Quasi Came Back to Pittsburgh

Quasi hasn't been to Pittsburgh in about 20 years. I forget the exact year but it very likely might have been 2003. What I do remember is that I had been waiting to see them live since first hearing them in the late '90s and on the night that they finally made it town (aside from an appearance at the hard-to-get-to amphitheatre outside town), I was playing a show that same night. After finishing our set, I hightailed over the hills and through a tunnel, managing to catch about three songs. One was an encore of the Who's "Amazing Journey." I was not about to miss another opportunity to catch them. My wish finally came true this past Tuesday night at Club Cafe. (As a sidenote, Quasi's Sam Coomes had been to Pittsburgh just a few months prior as a member of Jon Spencer and the HITmakers.) 

Bat Fangs opened the show, having been Quasi's tourmates for a few weeks, with Pittsburgh being their final night together. The trio (duo on record) describes themselves as "picking up where Roky [Erickson] and the Aliens left out - cranking acid-soaked '80s hard rock." Roky might not have been the first person that springs to mind but the band played a solid set of distorted pop that was full of layers. 

Guitarist Betsy Wright churned out chords while singing but she kick on the pedals during verses and unleashed some spot-on leads. She even did some hammering during one solo that wasn't ironic or cheesy; it elevated the song. One song later in the set inspired a howling, deep blue lead break which served as a reminder that she was playing a Gibson SG - perfect for this brand of rock.

Her bandmates also helped lift the songs. Drummer Laura King flew over her kit as if she had eight arms and she still found ample time for strong harmonies. Bassist Chrissy Tashjian, who is also in the band Thin Lips, also contributed a great deal to the strong vocal hooks, along with some solid low-end foundation. 

There was a time that Sam Coomes' lyrical outlook started to feel a little too bleak to these ears, and the comic feel of his work with the awesome Donner Party seemed to be gone. It reached a boiling point on When The Going Gets Dark (2006) in a song where listed the names of members of the then-current administration, following each name with "fuck you." 

Nowadays, Coomes still seems bleak, but the world around him has justified such feelings and the insight in his lyrics almost acts like a relief, letting the listener know that they're not alone in the muck and mire. The band's recent album, Breaking the Ball of History (if you think about it, it's not a bad idea) comes chockful of astute observations about social media, the moguls who control it and life in general. 

Quasi is still a duo - Coomes on one side of the stage with his Roxichord, or some variation thereof, and Janet Weiss (the founding drummer of Sleater-Kinney) on stage left. Put them together and their still make a powerfully loud noise and they can sustain it for upwards of 75 minutes, going from one song into the next with no break for nearly half of the set. 

The power of the music frequently inspired Coomes to lift off of his stool while he was holding down a chord. Occasionally his right knee wound up on the keys, adding a noisy drone. Half the time, he seemed to be tempting fate by shaking his instrument with the amount of force he used to strike the keys. Though it shook, it never teetered off the stand. On top of the keyboard sat some sort of red device (see the first picture) that worked like both a theremin and a Drum Buddy, the noisy instrument created by another eccentric keys man, Quintron. A hand above the device added some electronic yowls. His bank of pedals also added some disemboided tremolo guitar noise during "Queen of Ears."

Janet Weiss in action is a sight to behold. Her propulsive playing never gets excessive, but it drives the music with the perfect amount of fury. At one point during the set, she and Coomes went off into what almost sounded like a duel between Cecil Taylor and John Bonham, with a little Sun Ra thrown in. Weiss flew all over her kit, eventually leading the duo back from space into "The Rhino."

In spite of all the heaviness, Quasi is still a pop band underneath it all. Coomes knows how to write the hooks and even while she's flailing away, Weiss still has time and energy for spot-on harmonies. A band that can write a song called "Shitty Is Pretty" that leaves you humming it hours later has something going for them. The set naturally leaned heavily on the new album, kicking off with "Last Long Laugh" (with the beautiful opening line, "I was a teenage porcupine/ a bed of nails running down my spine"). "Gravity" and the observant "Doomscrollers" were also highlights on the evening. 

But they duo also pulled out some songs that went back to the late '90s albums with "California," (which required a re-start) "Under a Cloud" and the jaded "All the Same," which was anything but. Since they came this far for the first time in a while, it probably wouldn't have been a full night without a song like "You Fucked Yourself." 

Towards the end of the set, Coomes said he hoped the audience was experiencing a meltdown,  not in a bad way but more of a "psychedelic meltdown." He then apologized for his communication skills. "They're not terrible. They're more on the absurd side." He went on to say how the band usually doesn't do encores anymore, but as he tried to explain themselves, Weiss said, "We might as well just play an encore now." Whether or not the proper set was done by then, they gave us another five or six songs to make sure we had our fill. 

Everyone left happy.

The Steve Nelson Quartet Hit Pittsburgh

The wind was fierce last Saturday, March 25. Throughout Pittsburgh, garbage cans tumbled over. Stray tree branches came down. Leaves in old dirty piles blew in circles, fascinating my cat. 

That evening, right as Gail Austin of Kente Arts Alliance was getting ready to introduce Steve Nelson, the lights in the New Hazlett Theater went out. Luckily, no one panicked and the back-up generator kicked in after less than a minute so the evening continued.

Vibraphonist Steve Nelson hails from these parts, Wilkinsburg specifically. Dr. Nelson Harrison -  the esteemed local trombonist, educator and historian of Pittsburgh jazz - recalled hearing about him when the vibes player was only 16 years old. "He is the representation of the Pittsburgh jazz legacy," the great doctor said.

Nelson's quartet included Rick Germanson (piano), Kiyoshi Kitagawa (bass) and Charles Goold (drums). Although he has proven himself adept at playing in Dave Holland's unusual time signatures, Nelson's quartet kept it straight and swinging on Saturday, mixing originals in with some well-trod standards. But even the old familiar works still had plenty of inspiration to mine. 

Opening with "Surrey With The Fringe On Top," Nelson was already taking liberties before the opening theme was complete. Germanson blended single-note lines with groovy chords in this one while Kitagawa dug into some singing melodies on the bass. His original "Song for Tina" had some drive to it, as did "A Path That We Are Searching On," which was marked by stops and accents that helped inspire Germanson to get a bit aggressive on the piano. 

Throughout both sets - which each seemed to go beyond the originally described 45-minute length (not that anyone cared) - Nelson displayed a melodic sense that could happen at rapid or subdued tempos, which he combined with the sense of knowing when to simply let the bars of the vibes ring for a moment. His instrument is one that can become a little overbearing or maudlin in the wrong hands, but he manipulated the sustain pedal for variety, to the extent that he had to tighten the pedal during the second set, as it had come loose. Nelson also avoided any instance of the heavy vibrato that can turn the instrument into a lounge act.

Set number two started on familiar ground but not before Nelson delivered an unaccompanied interlude. The transition from that flowing opening to "Lady Be Good" recalled the same way Errol Garner often gave a number an improvised opening flourish before getting to the head. He occasionally pulled out a third mallet to add some harmony in the right hand, often while the other players soloed. For "Body And Soul," he brought out a fourth one, which he used to create a rich sound. A few tunes later, Kitagawa and Goold (on brushes) made sure that "Embraceable You" maintained a drive rather than simply becoming a sentimental reflection. 

There were instances where it felt like Germanson might have been quoting a little too often from jazz classics during his solos, but his use of insertion can't be dismissed. Kitagawa and Goold both proved to be solid rhythm section mates, with a sharp skill at holding back or pushing forward as needed. Dr. Harrison mentioned in his opening remarks about seeing live streams of this band playing in New York  and when they hit, it was clear the rapport was there with all four of them during both sets. 

Thank God the power stayed on.

Pitt Jazz Composers Concert - A Recap

If last Friday night's double bill of the James Brandon Lewis Trio and the Messthetics (see previous post) wasn't enough to satiate people for a few days, the weekend offered a wealth of other shows in town too. Terri Lyne Carrington and Social Science came to town on Saturday to the Pittsburgh Playhouse. Guitarist/vocalist Camila Meza performed the following evening at City of Asylum.

Sandwiched between both of those shows were two matinee performances within a few blocks of each other. Pianist Deanna Witkowski appeared at the Carnegie Library in Oakland and the 2023 Pitt Jazz Composers Concert took place at Bellefield Hall. If I was ambitious, I might have been able to check out a little of both shows. As much as I wanted to see Deanna Witkowski again, having caught a set at Kingfly Spirits a few weeks ago, I opted to check out the afternoon of works by alumni, students and faculty at Pitt's music school.

Dr. Aaron Johnson, seen above holding a conch shell, serves as Interim Director of Jazz Studies at Pitt as well as Assistant Professor of Music. He acted as emcee of the afternoon, and contributed one of the event's strongest pieces.

The band performing each work consisted of many established Pittsburgh musicians, including Paul Thompson (bass), Rick Matt (alto saxophone), Reggie Watkins (trombone) and James Johnson III (drums). 

The music covered a wide range, starting with: a straightforward blend of bop-flavored blues and funk (Rick Nowlin's "Blue Funk"); reworked Charlie Parker (John Lagnese's "Donna Lee In Indiana"); as well as "Thieves" a piece by PhD Candidate Samuel Boateng, which blended music from Ghana with the swing of the ensemble, adding vocals in two languages. 

Departed Jazz Department head Nicole Mitchell was saluted in an arrangement of her "Africa Rising." The piece's 6/4 ostinato led to a solo by tenor saxophonist Eric DeFade (below) that almost featured a Mingus-style vamp. Trumpeter Alex Perez also helped build on the feel of the piece. The late Geri Allen, who preceded Mitchell in the department, was also recognized with a version of her "Unconditional Love," arranged by Pitt's Ralph Guzzi.  

Of the more modern-sounding compositions, Johnson said that Juwon Adenuga's "Water" proved a bit too challenging for students in a jazz arrangement class, hence this ensemble was given the piece, inspired by Fela Kuti and combining a steady rhythm with shifting harmonies. Jason Belcher's "Moderniity" got its "somewhat mindless title" from a Modernism class he took during his undergraduate years. Equally inspired by George Russell's Lydian Chromatic Concept while maintaining a focused structure, it was involving in ways that I'm still trying to unwrap. (Sometimes it's hard to figure out pieces like this after one live listen.)

The reason Dr. Johnson held a conch onstage is due to a two-note phrase he blew on the shell, which inspired a line in "Red Summer," from his "1919 Suite." A meditation on the racial attacks experienced by African-Americans following the end of World War I, the piece was one of the strongest works of the afternoon, shifting from melodies driven by vibes and baritone sax to a driving canon section and a slow bump and grind groove with a bass break by Thompson. Johnson also lead the group through "Cannonball" a piece that "starts and ends with [church] and in between there's some sinning going on," according to the composer.

Mark Micchelli's "Stop Requested" closed the set. Although it was inspired by a bus ride, it avoided any novelty that might come with that type of muse, save for the use of two or three trick endings before the final blast. Prior to that, it created tension with minor chords and something of a four-on-the-floor beat from drummer Johnson. In that regard, it accurately evoked the feeling a Pittsburgher might have when waiting for a bus that's long overdue.

As I finish typing these words, alto saxophonist Caroline Davis, whose music I've followed for a few years (and have written about on this blog) is performing at Pitt, supposedly with some of the people who played at the Composers Concert. I would have loved to see her in town but alas, I only heard about the show yesterday, through an email from a friend who stumbled across it by accident. 

In looking through Davis' Instagram account, which I followed but hadn't seen in my feed for awhile, there was mention of Pittsburgh about a month ago. But would it have killed anyone at the Sunday show to mention, "Oh by the way, Caroline Davis is going to be here on Wednesday"? I can think of at least four people who would like to see her. And I know one who might have changed their schedule around to check it out. (I'm a fanatic that way.) 

Point is: Let people about shows IN ADVANCE. 

James Brandon Lewis Trio and the Messthetics At Club Cafe or Can You Top That?

On Friday, March 17, Club Cafe hosted one of the biggest bills of the year so far, with both the James Brandon Lewis Trio and the Messthetics sharing the stage on the same night. The Messthetics feature half the members of Fugazi, bassist Joe Lally and drummer Brandon Canty, with guitarist Anthony Pirog completing the lineup. James Brandon Lewis, as I've said in the space before with no sense of hyperbole, is simply in the top tier of modern tenor saxophonists and should never be missed. Twice, I've missed the Messthetics on their visits to Pittsburgh, so that wasn't going to happen again.

Although Lewis posted some teaser videos on Instagram prior to this show,  it wasn't clear to this fan that Chad Taylor was going to be seated behind the drums on Friday night. Sure enough, there he was, with Josh Werner playing bass. They hit the stage without a word and launched into a set that was heavy on more than one level. 

Werner served as something of an anchor during a lot of the set, giving his bandmates the liberty to stretch out while he kept one foot on the ground. His solid double-stops fueled the trio's version of the Donny Hathaway song "Someday We'll All Be Free." Lewis started off playing long tones but before long he started wailing in the way that blew the lid off the song, making it sound righteous. Taylor threw complex fills in behind him,, crossing his arms and moving the sticks across the kit with ease. 

"Within You Are Answers" started delicately like a ballad, with just tenor and bass. Before long, the trio couldn't contain themselves. Rather than simply wailing, they made things feel like a spiritual. Nothing was excessive. Lewis surprised us when a song with a groove like a Meters lick turned out to actually be a tune by a forefather of big tenor sound - Gene Ammons' "Shop Around." One song later, he went into the opening phrase of "My One And Only Love" and immediately followed with a line that sounded like a backwards recording, as if he was taking that old standard back and starting over. Then he did it with two or three more standards, before launching into the actual tune.

There were a few times during the set when Lewis seemed like he might have mined the same low overtone or high wail to drive home the power of his solo. But if those materials did the job, the results seemed fresh and appropriate each time. The sheer energy of these three gentlemen onstage was astounding, part visceral, part technical. It proved that Lewis is still the tenor saxophonist that everyone should be listening to closely. 

He's also a tough act to follow.

Before the Messthetics started their set, drummer Brandon Canty took the mike and gave a warm introduction to the crowd. Throughout the set, he felt like the driving force behind the band, steering the sound with his fills and accents, occasionally hitting a hanging bell for extra emphasis. Lally, his longtime rhythm section companion, was completely in sync, keeping things simple but engaging. That gave Anthony Pirog free reign to groove along with them or throw in a tangle of arhythmical chicken scratch, cobbled out of two - count 'em - banks of effects pedals, which he utilized with ease (see the last photo below). 

"Touch Earth Touch Sky," the second song in the set, offered a landscape-wide glimpse of the band's approach. At times the slow, heavy tune felt like spaghetti western music, creating a high lonesome sound. At other times, it felt slow and metallic. You might not consider the Messthetics a jazz group but at this point in the night, it didn't matter what label suited them best. They were doing their own thing and taking us with them.

"Pay Dirt" kicked off with some sly, jerky funk and even took a turn into Ornette Coleman's "Dancing In Your Head." During this one, most notably, Canty was doing a lot of smiling, clearly digging the music as much as it was being enjoyed by the mix of punk rock elders, jazz nuts and the hard-to-categorize. Pirog might have been relying heavily on his pedals for leverage, but during "The Bear" [if my set list picture is accurate], he threw in all manner of technique, from tapping to long, bent notes. A long-time fan in the audience later told me the only thing missing with the stereo effect that can be experienced on their albums.

As good as the trio sounded, they got even better when Lewis joined them onstage for a couple tunes, including "Fear Not," the anthemic closer from the saxophonist's new Eye of I album, which came out on Anti- last month. For the first couple four-person songs, it was a little hard to hear the tenor over the guitar - at least right in front of the stage - but you could definitely feel it. Pirog and Lewis worked well together. In one piece, the rhythm section got into some deep funk, inspiring the guitarist to take off and wail. That was quickly followed by Lewis, who took things even higher.  They couldn't gone on for another half hour, if you ask me.

Never let it be said that punks don't swing. Or that jazz cats can't shred.

Ivo Perelman - Reed Rapture In Brooklyn, Parts 11 and 12 - With Vinny Golia and Dave Liebman

Ivo Perelman

Reed Rapture In Brooklyn 

(Mahakala)  ivoperelman.bandcamp.com/album/reed-rapture-in-brooklyn

Part 11 - With Vinny Golia

Part 12 - With Dave Liebman

As mentioned in my last post, I made the executive decision to include the last two sessions of Reed Rapture In Brooklyn together in one post. This has been going on for quite some time, and while I'm committed to seeing this journey through, this blog is often easily interrupted and put on the backburner. So I want to get it done and move on to the next thing. 

These last two session go well together because they reveal how much of an influence one musician can have on a duet partner, and what comes out in the process. Vinny Golia - who plays myriad reed instruments big and small and has written some fascinating pieces for large ensembles - shows up with the most unique set of instruments in this set: soprillo saxophone (one octave higher than soprano, and tinier), B-flat clarinet, alto clarinet and basset horn (the latter another member of the clarinet family, pitched a bit lower than alto clarinet, with what's been described as a darker sound).   

Sometimes Golia brings out the intense side of Perelman, much like Tim Berne did in the second session. "3" contains a lot of high and whiney notes, especially during the first four minutes, with both players matching wits. By the end, a listener's ears can be numb. Two later tracks also get pretty shrill, one lasting just 36 seconds. On "4," however, with Golia on B-flat clarinet, they interact deeply, echoing each other before splitting into different but complementary parts. Perelman ends the track as it started, with low, gentle tones. A similar smoky-toned Perelman establishes a more pensive mood in "2." 

The most intriguing track is saved for last, and it digresses from the entire collection. "11" begins with the sound of a tone arm dropping onto a record and adding surface noise.  Golia's instrument sounds like the soprillo, although the timbre almost approximates a mellotron. On his end, Perelman creates some far out vibrato to keep up. 

Dave Liebman might be the most "in" guest on this set, aside from Joe Lovano, who happened to open the set. Yet Liebman has a diverse past. (In a recent conversation with this writer, bassist Steve Tintweiss recalled his early days at Queens College, playing free music each week with Liebman and keyboardist Martin Reverby, who would later drop the last four letters of his surname and become half of the pre-punk duo Suicide.) The saxophonist can also command your undivided attention within just a few notes of his musical entrance. Seeing him live in Detroit several years ago resulting in one of those "woah" experiences.

Liebman also penned the liner notes for Reed Rapture, something at which he is particularly skilled, a rarity among musicians who have tried their hand at note writing. (He won me over with his finely detailed notes for Mosaic's Elvin Jones set back in 2000.) His words on this album betray a strong understanding of what all of these saxophonists are doing, so it only makes sense that his soprano would join with Perelman's tenor. 

Maybe Liebman came into the studio thinking that he was going to bring out another side of Perelman or maybe it just naturally happened that way. This session feels much more subdued than the others. Several tracks last around two  or three minutes each, the first two presenting quick moments where they feel each other out. Pretty soon, they're moving together, Liebman responding immediately to Perelman's ideas like they were written down or pre-planned. Their differences in their approaches to their horn become obvious after awhile - Liebman getting more melodically complex and flying high, while Perelman gets more visceral. 

Regardless of any difference in chops, they work well together. By the end, they're volleying quick sprays of notes back and forth between one another. Liebman proves that he can shriek dynamically as well as anyone else on this set, but the strongest parts of this section come in the softer moments like "7" and "8." For those listeners who have stuck with the entire Reed Rapture In Brooklyn program, Perelman has made sure that the order keeps the surprises coming. For that reason, when the end comes without a climactic bang or wail, the sonic shifts it has delivered ensure that it has a strong close.

When I started writing about this set back in December - jeez, oh Pete - I quipped that Perelman would probably have a few more albums out by the time I was done. At that time, I didn't think spring would be around the corner as I finished it. But sure enough, I think there have been about three new releases from the prolific tenor saxophonist in the past few months. 

I might listen to them but someone else can write about them for the moment. 

And if anyone else has opinions on Reed Rapture, I'd love to hear your thoughts too in the comments. 

Requiem for Jazz Journalist, Who Gets Resurrected By Live Shows

I do plan on finishing my long, drawn out deep dive into Ivo Perelman's Reed Rapture In Brooklyn. In fact, I'm almost done and I'm thinking about wrapping up the last two sessions in one entry within the next couple of days. (Presumably, Vinny Golia and Dave Liebman won't be hurt if they don't separate entries for each of their sessions with Ivo.) 

But since it's been a month since I last posted here, and due to some dour news that hit the street last week, I needed to go off-track a bit, ending with a more upbeat note with a little bit of musical activity I witnessed this week.

First the bad news. Word had quietly gone out on social media a few weeks ago that JazzTimes, the monthly magazine for which I've written for two decades now, had been sold. Rather, it's parent company, Madavor Media, had been sold. No email announcement had been made to the magazine's writers as of yet, so, as ominous as that news could be, I kept plugging away. Around that time, I filed a feature for the magazine, which was the first one in several months that had been assigned to me. And I had my usual two CD reviews to do for the new issue. (I usually get two a month, which is cool with me.) 

Last weekend, a rather alarming post appeared on the Jazz Journalist Association's Facebook page announcing not only the sale, but that all staff, freelancers and all, were being let go. It was hard to tell exactly how to take it. Speculation? Fact? My feature story had already been filed and the reviews were due on Tuesday. Having just received the music about a week prior, I planned to listen to the music more, take notes and file by Monday night. Early that morning, I got confirmation that the reviews were still expected.

Then by mid-afternoon on Monday, an email came through saying that assignments for the May issue had been cancelled. So that was it. My longest freelance gig ever. Gone. 

For a couple hours, I sat at my laptop and my mind wandered. 

Should I still write the reviews? 

Maybe they do still want them. 

Maybe I should just write them for the blog. 

Yeah, that's a good idea. I think.

I haven't finished the Ivo set.

But this is current. Write the two things you were going to do for JazzTimes. At least you'll have them done. 

Should I really still write the reviews? .Repeat series of questions and answers.

This is how I mourn. I stay in one place and walk in circles. 

But that's not the end of a story. Not at all.

The news about JazzTimes came within days of the death of saxophonist Wayne Shorter. The tradition has always been for the magazine to publish an obituary as soon as possible. (I once heard a former editor say his greatest fear was that some Christmas Eve, amidst holiday revelry, the news would hit that some colossal jazz legend had died, meaning the ED. would have to spring into action.) 

The magazine did indeed publish a piece about Mr. Shorter, but an obit it was not. It was written by someone who had never written for the magazine previously, though the person was listed as a senior editor. Rather than go through Shorter's life either chronologically or touch upon his artistic high points (time with the Jazz Messengers, the Second Great Miles Davis Quintet, Weather Report, his unique later period productivity) and temper that with the late saxophonist's sage-like thoughts, the writer instead brushed over just a few of these accomplishments, resorted to cliched descriptions of jazz musicians smoking cigarettes and wearing berets and - worst of all - the excessive use of unnecessary quotation marks around words that don't need them ("pace-setting") and unnecessary capitalizations. Last time I checked bebop was one word, with a lower case B. Unless of course it appears at the start of a sentence. It reminds me of the story another former editor told me about when a trippy (literally) writer submitted an article full of words used incorrectly. "That doesn't make sense," he told her. "I know," she said,  "but I liked the way it looked." 

It did not provide any hope for the future of the magazine, nor did the JT tweet that padded the magazine and the writer on the back - describing the Shorter piece as "very beautiful" - do anything to improve things.

I haven't written a freelance article for a Pittsburgh paper in about two years. Now I don't have any freelance writing gigs at all. Oh well, I have a record coming out next month so there will be no time for me to talk about other people's music anymore. (That's sarcasm, to clarify, though the record is coming out.)

On a more positive note, after such dark news, I caught an early set by guitarist Mila Shadel last Friday at Con Alma, at their Shadyside location. Shadel first popped up on my radar a few months ago after she played one of the Experimental Guitar Nights that my friend/bandmate Erik Cirelli helps to curate. Her set that night was really just a sample and I wanted to hear Shadel stretch out, but kept missing shows. I couldn't spend the whole night at Con Alma but at least I'd catch a set. 

Her trio was rounded out by bassist Anton DeFade (above, with Shadel) and drummer Jason Washington, Jr. I had just seen DeFade recently, playing with pianist Deanna Witkowski a few weeks ago at Kingfly Spirits. Last Friday gave a chance to check out the trio up close, with only a small bit of audience conversation going on mid-set this time.

The trio kicked off the evening with Horace Silver's "Strollin'" which, in going back to the original, is a bold choice for a trio since the melody relies a lot on the horn harmonies, and a response from the piano. But these three dug into it. I regretted the seat I chose because I couldn't see Shadel's left hand, and it would have been cool to check out how she was doing what she did. 

After another number to warm up, Shadel announced Emily Remler's "Firefly" as the next tune. By this point, the trio was  ready to move into high gear. Shadel in particular was really flying. That was followed by a tune whose name I missed but which had a groove that was a little Latin and funky. DeFade left a strong impression in the next selection, understated but really coming across with some solid lines, both as an anchor and a solo instrument. Washington did the same in "Sonnymoon For Two," ramping up the energy in one chorus. Watching him play, he added a lot of complex accents but made it look simple.

I wish I could have stayed but I had dinner plans. Hopefully I'll see these three again soon.

I must have been crazy, having a couple drinks at Con Alma, going home and having pizza, filling the coffee travel mug and heading out to Government Center for another show, but I did it.

St. Dude was playing on a bill with two other acts. That band includes two-thirds of Action Camp - guitarist/vocalist Bengt Alexsander and drummer Joe Tarowsky. They're pictured above, with bassist Aaron Crothers. (I think they prefer more anonymous stage names but oh well.) It was heavy stuff, with low tunings, baritone guitars and a solid attack. Maybe a bit much for my ears after Mila Shadel but a good time nonetheless. 

From there, things get foggier. There was a reception for photo exhibition in the coffee shop and/or bar attached to Government Center so there were plenty of people milling around. I tried to have some conversations with people and succeeded for the most part, but I felt like I was missing a lot of it. So there was a lot of "What was that?" going on. 

Bitter Coast played some jagged guitar rock that sounded cool but I was having trouble keeping focus by then. Probably should have packed a bottle of water to go with the coffee. Ceiling Stares, the solo moniker for Steve Patchan, began with a blaring recording of "The Good, The Bad and the Ugly" playing at high volume, drowning out his voice. The volume and the early day I would have the next morning were pointing me towards the door so I slipped out. 

One byproduct of not having the local writing gig is that I'm really out of the loop regarding the local indie rock scene. While I didn't get to check everyone out to the extent that I'd like, at least it put more folks on my radar, for future explorations.

And I'm still a member of....

DL Review Part 10: Ivo Perelman - Reed Rapture In Brooklyn, With Colin Stetson

Ivo Perelman

Reed Rapture In Brooklyn 

(Mahakala)  ivoperelman.bandcamp.com/album/reed-rapture-in-brooklyn

Part Ten - With Colin Stetson

Think fast - you have the chance to play a contrabass saxophone. What do you do? Imitate Adrian Rollini's style of '20s jazz, or the version of it that was recreated, was some surrealism, by Roger Ruskin Spear and Rodney Slater in the Bonzo Dog (Doo Dah) Band? 

No. You go for the low HONNNNNNNNNNNK and see how many people are blown across the room. You want to be Anthony Braxton. Or Roscoe Mitchell. Or - God help us all - Borbetomagus.

Or you're Colin Stetson.

To clarify (meaning, the placate any quibblers), most of the gentleman mentioned above played the Bass Saxophone. Mr. Stetson plays the contrabass saxophone. He also plays the tubax, a slightly more portable version of the contra- version, which was invented at the end of the 20th century. 

Another thing to clarify is that anyone thinking they can immediately create a thunderous honk on the big horn better have a lot of wind power of their own. I have a feeling that the act of making that monster wail isn't easy too easy.

Which is why Stetson's performance with Ivo Perelman is so fascinating. His technique is such that he seems to let sounds ricochet through the inside of his bell as they make their way out. He also unleashes a flurry of rapid finger flutters over the keys, making his instrument sound downright lithe. This all comes after both saxophonists open the track ("2") with two high pitched wails that will knock you across the room, and Stetson immediately pulls back to create waves of sound that imitate guitar feedback.

A low-bottom instrument like Stetson's could easily take on the role of a bass guitar and set up a riff that adds some foundation to a free improvisation. That happens in "1" but Stetson also sounds like he's trying to catch up with Perelman's tenor, which is blowing rapidly in the other channel, like he's several steps ahead of the bigger horn. Riffs surface in a few other tracks and Stetson even sounds a bit like some icy synth noises ("5") as well. This particular track sounds pretty free, with both players blowing for keeps, but the way they play has a clear, forward motion to it. 

All that analysis of Stetson does not mean that he overshadows Perelman's tenor. True, there are moments where our host acts like the straight man, playing at a low volume, waiting for something big to come along. But he rides his partner's waves of sound, never staying in one place long enough to get predictable. If his tenor gets hysterical, it quickly calms back down. After the session's wild ride, "6" closes on a slow, pensive note, which still includes moments that are almost bluesy and rather dark. But the subdued tone impresses, especially after what precedes it.

DL Review: Ivo Perelman - Reed Rapture In Brooklyn, Part Nine - With Joe McPhee

Ivo Perelman

Reed Rapture In Brooklyn

(Mahakala)  ivoperelman.bandcamp.com/album/reed-rapture-in-brooklyn

Part Nine - With Joe McPhee

One thing that hasn't been heard on any of the sessions of Reed Rapture up to this point is the human voice. That all changes when Ivo Perelman teams up with Joe McPhee. Along with their two tenors, both of them add some vocalizing on a few tracks. 

While McPhee begins "2" by alternating deep breaths and soft moans through his horn, Perelman evokes Patty Waters. The impressive part of it comes when he seamlessly shifts from voice to tenor. (It sounded like he didn't have the horn in his mouth initially, if the hard consonant noises were any indication.) McPhee alternates some throaty growls with rootsy blowing here, but his big vocal moment comes in "5," where he also recreates some horn wails with his human voice, full of heavy vibrato. Previous to that, in "4," Perelman seems torn between blowing and verbally expressing his enthusiasm for the rugged meeting of the minds. For McPhee, the feeling is mutual. These moments are brief sections of the whole session but they add a distinct wrinkle to the tracks. 

The seven tracks have plenty of free blowing going on, but that's balanced out by moments of restraint and riffs.  "6" with a lick that's downright boppish. In a few cases, McPhee is the one setting up a groove. He plays a slow, two-note riff in "3" that comes across like a funeral ballad, which Perelman uses as a foundation for a mix of high shrieks, low chants and exploration in the middle range. It might be ominous but it's soulful too.

After Perelman plays solo for nearly two minutes, McPhee takes that as a cue to join him in "7.". Both begin with a low down sound that's closer to Ben Webster than their Albert Ayler. McPhee sticks close to a spiritual or bluesy idea - at one point moaning through his horn -  but Perelman runs all over the place. They could have competed for wildest growls but they already did that in "4." Here, they seem interested in contrasts. The results make a strong ending to this summit meeting.

DL Review: Ivo Perelman - Reed Rapture In Brooklyn, Part Eight - Jon Irabagon

Yes, I'm going to do it. I'm going to get through all 12 sessions of Reed Rapture in Brooklyn. I realize there's been too much time off between entries. Winter Jazz Fest had nothing to do with that. I didn't go this year, partially because of the idea of being around a crap ton of people in a big city after having COVID a month earlier; the other half having to do with holding onto funds to pay for the pressing of my album. Here we go again.

Ivo Perelman

Reed Rapture In Brooklyn

(Mahakala)  ivoperelman.bandcamp.com/album/reed-rapture-in-brooklyn

Part Eight - With Jon Irabagon

What a difference a session makes. When we last left our hero, Ivo Perelman was in a deep conversation with James Carter and the duo often sounded like they were playing composed pieces instead of spontaneous works. For this installment, Perelman teams up with that talented scalawag with the artillery of rare and unusual saxophones, Jon Irabagon. Together, their collective ideas move in a different direction, running loose and free instead of looking for form. I refer to him as a scalawag because once he gets going on some pee-wee horn, he really goes for the gusto, even if it means blowing static. His technique does indeed extend, and his chops are right there to deliver something substantial. 

Irabagon is credited with sopranino and slide soprano saxophones, the latter of which sounds like yet another rare horn that he has uncovered, following the mezzo-soprano saxophone. While "sliding" isn't exactly the first word that describes his playing here, he does spend a lot of time in the upper register of his horns, which inspires Perelman to employ some high harmonics on his tenor to meet his comrade somewhere close. This happens in the first track, when Irababon locks into a series of high-pitched repetitive figures, and Perelman follows suit.

All seven tracks move along amorphously, never sticking to a particular shape but living in the moment before veering off. While one track nearly hits the 10-minute mark, most are closer to five, with the wildest blasts of freedom coming in the climax of "6," which is a compact 2:47. "4" begins with Perelman entering in a low growl while Irabagon simply blows air thorough his horn. Things get whiney but they also briefly hit upon a melody that feels inspired by both the blues and a synagogue cantor.  In a different track, Irabagon approximates a feeling of pain, a flute and, a few minutes later, a fleet of angry gosling falling out of his horn. 

 

It feels significant to note that throughout all of this, Perelman sticks with just one saxophone, his tried and true tenor. The choice always acts as a proud indicator that anything all of these other guys can do with a couple horns, he can match on one. And he's right. 

DL Review: Ivo Perelman - Reed Rapture In Brooklyn, Part Seven - With James Carter

Ivo Perelman

Reed Rapture In Brooklyn

(Mahakala)  ivoperelman.bandcamp.com/album/reed-rapture-in-brooklyn

Part Seven - With James Carter

James Carter has often strikes me as a saxophonist with a whole lot of ideas who wants to get them all out there in record time. He plays has a gifted sense of melody and speed, and he often straddles a rich line with some manic honks and wails, alternating between straightforward and overcharged. So he seems like a great partner for Ivo Perelman.

So it might sound contradictory that part seven of Reed Rapture In Brooklyn feels in some ways like the most composed of the two-reed sessions so far. In the track "7," it almost sounds like Perelman and Carter (who plays baritone sax on all nine duets) are playing variations on "It Ain't Necessarily So." If not that, it sounds like some testifying blues, where Carter plays a line and Perelman's tenor echoes his sentiment.

The duo loves moving through dynamic shifts rapidly. "2" alone runs all over the place, beginning with Perelman blowing air through his horn and unwrapping a dreamy melody with some old-time vibrato as Carter builds a foundation. Before long, the two of them are honking with enthusiasm, but that dies down quickly too. Carter's baritone sustains some rich tones and when Perelman follows suit, the effect is almost Ellingtonian. One track later, they getting wrapped up in Bach-like counterpoint. 

But the moments that imply structure most often come when Carter gets some funk going on his horn. Throughout the session, he pulls out some fat riffs that sound right at home in the baritone's low register. Sometimes he might be going through changes in his mind as he takes a six-note riff and modulates with it ("5"). When he goes into some rapid arpeggios, Perelman opts for a restrained bit of vibrato action that eventually goes wild. The tenor man seems like he's surrendering the floor to Carter in "4," adding just a few peeps, but before long they're in close formation, trading lines together.

There are many tea kettle moments, where they both unleash some vicious squeals that could tear down walls. Like a lot of what they duo does here, moments like this are fleeting, acting as a bridge to another sonic twist. But even the more intense moments are enough to make you sit up, listen and realize how quickly these two line up together.

DL Review: Ivo Perelman - Reed Rapture in Brooklyn, Part Six - With Roscoe Mitchell

This marks the half-way point, through Ivo Perelman's set of 12 duets. 

Ivo Perelman
Reed Rapture In Brooklyn

(Mahakala)  ivoperelman.bandcamp.com/album/reed-rapture-in-brooklyn

Part Six - With Roscoe Mitchell

Roscoe Mitchell had recently retired from teaching at Mills College when he spoke to me in 2019, in anticipation of his appearance at the Pitt Jazz Seminar and Concert. Once his post-retirement life had settled down, he said, I want to get to the point where I can practice one note the whole all day." Saxophonists and longtime Mitchell fans can understand such focus; non-musicians might be left scratching the head. 

But the value of this discipline comes across around 18 minutes into "2," his duet with Ivo Perelman. As Perelman's tenor bobs around, peeling off an especially ecstatic line just moments prior, Mitchell locks into one note on his bass saxophone and holds it for 60 seconds. Relatively speaking, it's a low note, though it's probably mid-range on the big horn. The impact of the drone (and a few overtones early on) feels electrifying. It takes us to the core of the music, setting a path for what follows. Who knows if Mitchell did have the time to devote a day to a note in the few years between our talk and this session, but the energizing value of this discipline can be felt. 

Mitchell and Perelman's session yielded just three tracks but "2" alone lasts nearly 40 minutes. The other two add an additional 20 minutes, providing about the same amount of music that have come in the other Reed Rapture sessions. Mitchell, who has been playing a lot of soprano and sopranino with the Art Ensemble of Chicago recently, sticks exclusively to bass sax here. It gives the music a foundation by virtue of its range, providing something of a tonal center at various times. In "1," he almost gets a groove going after notes popped to the surface in a somewhat spare, pointillistic duet with Perelman's tenor. Perelman pulls back to a whisper during "3" giving Mitchell a chance to ruminate on the horn. 

"2" is really the centerpiece, where the duo get to know each other. They take their time deciding where they wants to go and how they'll get there, without any lag time. As they gradually move towards a climax in the final five minutes, Mitchell's horn almost sounds like he's plugged into a fuzz box. When Perelman joins him, they buzz like a hornet's nest. From there, they engage in a cat-and-mouse chase, with Perelman jumping into the upper register. 

Roscoe Mitchell's work often deals with open space and how that can be as meaningful as the moments where everyone joins in. Some of the former approach is on display here. He often prefers single, lengthy notes to extended lines. (That could be the nature of the bass sax again, but Mitchell does kick it up at times too.) His partner strikes a good balance between going with that flow and riding the top wave created by the low horn. 

DL Review: Ivo Perelman - Reed Rapture in Brooklyn, Part Five - With Ken Vandermark

Ivo Perelman
Reed Rapture In Brooklyn

(Mahakala)  ivoperelman.bandcamp.com/album/reed-rapture-in-brooklyn

Part Five - With Ken Vandermark

Calling Reed Rapture In Brooklyn a series of duets by Ivo Perelman with 12 different saxophonists is turning out to be a tad inaccurate. Although all the guests have spent time with Adolphe Sax's brilliant invention, some of them don't use it here. Two reviews ago, David Murray stuck to his bass clarinet rather than his tenor. And on this section of the album, Chicago multi-reedist Ken Vandermark is content to spend 40+ minutes on the old licorice stick, the B-flat clarinet, rather than his tenor or baritone saxophone. (Looking ahead, I have no idea what Joe McPhee will be playing and I might just wait to find out when I spin their tracks.)

The dozen tracks capture Perelman (on tenor as always) and Vandermark sounding like they're having a blast. They begin by exploring the space between each other, throwing short bursts of sound into the air, playing clipped notes before laying into longer tones. Moreso than any of the previous pairings, the duo frequently sounds so in tune with each other that they could be working from compositions. Vandermark lays down a foundation in "2," stating whole notes that feel a little lonely. Perelman answers in a tone that feels a little majestic (more proof that he has roots that go back to straightahead players) and a little playful as he delivers some mid-range lines.  

They move along parallel lines in "5" but their paths recall the way Joseph Jarman and Roscoe Mitchell made disparate lines blend together in the Art Ensemble of Chicago. When they land on the same pitch simultaneously, you have to wonder if it was intuition, good ears or a pre-destined plan. Regardless, the spark can be felt between them.

Vandermark and Perelman cut loose often during the set too, blowing wild, but in tandem. Clarinet spurts combine with runs all over the tenor. Sometimes they move at a rapid pace, knowing the right moment to go from mid-range pirouettes to upper register shrieks. 

One of the more fascinating elements to this duo is the way both of them seem to know how long each performance should be. A few of the tracks last between four and six minutes, but several come in around the two-minute mark. In many, Vandermark and Perelman reach a climax together, ending  on a sharp cluster here and a gentle, lower pitch there. Both of them seem interested in playing in a manner that works to best serve the project. That description sounds obvious - and it probably is - but that is not always so blatant while listening to free improvisation. 

DL Review: Ivo Perelman - Reed Rapture In Brooklyn, Part Four - With Lotte Anker

While I'm not sticking to a set time schedule, I'm continuing my listening journey through Ivo Perelman's set of 12 duets with different saxophonists. 

 

Ivo Perelman
Reed Rapture In Brooklyn

(Mahakala)  ivoperelman.bandcamp.com/album/reed-rapture-in-brooklyn

Part Four - With Lotte Anker 

The first three duet sessions in Reed Rapture In Brooklyn paired the Brazilian tenor man up with some players who frequent different jazz scenes, so to speak, than Perelman. Tim Berne is no stranger to pure improvisation, but Joe Lovano and David Murray, perhaps in terms of their longevity and output, represented some wild card pairings. The performances that feature alto and soprano saxophonist Lotte Anker feels more like a meeting of kindred spirits, two players coming together more as avant peers. 

Whether or not it's the case, Anker and Perelman play like longtime friends with similar ideas. This example comes in the first track (again, there are no titles, only numbers) when Anker hints at a particularly frenzied pitch and Perelman jumps right onto that same pitch seconds later. It galvanizes both of them, lifting the energy of the performance. On this track, Anker's alto tone recalls the pungent attack of Anthony Braxton: she's gravelly and scrappy, forcing notes from her horn in a deep breath, turning them into feedback when they crash to the surface. 

When the duo dips into the upper registers of their respective horns, they aren't content to merely hold onto a long tone for dear life. "2" is marked by a flurry of fast-moving notes that sound like birds. As they accelerate, it sounds like more birds have joined the flock. One track later, Anker's soft squeaks on soprano feel almost soothing, leading to a section where Perelman echoes her notes almost like a canon.

Moments of wild shrieks pop up throughout the session, but the duo also has a fondness for ending several improvisations with a natural decrescendo. Sometimes it must be hard to tell whether an improv should keep going or stuff. These two appear to have an instinctual ability to sense when the time is right to stop, and how to do it. 

After concluding "5" that way, they begin the next track in the same mood. Perelman reveals the scope of his musical knowledge by playing low and smoky at first, almost like a swing player or, to be more accurate, a disgruntled balladeer who fights a battle between angst and sentimentality as he blows. During this 11-minute track - the longest of their set - Anker appears to echo him in a way that makes the music sound like a close conversation. 

All of this could be incorrect conjecture about Perelman and Anker. Maybe they are old friends. Maybe they talked extensively before the session about their musical philosophies. Regardless of how much preparation they made, it yielded some great saxophone discussions here. 

DL Review - Ivo Perelman - Reed Rapture In Brooklyn, Part 3 - With David Murray

Yes, I know it's upside down. 
This way you won't see the same exact image 12 times

Ivo Perelman
Reed Rapture In Brooklyn

(Mahakala)  ivoperelman.bandcamp.com/album/reed-rapture-in-brooklyn

Part Three - With David Murray

The combination of Ivo Perelman and David Murray feels like one of the most anticipated sections of this 12-duet set. Murray has really made a career out of never staying in the same musical place for too long. He is just as likely to play in a more traditional setting - tearing it up in the process - as he is playing in a freer situation, having worked with trios, octets, big bands, not to forget an organ quartet, the Gwo Ka Masters and the World Saxophone Quartet. 

Murray is also a master improvisor who can pile on chorus after chorus, building each time from what he has already played. Years before saxophonist James Brandon Lewis came up with his Molecular Systematic Music idea, I sat transfixed at a David Murray show, imagining the path of his solo looking like one of those DNA models that twists around as it moves upward. The base of it always connected but it evolved at it stretched up. Too bad Lewis went public with his idea first. The only people who ever heard my theory were friends at the bar. Though it was funny to hear one friend, who understood what I implied, suggesting that you could direct your bandmates's solos by yelling, "Use the DNA approach."

Anyway, the idea of Murray getting together for a purely spontaneous meeting with this Brazilian raconteur feels intriguing, with myriad possibilities.

For openers, Murray throws a curveball. He left his tenor saxophone in the case, or at home, and plays nothing but bass clarinet during his ten improvisations with Perelman. This proves to be a positive though, due to Murray's skill on the instrument. Along with his harmonic chops, his slap-tonguing technique makes it double as a percussive instrument, virtually making him alternating parts of a rhythm section, in addition to harmony. Sometimes he approximates a bass marimba, which gingerly switches between the role of an accompanist to Perelman's relatively grounded improvisation and a leader, bouncing ideas off the accompanying tenor.

Things get playful in "3," where Murray sticks closely to an arpeggio melody, with Perelman adding color as it moves forward, making it proceed like a soundtrack piece to a suspenseful scene. When Murray launches "4" with a guttural wail, Perelman takes that cue to slide off and back on to the rails, having stayed rather calm until then. "5" builds off a groovy, descending blues riff from Murray (which, to be really obscure, also resembles the David Bowie instrumental "Sense of Doubt"). Of course, before they're done, they both take turns hitting the upper register from some shrieks of joie de vivre. 

Hopefully, this won't be the only documented meeting of these two masters. 

 

When They Play Donald Byrd In the Courtroom

Before we jump into another set from the Ivo Perelman album, a story...

On Wednesday of this week, I had a hearing in Traffic Court. I was pulled over back in early October because I hadn't renewed the registration on my car. I've heard The Man has special technology now where they can check your license to see if you're unregistered or not. My registration expired back in February. 

Despite my slang up above, the cop that pulled me over didn't come off like The Man. He was actually pretty laid back about it, perhaps because I was too. Hey, I goofed so, why get defensive? Since it had been several months, he said he had to write me up, but made it seem like no big deal. Plead not guilty, go to court and it would get straightened out. 

Wednesday morning, I took the bus downtown (why pay a big parking fee or risk getting a ticket) and walked the long walk down the courthouse. (It's waaay down on First Avenue, near the jail.) The last time I was there (where I got off!), there were several people in front of me at the information window, before the 9:00 a.m. opening and I had to wait awhile to plead my case. On this day, arriving around the same time, there were only four people ahead in line. 

Once I checked it and headed to the courtroom, I saw that the judge at the bench was Gene Ricciardi. This was interesting to me for a few reasons. First of all, the judge I had at my last hearing was a gruff guy who busted people's chops for doing dumb stuff but also seemed to understand the difference between that and a simple mistake. He was a wiseguy who seemed to like his authority, but if you could role with his jokes, you were okay. Not so for the woman who didn't understand something he said and responded with a very casual "What?!" He had to remind her that it's better to address such questions to as "Excuse me, your honor?" (He also cut her a break for doing something stupid and she kept getting argumentative.)

Judge Gene Ricciardi wouldn't remember it, but 30 years ago when he was on City Council, an Intro to Journalism student called his office to get clarification on a measure that was passed on the day that this kid was covering the Council meeting for his class. I was the kid. The future judge was very nice on the phone, though the details of that measure were still pretty puzzling. 

Little did I know, the Judge was also a swinging cat.

As he was plugging in his microphone on Wednesday, he said something casually that seemed to address us defendants. I thought he mentioned Donald Byrd. Then told his assistant, "They're probably all too young to know Donald Byrd." A few seconds later, it became clear he was talking about the late trumpet player. One of Donald Byrd's '70s crossover songs started playing through the courtroom sound system. I couldn't resist raising my hand and saying I knew who he was. "Oh, that guy must be older," the judge quipped. 

The song played for less than a minute before the pile of cases was brought before the judge. He looked at the first one. "Shanley." 

As I made my way to the bench, I started wondering if I should say something further about Donald Byrd and when. "You know, there was a tribute to him at the Pittsburgh International...." No, no, no, Too many syllables. Take it easy.

The judge asked if I had taken care of my registration, which I had, immediately after getting home back in October. The case was dismissed and I was directed to see the person at the window out in the hallway. 

"Thanks. By the way, I saw Donald Byrd at Pitt back in 1989." I think he responded with an amused, "Really?!" I can't quite remember, but I did get a positive reaction. By then I wanted to get out of there.

If you ever have to go to Traffic Court, just take it in stride. A few people I talked to grumbled beforehand :Yeah you'll probably get dismissed but it sucks that you have to go Downtown and go through all of that. Yeah, but my case was dismissed. And the judge played Donald Byrd in the courtroom!

DL Review: Ivo Perelman - Reed Rapture In Brooklyn, Part Two - With Tim Berne

Ivo Perelman

Reed Rapture In Brooklyn

(Mahakala) ivoperelman.bandcamp.com/album/reed-rapture-in-brooklyn

Part Two - With Tim Berne

This is the second passage in what I hope will be a 12-entry write up that focuses on the sessions on Perelman's digital album, on which he duets with a dozen different reed players.

Unlike the tenor saxophonist's session with Joe Lovano - 14 tracks that didn't last longer than eight minutes, with most coming in well below the five-minute mark - this hour-and-change session with Tim Berne is devoted to longer conversations. Of the five of them, one goes on for 22 minutes, two for about 13 minutes each and another two for seven. 

Neither saxophonist is out of place in longer tracks. Perelman's Live at Nuremberg album with Matthew Shipp consisted of a continuous performance full of ripples and nuances. Alto saxophonist Berne is probably the musician who really made me appreciate extended compositions. His albums with the quartet Bloodcount included works that went on upwards of 40 minutes, taking all kinds of turns, detours and regenerative passages, which often seemed to come out of nowhere. The way "What Are the Odds" on the Unwound disc goes from solo to composition stands out as particularly memorable.

While Berne's compositions are engrossing, he hasn't always had the same impact when working in a purely improvisational situation. Granted, his recent work with guitarist David Torn and drummer Ches Smith has been an exception to that. Albums and live performances have been pretty fiery. But his Paraphrase trio seemed to wander. The Veil - a CD by the trio of Berne, guitarist Nels Cline and drummer Jim Black - was a strong set overall, but there were many times where Berne seemed to stick to raw growls and overtones when one of his flowing lines could have added more to the music.

So I'm breaking my own rule again. Originally I said I'd listen to each Reed Rapture session just once, treating it like a live performance and then writing about it. This piece is being composed while the music is playing again because I think I was doing a few things while listening to the first time, not giving it total attention.

My takeaway from the first listen was that Perelman and Berne spent a lot of time imitating whistling tea kettles, squealing in that upper register. In fact they hit that shrill spot at about the time in the first two tracks, right around 2:30.  Altissimo wails are fine but a little can go a long way. 

But Perelman and Berne seem to realize that. As often as they go high, they don't ever reside in that space for too long. They're ready to jump onto something else after making their point. In addition to that, their duets really sound like involved conversations. They listen closely to each other, leading Perelman to echo phrases from Berne, replicating dynamics and lines. In "2," a moment comes three-quarters in where it sounds like they're playing a Berne composition; Perelman joins in and it works, with Berne even bending his line to meet the tenor saxophonist's melody. At one point, their quick exchanges almost sound like, 
"S'alright?"

"S'alright!"

The final track, "5," even finds them delving into some musical drama. Berne blows low while Perelman seems to coo in response. It might be too much to call it a ballad, but it has a pensive quality to it. In the end, while the duo might have given into their wilder instincts a few times, they likely came away knowing a great deal about each other as players.