes while sitting at the trap kit. Taborn normally plays acoustic piano with this group, but he used a Rhodes on this night since they couldn't get a piano up the spiral steps of the loft. It added greater dimension to the music, creating droplets of sound during one of the more gentle parts of the evening. Maneri amplifies his viola, adding some effects pedals to in, including one that drops the pitch down to bass level. A few times, it got so low I was wondering if it would shatter the amp's speaker.

During my interview with Smith, after the Jazz Connect set, he mentioned that he "always has bands that repeat things way too long." True to form, they repeated the final section of "For Days" a few times longer that it should have lasted. But sometimes it's hard to stop once you get a good thing going.

One other impressive part of the night, besides the music, was the turnout. The room was packed with what seemed like around 70 people. (I'm bad with figuring out numbers visually. It could have been more than that, or a tad less.) That might not sound huge for a show, but in that room it was, and on a Thursday night in Pittsburgh at a free jazz show - it's a rarity. And maybe a sign of good things to come, together with the equally populated Ethnic Heritage Ensemble show from the previous week.

Ben Goldberg's Invisible Trio, Ethnic Heritage Ensemble

It's been a couple weeks since the show, but I feel like I should mention the Ben Goldberg Invisible Guy Trio's appearance at the Thunderbird Cafe, which happened on Monday, Feb. 8. I missed this group the last time they came to town because I was playing with the Love Letters the same night, and hosting Matt Bauder's trio Hearing Things, one of the greatest examples of bad timing ever.

But that was then.

Goldberg is an amazing clarinetist. As in, you never realized that instrument had the potential to do this kind of heavy music before (unless you've followed the prolific Mr. G, or Perry Robinson or Don Byron, to name just a few). His trio mates were Michael Coleman (keyboards) and Hamir Atwal (drums). The sound was never spare and never ventured so far into the free dimension that it lost its sense of swing. That was probably due in part to Atwal, who had an ecstatic smile on his face through most of the set that I caught.

At the start of the second set, Goldberg was playing some loopy introductions that seemed kind of circular, and slowly settled into a form. It was a pleasant surprise when it became clear that they were playing "Light Blue," one of Thelonious Monk's deep cuts and a song that can very easily turn lugubrious. (Check out the composer's version on the Always Know album, which proves what it was initially passed over.) But these guys, Atwal mainly, made it swing.

It was hard at times to tell when one composition ended and the next started. One of the tunes was recently released on an album of duets that Goldberg did with pianist Myra Melford, and it seemed to take on a larger life than that version. Coleman had a couple different keyboards, adding an approximation of electric piano at times and parts that acted as bass lines too. It was a great show that, typically, was patronized by just a small but devoted group of listeners. The fact that it was a Monday night might have had something to do with it.

This past Saturday, however, the Undercroft Gallery at First Unitarian Church was filled with people there to see the Ethnic Heritage Ensemble. This time drummer Kahil El'Zabar was accompanied by Craig Harris (trombone, digeridoo) and Hamiet Bluiett (baritone saxophone, clarinet). (I profiled Bluiett in City Paper last week and it can be found here.) This was quite a pleasant surprise, not realizing that such a diverse crowd would come out for such an adventurous group. Perhaps the weekend date has something to do with it. The guy who put on the show said my article might have helped. I'll leave that to others to debate.

EHE's set followed a similar pattern to others they've done on previous visits. El'Zabar starts off on mbira (kalimba) playing a droning "riff" and tapping the bells on his ankles. Then a tune from the drum kit, then one with hand percussion. Second set followed the same pattern.

But within that set, there was magic. The first trap kit song was a woolly version of Wayne Shorter's "Footprints." Without the support of a bassist, the drums still seemed to create a droning "note" that acted as a pedal point. The second set's trap kit song was John Coltrane's "Impressions" which also held together without a rhythm section. For the final hand percussion tune, the group made a surprising choice of "Cherokee" that inimitable swing song that later became a bebop proving ground.

During my interview with Bluiett he talked about suffering from a stroke and injuries to his rotator cuff. He moved around slowly between songs and solos, but most of the time he sat on a piano bench in front of his baritone, which was perched on a stand. Yet when it was time to blow, he blew hard. His upper register work was as impeccable as ever. Like Ben Goldberg, he blew the B-flat clarinet with clarion force that probably surprised many.

Craig Harris put on a pretty muscular performance too, especially when he blew the didgeridoo. This wasn't your typical Australain didg either. It was a long piece of wood with holes in either end. Yet he blew a drone with gale force, taking time to throw in a solo too.

Both El'Zabar, that night, and Bluiett, on the phone a few weeks earlier, talked about being on a tour that was all about healing. It might sound flaky (or old) to say it, but the world could use a good deal more of that right now. And that night, their beliefs weren't merely idealistic words, they became reality.

Autographs, Monk & Errol

Usually I'm not one to ask people for their autographs. In fact, I recall being at a show where I mentioned being a fan of the performer and I was nauseated when someone from the production company chirped, "Maybe you can get [the performer's] autograph tonight!" Never mind that I had spoken with the person before and we were sort of acquainted. I just don't see autographs as a way to bond me with someone.

But every so often, I'll go against the grain. Like last week, as seen in the picture above. Author Robin D. G. Kelley spoke at Pitt. I loved his Thelonious Monk biography so much that I really didn't want it to end. It's really exhaustive in its details, and written so well.

So I had to have him autograph the book. He said that he too didn't want the book to end when he finally was done with it. Understandable, considering he spent about 14 years on it. Then we got into a brief discussion about a few Monk performances at Newport. I mentioned using the book as a reference when reviewing the album of the 1959 set. Then Kelley started talking about the year that they played "Japanese Folk Song," and how Charlie Rouse was on fire during that tune. Turns out it was one of the few Monk albums that I don't think I have (outside of the umpteen quartet dates from later tours).

Kelley was actually in town to talk about Errol Garner, due to the Garner archive being housed at Pitt. He made a pretty compelling argument about the relationship between the pianist and his manager, Martha Glaser. Interesting stuff.

There's been all kinds of stuff going on in town over the past couple weeks. Ben Goldberg's trio was back here two Mondays ago. This past Saturday, Kahil El'Zabar brought the Ethnic Heritage Ensemble back to town, this time with Hamiet Bluiett and Craig Harris. Details are forthcoming.

How Buying a Lovin' Spoonful Album Relates to the Jazz Record Mart

Yesterday I made a late afternoon pilgrimage to Jerry's Records. My main reason was to see my bandmate Mike, but of course you can't simply pop into Jerry's and pop back out (unless you're picking up stuff you won in a recent auction). I wandered over to the jazz section, poked around, grabbed a few things and made my way back out to the main room.

I asked Mike if Lovin' Spoonful's first album, Do You Believe in Magic, ever came in. The band's other albums are fairly common in that store, and I have all of them. The myriad compilations (there exist about two for every proper Spoonful album, more than most bands I think) are a dime a dozen. Mike insisted that there should be a copy of Magic in the band's section. When there wasn't, he strolled to the back stock wall and found two copies up there. I bought one and he put the other one out in the section.

A quick search on this blog will tell you I'm a champion of the band. Some people might dismiss them as lightweight, but musically they had a lot going on. Lyrically too, for that matter (check out the third verse of "Darling Be Home Soon," or all the internal rhyming of "Jug Band Music). For some reason, during my heavy Spoonful/'60s days, I never owned their first album. I've heard most of it through compilations that I've owned. But it's good to have it all in order, the way these 20-year-olds wanted it to be heard back then.

But this isn't going to be another appreciation of the Lovin' Spoonful. This is about record stores. As I was getting ready to head outside into single-digit weather, something took my mind back in time, to about 35 years ago. That would place me back in 8th grade, and that was the time when I made my first trips to Record Graveyard, a long-gone used record store that used to be on Forbes Avenue in Oakland, just down the street from the Carnegie Museum and library. (Some will remember it from its later locale on Craig Street.)

Like Jerry's Records, it was a second floor walk-up and, possibly around this time, it was owned partially by Jerry Weber. (Within a year or so, he sold his half of the business and opened Garbage Records, which he later rechristened with his name.) Now I had loved records since the time I could crawl, but this was my first real experience with a used record store. Unlike Heads Together and National Record Mart - where I used to go weekly and flip through same stuff - there was new stuff here every week. Crazy covers. Records I'd read about but never thought I'd see. And I could afford them! When I started delivering the Post-Gazette, that opened up the buying opportunities even further. Of course, there would be other used stores I'd discover in town, but for me, this is where it all started.

And I feel especially wistful thinking about that, juxtaposed with the impending closing of the Jazz Record Mart in Chicago. Part of the whole experience of buying music (not just records, but music in any format) is being able to flip through a rack of covers and stop at one of them, give it an inquisitive look and have one of three things possibly happen:
a. you ask somebody who works there what they know about this album
b. somebody next to you offers their unsolicited opinion on the record, which in this circumstance might be a good thing
c. you hold onto it, thinking you might buy it or at the very least, play it on the store turntable.

There's so much music out there now, that how the hell are we supposed to find out if we like it? A band name? An email? Radio? I hate to break it to you p.r. folks out there, but I get so many damn emails a day that it takes a lot to get me to open them. I remember going into Paul's CDs and having Paul treat me the way a neighborhood butcher treats a regular customer: He just got something in that he knows I would like. And he'd pull something out from behind the counter.

I loved that. People knew what you'd like, and finding things for you. That was a great way to build a customer base and for commerce to exist. And for a community to grow.

CD Review: Mostly Other People Do the Killing - Mauch Chunk

Mostly Other People Do the Killing
Mauch Chunk
(Hot Cup) www.hotcuprecords.com

One critical angle that has probably become cliche by now is the opening line where the writer admits that, upon first listen, s/he wondered if the wrong album was cued up, so surprising are opening notes. In the days of records, the idea would have been far-fetched. In the CD age, it's a tad more likely. I once got a generic latin jazz disc that actually contained King Cole Trio songs. And I once got a mislabeled ECM promo.

But I say this in all sincerity: I did wonder, when Mauch Chunk started up, whether I was listening to Mostly Other People Do the Killing or some other group entirely. Expecting some sort of two-part trumpet-sax melody against a frenzied rhythm, instead "Mauch Chunk Is Thorpe" greeted the ears with a pounding Tynerish piano riff. The rhythm section was fairly straight-forward, at least for a MOPDtK session. Peter Evans' trumpet is conspicuously absent here, and everywhere else on the album.

Of course it was MOPDtK coming through the speakers. Before long the drums took on that the Animal-meets-Elvin-Jones style that could be no one else but Kevin Shea. Pianist Ron Stabinsky has also been part of the group on recent albums. During this track's piano solo, Jon Irabagon's alto adds commentary that almost sounds like he's grumbling, "Why, I oughta," before he himself unleashes his own blend of upper register leaps and squonks, eventually leading the tune's calm conclusion.

A few albums back I worried that the band's cheeky performance could wear thin. If you poke fun at the old guard the whole time, the shtick will get old and overshadow the music. But since then, they've come around. Bassist Moppa Elliot's concepts have evolved to a point where the humor remains but the structures have become more complex. They're having their cake and eating it too.

Just when it seems like the band might have actually settled down into something accessible, they take great delight in jolting the listener. The best example comes in "Townville." (Once again all the tracks are named after cities in Pennsylvania.) Started off with a clipped hard bop line, with Stabinsky throwing chords at Irabagon's plucky alto, it quickly starts to pull apart. With everything spilled on the floor, Irabagon inserts an exaggerated quote from "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered." And that's just the first two minutes of a nearly 12-minute piece.

Each track is dedicated to a different artist, from a neighbor to a dancer to jazz legends Henry Threadgill, Dave Holland and Sonny Clark. The dedications don't specifically play to the honoree's personality and the group does push things to the limit. The bossa nova "West Bolivar"(for Caetano Veloso) begins with Irabagon blowing, presumably, into his horn without a mouthpiece or maybe a neck, and later Shea almost derails the groove of the piece.

At the same time, they settle down for "Niagra," a ballad that pays tribute a friend who gave the group their first show. And amidst the relative tranquility, the structure is built on unusual lengths in the phrases, which still keeps you engrossed in the music, wondering where they're headed. Reverent yes, but never maudlin. Not by a long shot.

And it's good to see the oddly named city of "Mehoopany" finally get honored with a piece. The fact that it's sort of a boogaloo makes it even better.

Going to The Stone to see Matana Roberts, Nate Wooley & Evan Rapport

My review of this year's NYC Winter Jazzfest is now up on the Pittsburgh City Paper website. Find it here.  Two of my colleagues wrote a review of the event on the JazzTimes website, and it made me realize that there's really no way to do a comprehensive rundown of everything that happened there if you're one person. Or if you do, it means that you can't see whole sets or expect to catch a set by a favorite musician if their set conflicts with your big plans. Then again, those writers live in New York and one of them told me that the roster of acts wasn't anything really new for a New Yorker.

The photo above a section of the wall inside the Stone, the Lower East Side performance venue where John Zorn serves as artistic director. (How many performers can you identify?) Musicians usually curate a weeklong residency, with the freedom to present different things each night.

I went to the Stone last Thursday evening to see saxophonist Matana Roberts. (It wasn't part of Winter Jazzfest.) Being directionally challenged, it took me a while to get there, and besides, the place is easy to miss. The entrance is right at the corner of Avenue C at East 2nd Street, with the only indication being a small (as in 3"X1") sticker right at the handle of the glass door with the name. I'm not sure if I walked past it the first three times or if the metal gate was down when I first walked by.

The website mentioned that there are no refreshments served at the Stone, "only music," which I can understand. But for some reason I thought the place would be...bigger. There were several rows of chairs facing the "stage area" (nothing so much as a stage) with about three more rows behind the band. Back here in Pittsburgh, we used to have art/performance venues like Garfield Artworks and the Turmoil Room, which were storefronts in a past life and revitalized by sheer will of the participants. The only difference between them and the Stone really is the New York spot was a little cleaner, had proper acoustics and had a grand piano in the corner. Not only is there no booze, someone told me they don't allow you to BYOB. This way, all the attention is given to the music. Sure, it cuts down on any potential tourists, but if someone is going to the Stone, logic follows that they're not there to pay $15 and just hang out. Everyone sat quietly waiting for the show to start, not unlike patrons in an adult theater.

By the time Matana Roberts (alto saxophone), Nate Wooley (trumpet) and Evan Rapport (alto saxophone) walked up from the basement, there were more than 20 and probably close to 30 patrons in the room. Without much more than an introduction of the players, they launched into an improvisation, riding waves of sound, blowing long tones together and taking turns riding on top of the other two.

At one point between improvisations, Roberts commented that there was a lot of psychic energy between her, Wooley and Rapport, and she couldn't have been more accurate. Rapport sounded calm during one section, later breaking into some wild fluttering. Wooley, armed with a few mutes including devices for a pure wah-wah sound, volleyed a riff between the two saxes, breaking into splats and smears at other times. Roberts moved between supportive long tones and vibrato, switching when it was time to let her companions take a more prominent role. I could've listened to her original, sharp melodic lines all night.

This is going to sound very much like a tourist - and really, I was to a great extent - but it felt like this was the ideal New York free improvising situation that probably happens on a regular basis on the Lower East Side. It might be common, this-is-who-we-are playing for the musicians or the volunteer taking the $15 cover at the door (all of which goes to the performers). But to someone who is used to seeing musicians like this play to one hand's worth of people back home, wishing that more people would investigate this music, it had a magic quality. Magic because the music was great, and magic knowing that somewhere this music is commonplace and that 30 people think nothing of shelling out $15 to spend an hour listening to it.

Jazz Connect & Winter Jazzfest. Were you there?

I just returned from the Jazz Connect Conference and Winter Jazzfest 2016 in New York, yesterday. I didn't take my laptop, knowing that there really wasn't going to be enough time to blog in between events. And it was one less thing to worry about.

There will be several recaps about the events and music, though. I'm doing a couple things for City Paper about it. And they will be linked here as they appear.

If you're a first time visitor to Shanleyonmusic, let me know you've stop by. Leave a comment!

Gotta go make some coffee now.

What David Bowie Means To Me

The whole interweb has been overloaded with David Bowie tributes over the last 36 hours, so I feel like I need to put out a few of my own.

WHAT DAVID BOWIE MEANS TO ME, FIVE EXAMPLES

1. On one Sunday night, when I was at my folks' house for dinner, my dad and I were talking about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductions. Pop was not a fan of the rock, to put it mildly. He was a Gerry Mulligan/Chet Baker-type of guy who dug lush harmonies and songs with bouncy riffs (see Bud Shank's "Shanks Pranks").

"Is David Bowie in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? I mean, he should be. I don't really care for his music, but he's done enough that he should be in there," Pop opined over a cocktail. I can't recall when this conversation took place, but the Thin White Duke was inducted in 1996, so it must have been a few years prior that we had the talk.

My wife also reminded me that during the days of MTV and "Let's Dance," my late father-in-law remembered Bowie as "that guy with two different colored eyes," which was followed by, "now HE can sing!" I doubt either of these gents were fully swayed by Bowie's duet with Bing Crosby - in fact, when that song resurfaced again in the '90s, it wouldn't have gotten caught in their draintraps - but that wouldn't have hurt him.

2. "'Heroes.'" Remember, the song has quotes around the title, so when citing it, you need to do a quote within a quote. The reason being, the protagonists in this song are not really heroes, they're tragic lovers. But they're savoring that last moment they can spend together, kissing and dreaming about how life would be, if only things were different. When you can feel that in the face of adversity, that is what love is all about. It's tragic. It rips your heart out. And you feel it when Bowie starts yelling the words. (The song doesn't loose any impact even when it's pointed out that it was inspired by a secret affair that Tony Visconti was having at the time.)

When that song came out on a single, the first two verses were edited out. That ruins the song. Yes, it ruins it. Strong words? Well, dig: it sets up the whole plot of the song. "I, I would be king/ and you, you would be queen...." He sounds so hopeful, wistful. The line "Cuz we're lovers," solidifies the story, putting a shadow of doubt on it since it follows lines about being mean and drinking all the time. Without that part, you don't have the set-up, and even though he repeats the first verse later when he yells, it doesn't register in the same way, tracing the hopeful-to-tragic arc. You need the whole six-minute song.

I've always believed that if you're going to cover a song, know it well. If you're going to rework it, that's fine, but work out, from the core of the song to your own statement. Lester Young used to learn the lyrics to every song he played, thinking that it would help inspire his improvisations on the saxophone. That is what I'm talking about.

When I heard the Wallflowers version of it, I thought the phoned-in quality was bad enough. Then I realized that they started from the opening line of the edited version. And it made me think, they didn't even bother to go back to the full-length version to learn it. It took one of the most heartwrenching songs about love and just chucked all the emotion out of it. But I'm not here to elevate someone by putting someone else down. I just - as you might have guessed - have a lot attached to that song.

3. In 1981, that pivotal year that I've mentioned often in this blog, I found semi-beat up copies of Hunky Dory, Station to Station and Young Americans in a free box at the Record Recycler, a Squirrel Hill shop where I was spending more and more time. I had also purchased Diamond Dogs earlier that year at a flea market. Heroes was purchased about six months later.

I was in 9th grade that fall and I was trying to catch up all the important music that was already out there - Velvet Underground, Bowie, Syd Barrett, Brian Eno, Captain Beefheart (though that took another year). The thing I remember about those albums - Hunky Dory especially - is that they came with the expectation of being something really significant and important - and they lived up to it. The distorted riff of "Queen Bitch," the way he shoots up the octave to sing, "SAIL-ors fighting in the dance hall," and then follows it up with a reference to the novelty song, "Alley Oop." That octave jump still makes me tear up. This stuff was brilliant. It was exciting and David was sharing the excitement with us.

4. Around 2000, there was a David Bowie tribute show staged at the late, great Beehive Theater here in Pittsburgh. It included a house band (organized by Dewey Gurall) with a slew of guest singers. One of the most memorable moments came when Ed Masley (Post-Gazette music critic and frontman of the Frampton Brothers) got up onstage wearing the Scary Monsters-Bowie clown suit. As an homage to Bowie's infamous Saturday Night Live performance, where he had to be carried offstage since his outfit immobilized him during one song, Ed was hoisted into the arms of my friend Mike Moran afterwards. A true mix of homage and parody. Also that night, Michael Kastelic, of the Cynics, sang the whole Ziggy Stardust  album (sans the cover of "It Ain't Easy") with the band, in playing order. It sounded awesome.

4. One of my dreams has always been to be the hired gun, who shows up when someone says, "We need a bass player that can learn some tunes on the fly. Who can do it?" A couple years after that Bowie show, I got to do just that.

It was Glam Rock Cabaret, produced at the Rex Theater by my dear friend Sheryl, who for years had staged New Wave Cabarets to coincide with her birthday. After playing three songs by my own band (it was the Mofones, but without our singer Sharon Spell, we defaulted back to the name of our previous band Mystery Date), I ended up getting asked to sub for the ailing bassist in another band. Mike Cunningham, would start the band Neighbors a few years later, walked me over to the piano in the lobby of the Rex and showed me the songs. One was "Rebel Rebel," one of my favorite Bowie tunes. By the time I got up onstage, I had forgotten the middle-8 change, but I knew the two-chord that made up 75% of the song. I whomped that riff within an inch of its life and it felt really good. At the end of the night, Sheryl fronted a group that played "All the Young Dudes," a song that Bowie penned for Mott the Hoople.

These are all pretty personal stories, and they probably say more about me than they do about David Bowie, when all is said and done. But none of it would have happened, and these people wouldn't have converged together without Mr. B. There have been plenty of legendary musicians that have united fans around the world through music. But Bowie's way of uniting us motivated us to come together in a way that embraced our diversity, our freakiness, our unique qualities. We're all weirder for it, and we should all thank him for that.

CD Review - Josh Berman - A Dance and a Hop

Josh Berman
A Dance and A Hop
(Delmark) www.delmark.com

A formidable challenge faces the horn player whose has only bass and drums to accompany them. The music could be spare. It could be completely interactive, with the roles of leader and rhythm section erased in favor of something more egalitarian. Or said horn player could play his posterior off and make you forget there could ever be any shortcomings to such a setting.

That's exactly what cornetist Josh Berman has done with A Dance and A Hop. Granted, his familiarity with bassist Jason Roebke and drummer Frank Rosaly runs deep, and they're with him every step of the way. But Berman really works out on his third disc as a leader, easing from composition to improvisation. The length of all 11 tracks stay in radio-friendly territory, so no one stretches out too far. But they also say more in four minutes that a lot of musicians do in thrice that time.

Berman has been a strong voice on the Chicago jazz scene for about 15 years. To mention just a few pieces of his c.v., he's played in the spontaneous Chicago Luzern Exchange, the revolving leadership ensemble Fast Citizens (both of which include Rosaly) and he has released two other vastly different albums as a leader on Delmark. Regarding the latter two, Old Idea (which it wasn't) featured original compositions played by a quintet, (read about it here). There Now reimagined '20s chestnuts like "I've Found a New Baby" and "Love Is Just Around the Corner."

Besides generating a bit of head scratching, There Now proved that Berman's scope went back further than, say, Don Cherry and Lester Bowie, and, as indicated by the album's liner notes, includes reverence for the smooth brass of the late Ruby Braff. He might not usually play in that romantic, lyrical territory but his knowledge has boosted his arsenal of sounds so that he constantly generates deep emotion, whether he's yowling or creating something a little more grounded. He always has a deep thought that he's ready to share.

In "Time/Trouble," he uses his prowess to slide wildly from squirts into solid notes, a deft way of blending extended technique and melody. "Today's Date"'s solo is all about shooting air through the bell, with some gassy sounds thrown in for good measure. It may be one of the album's more extreme tracks, but it follows a few songs that find him cutting a more straightforward path, with just a bit ruggedness thrown in along the way.  

While Berman seems fine in the spotlight, Roebke and Rosaly don't merely fade into the background either. The bassist's solid playing runs parallel to or bolsters the plucky brass tone, as needed. Rosaly frequently uses brushes, which in his hands have the same authority as sticks, providing a heavy backdrop during a bass solo in "Your Uncle" and ending ""Time/Trouble" with a might crash.

This album won some accolades at the end of the year (it came out in September), but it warrants a second look by anyone who hasn't heard it yet. Find it, and Berman's other two albums.

CD Review: Sonny Sharrock - Ask the Ages

Sonny Sharrock
Ask the Ages
(M.O.D. Technologies) www.mod-technologies.com

Sonny Sharrock's Ask the Ages was nothing short of a landmark when it was originally released in 1991. The lineup alone was enough to get people's attention. Drummer Elvin Jones was still playing regularly, though his Jazz Machine might not have had the gale-force power of his earlier work. By then, tenor saxophonist Pharoah Sanders' music had softened from his frenzied shrieks to levels that were a bit more standard at best, and slick at worst. Bassist Charnett Moffett (son of Ornette Coleman's associate Charles) had played with the Marsalises but could clearly rise to the occasion with these guys.

On top of that, there was the leader/guitarist, who had played in both commercial settings with people like Herbie Mann, and on wild free jazz sessions, the latter which he once brushed off in an interview, saying it was too self-indulgent. A year or two prior to this album, Sharrock appeared on one of the Live at the Knitting Factory compilations released by A&M, playing wild licks over funky backbeats, so anything was likely.

While Sharrock helped bring a rock feeling to the free improvisation in Last Exit (a group whose instrumentation was close to this one), Ask the Ages was a song-oriented album, and a strong one at that. Each track kicks off with a melody that tugs at the ear, from the tender "Who Does She Hope to Be" to the churning 6/8 groove of "Many Mansions" (which I swear Sharrock recorded with Byard Lancaster on his It's Not Up to Us album in 1966).

All-star sessions can often be a crapshoot, but everyone came to session ready to live up to the reputation associated with them. Jones constantly adds spark, not to mention a number of his thunderous pressrolls. Sanders emits some wild shrieks and also thrives during the more balanced sections of the tunes, switching to soprano on a few tracks. Moffatt gets a few solo moments, but mostly provides the solid foundation that enables the rest of the crew to lift off.

1991 was a transitional year for music, since Nirvana broke down the Billboard barriers for punk rock. On the jazz front, the CD reissue industry was letting us college radio kids discover the wealth of music that originally came out on Blue Note and Impulse! Then, with Ask the Ages, here was a group of veterans pointing ahead to the future of jazz, in a way that also appealed to our indie rock/hard rock sensibilities.

Sharrock would only live three more years, dying suddenly of a heart attack at age 53. This album was a defining moment in a short but diverse career, and is arguably the strongest rock-jazz album since Tony Williams Lifetime's Turn It Over album from the late '60s. While that album was a product of its time and bares a certain amount of chaos to it, Ask the Ages comes across with a clear focus and sounds as powerful today as it did a quarter century ago.

Stuff You Might Have Missed: Jen Shyu, Chris Kelsey/Lewis Porter, Darts & Arrows

One of the reasons that it takes me a while to post album reviews stems from the rather obsessive way that I feel like I need to really know an album inside-out, up and down, before writing about it. As a result I have to listen to things numerous times, with close attention, which doesn't come easy to me. Add to that a pile of discs which grows exponentially before I can review but one, stir in my listening dilemma ("Hmmm, what should it be today? This? No. Maybe that. No, I think if I give this another listen maybe I'll stick to me.") and you see why I'm neurotic

Now that 2015 is over, and all the Critic's Lists have been out for a couple weeks, I have decided to double back and talk briefly about a couple albums that you might have missed over the past 12 months and should be reexamined. 

Jen Shyu & Jade Tongue
Sounds and Cries of the World
(Pi) www.pirecordings.com

It was a good year for Pi, in terms of their releases. New albums by Henry Threadgill and Steve Coleman have been heralded in year-end polls, and rightly so because they both released fascinating and challenging music. Pianist Matt Mitchell also released a double-disc album, which is nothing like the hot mess of his 2013 Pi debut. It does, however, evoke his current bandleader Tim Berne, in terms of composition and because it features Chris Speed, who played tenor and clarinet in Berne's Bloodcount group. And then there's vocalist Jen Shyu, who returns to Pi after four-year hiatus, following an album of duets with bassist Mark Dresser.

Full disclosure- I'm not big on jazz vocalists. Sure the legends are fine, but hand me an album with a current artist doing "My Funny Valentine" or anything associated with Frank Sinatra, and watch my enthusiasm wane. (I was quite disappointed to find out that the mediocre version of the mediocre Paul McCartney song "Bluebird," which I kept hearing at my old job, was recorded by a highly regarded jazz vocalist. Why spend time on such a lackluster song, and why soften the "b"s on the title to make it sound like "voo-vird"? It ain't sexy. At least when it's piped into a store.) At the other end of the jazz spectrum, I'm not really into vocalists who try to use their voice like a free jazz instrument either. It reminds me of annoying kids at the cafeteria table during junior high. Or bad Tourette's Syndrome imitations.

But Jen Shyu continues to rise above any vocal pitfalls. She frequently uses her voice like an instrument without the need for sibilant noises or warbles. Her delivery is fueled by passion for her material. Even when she sings in a non-English language, it's not necessary to understand the words to be won over by the performance.

Sounds and Cries of the World nevertheless makes for a challenging listen in terms of both compositional background and delivery. The lyrics come in English, Korean, Indonesian, Javanese and Tetum. All are printed in an accompanying book, with contextual information and translations. Half the album's tracks comes from a performance piece Solo Rites: Seven Breaths and most of the album's most intense moments are found there. Shyu accompanies herself on stringed instruments from Taiwan, Korea and Java.

On other tracks she's accompanied by Ambrose Akinmusire (trumpet), Mat Maneri (viola), Thomas Morgan (bass) and Dan Weiss (drums). Much of it sounds loose and free, some almost blending together. But the interactions of the musicians, and the source material, gives the album its strength. Shyu occasionally goes into some upper register trills that some have compared to that Canadian-born folksinger that wrote "Woodstock" (another roadblock for me) but that's more of a generalization than a direct comparison. Shyu's performance is really unprecedented, going beyond easy categories and - with the closing "Thoughts of Light and Freedom" - reaches an intensity level that can't be contained.

Chris Kelsey/Lewis Porter

Free: Kelsey/Porter Duo Plays Ornette, Vol. 1

(Tzazz Krytyk) wwwchriskelsey.com

Saxophonist Chris Kelsey was putting the finishing touches on this album of Ornette Coleman tunes, recorded with pianist Lewis Porter, when the legendary harmolodic progenitor passed away. So don't accuse Kelsey of jumping on the bandwagon. 

The idea of piano in an Ornette song is still something of a rarity these days, or at least worthy of a raised eyebrow. (Geri Allen played on his Sound Museum discs, breaking a moratorium of over 30 years since Walter Norris played on Something Else!!). But Lewis Porter knew him personally so if anyone else should have an appreciation for the way this music transfers to the piano, it should be him. 

Kelsey plays a straight alto saxophone on this session, which has a bit of a gruff tone. At times he sounds close to growling through his instrument, peeling off lines that are much more rapid than those of Ornette. Porter's melodic choices prove interesting as well. In "Free," he starts to play a walking bassline for just a few bars, as if to test the waters, or to see if his co-conspirator is paying attention. It's a clever move that vanishes as quickly as it appears, and this type of camaraderie runs through the album. The two of them get a little turbulent on "Harlem's Manhanttan," touch on more serious blues in "Airborne" and sound like they're having a genuine discussion on "Forerunner."

Free features a number of Coleman tunes that dig into the deeper reaches of his discography. A strong work on its own (which I'm sure the honoree would've dug), it also makes you want to rediscover the originals. (Incidentally, this disc came out around the same time as Duets NYC Woodstock, an album of free improvisations by Kelsey [on soprano sax] and guitarist Dom Minasi, 

Darts & Arrows
Altamira
(ears&eyes) earsandeyesrecords.com

Guitarist Bill MacKay grew up in Pittsburgh, but we never crossed paths, as far as I can recall. But I wish I had heard him. As the leader of Chicago's Darts & Arrows, he too isn't settling easily into a specific style of music. Instead, his work has a pensive beauty that brings a little bit of jazz harmonies together with an execution that is similar to composers like Jeremy Udden or Wayne Horvitz (at least on his last album), evoking the wide-open plains of America and the suspense that comes when surveying it.

If that sounds convoluted, drop everything and find "Evergreen," the opening track on Altamira. The lonely chords of the song sound like the riff to "Hey Joe" spilled on the floor in arhythmical groupings. It has a yearning quality, bolstered by the addition of Nick Mazzarella's alto and Renee Baker's viola to the D&A quartet (which features keyboardist Ben Boye, bassist Kyle Hernanadez and drummer Quin Kirchner). Over the past couple of months, I couldn't get enough of this song.

As the disc moves on, the Dirty Three's style of delivery comes to mind, with mid-tempos and suspense built into dynamic shifts. But MacKay isn't one to beat out one riff ad nauseum. These songs move and breathe freely. "The Well-Wishers," originally a string quartet piece that MacKay composed for one of Baker's projects, has some of the same dark suspense to it. "Look Out" also goes in a rollicking direction of Ask the Ages-era Sonny Sharrock.

Anytime you come back to visit, Bill, let me know.

And The Year Winds Down...

Playing right now: the live disc of the 2002 edition of A Love Supreme. I'm thinking of drinking the Kool Aid on the new edition and getting it - bringing my number of copies of the original album up to four - because I got some nice Christmas money and because of the bonus sextet tracks.

So it's the last day of the year. Where the hell have I been? Where has the time gone? Christmas Day would have been a perfect day to sit at the laptop and just blog away. But I think I gave myself the day off. No - I know I did. Also, the start of this week had a different assignment due each day: a feature for JazzTimes on Nate Wooley, a set of CD reviews for them and a piece for City Paper about the new CD-EP by City Steps. I spent what little free time I had listening to those CDs, transcribing my talk with Nate, eating, working (I got a lot of hours last week), getting a little under the weather, trying to roll with it and then travelling out of town.

One of the musical highlights since the last post was seeing the "ChrisParkermas" show at the Thunderbird during the weekly Space Exchange series on Tuesday. That night gets its name from the fact that guitarist Chris Parker (a curator emeritus of the series) was born on Christmas Day. Years ago, bassist Paul Thompson did a spot-on Bob Dorough imitation in "Nothing Like You," during a night of Miles Davis music. Each year I think it'd be great if he did the Dorough/Miles holiday song "Blue Xmas (To Whom It May Concern" but I never think to suggest it until it's too late.

This year, I suggested it early enough and Paul sang it with the band at ChrisParkerMas. I don't know about anyone else, but I thought it was hilarious. Plus, that song has a number of tricky stops and tempo shifts, which the band figured out and played perfectly. The rest of the evening featured other holiday fare and Chris also had great arrangements for a bunch of chestnuts, including "Sleigh Ride" (one of my faves) and "Little Drummer Boy," (not one of my faves but it sounded awesome that night, due in no small part to Dave Throckmorton).

Tomorrow, my head willing, I think I'll get up and do quick posts about a few albums that might have flown under the radar and didn't make any Best-of lists. In the meantime, if you want to see my list of favorite jazz albums of the past year, check out the NPR jazz critic list here. There's a spot for individual lists too if you scroll down and follow a link.

Billy Harper in Pittsburgh

This past Saturday at the New Hazlett Theater, Billy Harper's Sextet put on one of the best jazz shows in a year that's been full of a lot of them. (Click here to read my preview at City Paper.) Harper played like a keeper of the Coltrane flame, with a fiery tone that can't be ignored and an exploratory nature that kept taking the energy down new avenues. And because of the latter quality, he was clearly doing more than paying tribute to his mighty peer. (Harper landed in New York in 1966, so he can be considered a contemporary of Trane.)

"Illumination" kicked off the evening and proved this was no ordinary show. The stop-start theme of the song sounded tense and edgy with the whole band playing it rigidly. It created suspense, waiting for the rhythm to kick in. When it did, Harper was ready to put off some heat. Trumpeter Freddie Hendrix did the same, playing a call and response with himself during a solo.

Unfortunately the sound mix preferred Aaron Scott's cymbals over the piano of Harper's longtime bandmate Francesca Tanksley, so the wild accents overshadowed a lot of her playing. It took a few songs for the balance to be reached. Alto saxophonist Jaleel Shaw didn't fare as well. His solos could be heard for the most part, but it was hard to really feel them throughout the evening.

But magically, the so-so mix didn't diminish the impact of the sextet's performance. Harper spoke during our interview about the healing power of music, and while I might not have been in need of healing per se, there was definitely a moving quality to the band. "This is what happens when you have a good audience," Harper said.

Some of the tunes are things he's recorded and returned to on a few albums, but they all felt new that night: the massive "Thy Will Be Done," which closed the first set; "Africa Revisited," the groove-heavy piece that featured poetry by Amiri Baraka when it was released a few years ago on Blueprints of Jazz; and "Harper's Funny Val" (at least that's what it sounded like he called it) took the old warhorse "My Funny Valentine," slowed it down and made it more spiritual. These were just a few of the high points.

30 years ago, the Shadyside Balcony - a landmark on Walnut Street during the '80s and '90s as an eatery and a place to hear jazz - presented a concert series that included shows by the World Saxophone Quartet, James "Blood" Ulmer and Archie Shepp. I was there for those shows because my brother worked at the Balcony, and its sister restaurant Hot Licks, which was located downstairs. I didn't know until last Saturday that the first of these performances (which were produced by a production company called Kokopelli) was none other than Billy Harper, who was touring as Black Saint at the time. That was the name of one of his albums, which was the first record released by the Italian label Black Saint. The picture on the label of all their records is Billy Harper, by the way.

I wish I had been at that show back then and I can't understand how it flew under my radar. Who knows what kind of impact his set might have had on me then? Nevertheless I did see him last week and for that I'm glad.

CD Reviews: Tom Rainey Trio- Hotel Grief and Ingrid Laubrock - Ubatuba

Tom Rainey Trio

Hotel Grief 

(Intakt) www.intaktrec.ch

Ingrid Laubrock

Ubatuba

(Firehouse 12) www.firehouse12records.com

2015 has been a fruitful year for the Intakt label. While the CD industry is considered dead in this country, this Swiss label has cranked out a number of releases this year, all valuing artistic statement over commercial potential. Piano/drums duo performances by Marilyn Crispell & Gerry Hemingway and Irene Schweizer & Han Bennink; the duo of Mary Halvorson and Stephan Crump (known as Secret Keeper); as well as a blistering free improv romp by Katharina Weber (piano) Fred Frith (guitar) and Fredy Studer (drums): these are just some of the discs that washed up on our shores. 

Tenor saxophonist Ingrid Laubrock has also shown up a few times on Intakt in 2015, together with a circle of friends. Roulette of the Cradle was released last spring by her group Anti-House, which included Halvorson and drummer Tom Rainey. The more recent Hotel Grief album credits Rainey's name first on the cover, but Laubrock and Halvorson are both listed in the same point size, giving them equal star value. (This is actually the second Rainey trio disc on Intakt. The group has toured quite a bit and Rainey and Laubrock have also toured as a duo. And - just for the sake of completion, not a comment on the performance - it should be noted that the latter two are married too.)

This egalitarian layout reflects the music, which comes from a totally improvised performance at the Cornelia Street Cafe in New York. No one calls the shots. One improvised section morphs into another, with Rainey's drums alternately providing shape to Laubrock's tenor lines or attempting to chop them up. Halvorson strums some mangled clusters of notes, or plucks away as her instrument sounds like it's melting. During one section of "Proud Achievements in Botany" she strums passionately and suddenly turns the volume pedal down, so all that's heard is the unamplified sound of plectrum on strings, captured by ambient mics. 

Although this is definitely free music, in terms of meter and melody, the comfort level and understanding between these three players makes the album sound as if at least some of it could have been composed or predetermined in some way. Three of the five tracks last between 13 and 18 minutes, which allows them all plenty of time to explore the space (and giving Laubrock the chance to switch to soprano sax on one of them). There are moments on the album that resemble a Tim Berne session, where one musician starts on a different path while the rest of the band backs away at first, allowing the piece to take on a different shape or sound. The musicians are highly engaged in conversation on this album and it's easy to feel that from the listener's standpoint.

Ubatuba features Laubrock (this time playing alto as well as tenor) and Rainey, together with Tim Berne (alto), Ben Gerstein (trombone) and Dan Peck (tuba). When Laubrock composed the material for the session, she wrote on the saxophone rather than the piano. This approach lends a starkness to some of the music, creating suspense as sounds layer over one another. 

"Any Breathing Organism" opens the album with the horns blowing low, long tones ever so softly, the sound of air nearly taking on as much significance as the clashes of notes. In the second half of the piece, Berne adds an animated solo to the backdrop but it never moves beyond the slow drone, so the suspense isn't completely dispelled.

The next track, "Homo Diluvi," begins with the horns playing warmer harmonies. The melody of this one moves in parallel lines, though the voicings stay pretty edgy and tense. After a wild alto solo, the track climaxes with a wall of high, shrill notes. This blast is nothing compared to the opening of "Any Many," in which each player coaxes the most rabid sounds out of their instrument, from somewhat flatulent tuba pops to saxophone growls. Laubrock, however, has more in mind that just the abrasives. Before the track ends, the quintet has dabbled in a more focused group improvisation and then a set of countermelodies that spill over one another and still maintain focus. All this, from one of Ubatuba's shorter tracks. 

Laubrock uses silence or open space in many of these tracks, which on the first few listens can be off-putting. "Any Breathing Organism" and "Any Many" have pregnant pauses galore. Then the final track "Hypnic Jerk" [sic] in fact sounds very much like it's over after seven minutes, when it's actually just reached the midway point. Laubrock begins with a pointed an alto solo backed by tuba and drums that gradually bring in the rest of the band.  Berne offers another solo, then things pull back, as Gerstein and Peck play softly off in the distance while Rainey taps on his rims and cymbals.  The dynamics rise back up, but things end with a twist: a fade-out on the drums. 

Ubatuba at times recalls the idiosyncratic compositions on some Art Ensemble of Chicago albums. (The opening track especially evokes Roscoe Mitchell's "Tnoona.") But the similarity seems more coincidental or it works more like a quick acknowledgement as she heads down her own path. While parts of the album don't come off as strongly, as a whole, she has created an interesting work with a strong band to elevate it. Also, her own solo on "Hiccups," backed only by Rainey, stands as one of the highlights and an example of the vision and energy from Hotel Grief working its way into a composed set. 

Two Sides to Every Story or My Last Reference to my John Lydon Interview

My entire interview with John Lydon, complete with the sound effects (in parenthesis, of course) just went up on Blurt's website this week. You can find it here, along with some words about the Pittsburgh show, and some links to videos. 

CD Review: Ben Monder - Amorphae

Thanksgiving, a story about Tim Berne and Steve Byram's book (for JazzTimes), a story for City Paper to preview Billy Harper's show next week, getting a cold, drinking to make the cold go away (it worked!), not to mention the fact that I'm actually going to be working again (albeit part-time) starting tomorrow... the preparations and anxieties all kept me from blogging lately. But this album has been stuck in my drain trap lately....

Ben Monder
Amorphae
(ECM) www.ecmrecords.com

I once saw Ben Monder play guitar with the Maria Schneider Orchestra and was struck by the fact that he was playing at a low volume, yet the sound produced by his guitar sounded really full, as if he was playing it a lot louder. Maybe it could be called visceral understatement. It was intense without rattling the skull, or disrupting the flow of Schneider's large ensemble.

For that reason, he fits naturally with Paul Motian's loose-limbed approach to the drums wherein a minimum of wrist action can have an overwhelming effect. Two of the eight tracks on Amorphae come from a duo session the guitarist and drummer made in 2010, a year before Motian died. The rest of the album pairs Monder up with drummer Andrew Cyrille on four tracks, two of which add Pete Rende on synthesizer, and two other tracks feature Monder on his own.

Thematically, it flows together, with smooth transitions between tracks. Sonically, it feels less like an album affiliated with jazz than one aligned with space rock, in particular one that could be heard on the label Kranky. (This similarity has cropped up with a few other albums that have come out this year.) Melodies exist here, carved out of chords that ring out for measure upon measure, if it's even worth counting bar lines. Often, the sound of fingers or plectrum on strings isn't heard, just the sustained tone that results from this kind of attack. The tracks with Rende really move into the atmospherics because the wide, reverberating sound alludes to tones bouncing through an intergalactic sky. Cyrille is here, gently tapping in the background, acting as the cable that keeps you attached to the ground. It's loose and slow-moving, but it's also gorgeous.

Of the Motian tunes, "Oh What A Beautiful Morning" opens with a loud powerchord, a wake-up call after Monder's Frisellian solo "Tendrils." Like "Zythum," the second of the trio pieces, it slowly unfolds, giving the song from Oklahoma a brand new coat of paint, before building to a roaring climax, literally: Monder builds up a layer of chords and shrieks which sound like a lear jet, with some bass notes that overload and threaten the speakers. While it's close to space rock, none of that kind music has ever been this expansive and lush.

"Triffids," the other track with Motian, is slightly more conventional, sounds a little closer to the drummer's work with guitarist Bill Frisell. Despite its brevity (less than three minutes) it offers a good deal of shifting dynamics and attacks to the fretboard. If only it was longer.

Monder has a habit of plucking sounds and letting them just hang in the air until they decay. Non-guitar playing listeners might find it tedious. But he creates suspense with his melodies and laconic phrasing, making it hard to turn the ears away from it, even when he might be noodling.

Public Image Ltd in Pittsburgh

Playing right now: John Coltrane/Wilbur Harden - Countdown, The Savoy Sessions
(I have one of the Coltrane/Harden albums but I always forget which one it is when I see others in the store. Luckily I knew it wasn't this one, which I recently picked up. It's okay, post-Monk 'Trane, but he's still figuring out his vision.)

When the Cowardly Lion sings "If I Were King of the Forest" in The Wizard of Oz, actor Bert Lahr chews up the scenery for humor's sake, but it's clear that he has a pretty strong set of pipes.

That thought raced through my mind on Thursday night while watching John Lydon onstage. He really lives his words as he's onstage, his voice rising and falling in octaves as he goes. He frequently let out a high yelp that, in all honesty, sounded like Jon King's call to arms in Gang of Four's "To Hell With Poverty," which had me wondering who emulated who. After over an hour and a half of this, it's clear that the former Johnny Rotten has a strong set of pipes. And he can get an audience to rise up and obey his command. But he's also a ham, with a dark sense of humor.

"Religion," the scathing condemnation of the church (or as he once stated, the people who have corrupted it) took on a greater meaning in the desanctified church turned nightclub Altar Bar. He began and ended by chanting, "Here come the priests," which gets a little creepy if you try too hard to interpret it. He dropped his voice to a low growl as he went on: "Why should I call you Father? You're not my daddy." Later he yelled, "Turn up the bass," and my nasal passages will tell you that the soundman definitely obliged.

Of course, Lydon was slated to play King Herod in a touring production of Jesus Christ Superstar and you can't pull that off with just a dramatic sneer. Who knows, perhaps he has actually taken some voice training to give his vocal chords more stamina.

Dressed like either an old-school convict or a fellow who just rolled out of bed, still in his PJs, Lydon greeted us with his usual candor: "I have diarrhea. I hope the Imodium works. Bare with me." If he was telling the truth, it didn't show in his performance. He jumped around, used his trademark vibrato (by both shaking his whole head and occasionally tugging on his Adam's apple) and poured everything into the words, which must've have been what was on the music stand in front of him. 

Lydon swears he never panders, and he's right. Though it was a little funny seeing him milk the audience for applause a few times. doing the hand gesture normally see by arena rock bigshots who need to hear the love. Of course maybe he is a bigshot of a different sort. 

Lydon chafed when a friend at the Post-Gazette compared the sound of new PiL album What the World Needs Now... to older PiL albums, but the current lineup does work with that approach. Simon Firth rattled the building's foundation with his bass lines, even without the volume boost in "Religion." Lu Edmonds' guitar, by contrast, was high and trebly, with a bit of chorus, not at all unlike Keith Levene. Drummer Bruce Smith started out playing with punk-jazz bands the Pop Group and Rip, Rig and Panic so he could have very easily built on the grooves, but his timing keeping almost resembled Nick Mason most of the evening, albeit with a little more swing and some subtle dub coloring at certain points.

The evening drew heavily from the new album, but there were a couple old favorites thrown in. Metal Box was represented by "Death Disco" (or "Swan Lake" as it's called on the album). As Lydon told me, it did sound a little stronger than the original version, but it added a breakdown that sounded a little slick as well. "This Is Not a Love Song," from the post-Levene '80s era, also showed up. 

The band was tight and Lydon was fun, but somewhere past the 60-minute mark, they got stuck in mid-tempo territory and even those "ah-ah-OWWW" whoops started to blend together. The newer songs have more verse/chorus structures so there are breaks in them, but we needed a boost. Luckily it came with "Religion." 

For encores, they returned with two songs that I had forgotten about until then. (All that bass made me fuzzy. It was the first time in ages that I wore earplugs that protect from the low end). They blasted into their first single, "Public Image," with Lydon flipping lines in the chorus (the "monopoly" and "property" parts) but this was the money shot, I realized. After all these years of listening to that song at home, I was hearing it live and it sounded awesome.

I hadn't thought about "Rise," which was probably the first exposure to Lydon for most people my age, but that followed, amidst huge cheers. Now, thanks to his new book, we understand that "Anger is an energy" is more than just a slogan, so hearing that live too, was something of a thrill.

Having given us a farewell blessing, and politely introducing his bandmates, Mr. L took off into the night.

CD Review: David S. Ware/ Apogee - Birth of a Being

David S. Ware/Apogee
Birth of a Being
(AUM Fidelity) www.aumfidelity.com

Birth of a Being was originally issued in 1979 by hat Hut Records, making it David S. Ware's first release as a leader. Apogee, however, was originally conceived as a collective trio, with pianist Cooper-Moore and drummer Marc Edwards, who all crossed paths at the Berklee School (now College) of Music in the late '60s, all interested in playing free music. While much of the music indeed sounds like group improvisation, Ware comes across as the leader. With one exception, Cooper-Moore and Edwards don't play unless Ware is playing, and the tenor saxophonist never stops. What's most interesting about the album - which now includes a second disc of previously unreleased material - relates to the focus in Ware's performance. The assuredness he displayed up until his death in 2012 was already in place in 1977, when these recordings were made.

Ware and Edwards had joined Cecil Taylor's group prior to these recordings, which actually served as more of a reunion of Apogee. After playing throughout Boston and relocating to New York (where they opened for Ware's former teacher Sonny Rollins), the trio concept was put on hold, and Cooper-Moore had moved back to Virginia, where he began a long career of making his own instruments. Back together in the studio, the group reignites the fires that got them started nearly a decade earlier.

Considering it that way, it's easy to hear the joy these three friends felt. Edwards sounds especially vicious, frequently pounding away in a machine-gun-style attack. Cooper-Moore straddles Taylor-esque runs on the piano, but lets a melodic sense run through as well.

Ware sounds especially enthralling because, while his vocabulary is set, he spends a little more time on the ground, rather than just lifting off into the stratosphere. The best example actually comes at the end of disc two in "Solo," nearly seven minutes of exploration on a theme that reveals his kinship to Rollins.

But the first piece to greet listeners is "Prayer," a gorgeous testimony of all that would come in his lifetime. Cooper-Moore plays the sanctified rubato chords, as Ware builds from the throaty theme to sanctification. Disc two contains an alternate take of the tune, well worth it since the saxophonist always excelled when he started with a structure and gradually pulled away from its gravitational force. (Memories of "Aquarian Sound," on 1992's Flight of i, my introduction to Ware's oeuvre.) Even as the group spends a good deal of time blowing freely, some sort of melodic base runs through the tracks, usually a melody line from Ware, which belts out in his authoritative tone.

"Stop Start" plays on the jazz tradition tradition of "trading fours," though in this case, the musicians aren't limited to four bars in which to strut their stuff. Each member takes turns in an unrestricted solo space, before they come together and Ware signs off. He and Cooper-Moore would revisit this idea years later on Planetary Unknown with bassist William Parker and drummer Muhammad Ali. Cooper-Moore also gets a solo track with the newly discovered "Ain't Nobody Going to Turn Me Around, listed on the cover as "Ashimba," the name given to a marimba the musician built himself.

More than just a bookend in the David S. Ware discography, Birth of a Being introduces a musician who apparently knew what lay in his future before he was even a teenager. It's mandatory listening not just for fans of the tenor saxophonist but for anyone interested in the trajectory of '70s free/loft jazz.

CD Review: Hugo Carvalhais - Grand Valis

Hugo Carvalhais
Grand Valis
(Clean Feed) www.cleanfeed-records.com

If  "Anamnesis" has been played by an acoustic bass, saxophone and piano, it could be appropriate to consider it a new strain of free jazz. However the track - number four on the latest from upright bassist Hugo Carvalhais - features the leader's instrument together with violin and a pipe organ, or at the very least a type of organ that sounds very close to the type heard in churches and classical recital halls. Under the hands of Gabriel Pinto, the instrument isn't weighed down. On this track, it plays a short unison line worthy of an AACM composer, before all three musicians start a three-way conversation, violinist Dominique Pifarely doing most of the talking. A bit of static pops up quickly, sounding like the disc is skipping. We have been tricked again. It's the fourth member of the group, Jeremiah Cymerman, who receives credit for "electronic manipulation," which frequently gives the music the dimension implied by the image on the front cover.

This sound epitomizes Grand Valis, which affects a midnight dream sequence in a cathedral or the wild experiments of a chamber group cutting loose while their director is out of the room. Pinto's instruments frame the mood of the music since they sound so odd in a setting where tempos run free. But they also provide a tranquil backdrop that feels relaxing and ultimately makes you shift your focus to the playing of Carvalhais and Pifarely. Pinto's rapid opening salvo on "Logos" is one of the most intriguing blends of timbre and melody that I've heard this year, especially in light of what follows: spastic violin bowing and a bass that walks rapidly - in elliptical patterns. But Carvalhais isn't done yet. For the final two minutes he slows down to a steady four-to-the-bar progression, like some mutant prog-like idea that frames an organ solo.

As Pifarely wildly leads the way in "Decoding Maya," Pinto eventually settles into a odd-metered but steady line. "Amigdala Waves" features chimes that sound like mutant music boxes or marimba playing in reverse (Carvalhais is credited with "electronics" on this track, which are likely the source). Carvalhais uses his bow in a few places, but he plays arco most of the time, producing a rich wooden tone that links the music back to jazz. One particular lick, where plucks all four strings, evokes Charlie Haden. Although sounds move amorphously, all but one of the 10 tracks are less than six minutes long, which gives everything a sense of direction.

The album's title comes from Philip K. Dick's Valis and the album supposedly serves as a "meditation suite upon the world." In keeping with that, the elements that come together in the music can make one contemplate the vast expanse of the universe.