Feeling Like An Oldman

Oldman is Charles-Eric Charrier, a musician who loves working in many artistic fields having collaborated with painters, choreographers and film directors. Among his past allies Rob Mazurek, Mathias Delplanque and The Clogs are at least familiar names on these shores. The six pieces in Two Heads Bis Bis (Low Impedance) are built upon the typical bass/guitar/drums trio format, with the addition of various types of interference under the guise of incomprehensible voices, kind-of-psychedelic contrary motions, Rick Wright-ish organs and a general sense of indistinctness underlying the whole. Let’s be totally frank: some of this stuff might be OK as a background to other kinds of activity, such as smoking pot (which I proudly declare of not doing) but not that much of real musical value was found by this greying reviewer. Maybe a problem lies in the fact that Oldman placed the ugliest tracks right at the beginning, instantly rubbing my patience the wrong way: in particular, the initial “Broken Teeth” is atrocious, unintelligible vocal mumbling à la Contrastate over worn out acid pseudo-blues patterns. “Dust” is instead a nice enough blend of Eastern string instruments and resonant hallucinations ending with sparse piano notes elongated by reverb, one of the rare interesting moments of the disc. It doesn’t save the day – the overall level ranges between average and mediocre. Thus the press release: “This is what popular music would be like in an ideal world”. Quintessential pop star Boy George would respond “Do you really want to hurt me?”.

A Couple Of Gems From Cuneiform

Beat Circus' Dreamland is one of the most unsettling albums released in 2008, its entire concept based on the namesake amusement park in Coney Island that first symbolized the American grandeur in the early years of 1900, then was destroyed by fire. The music, conceived by leader Brian Carpenter - a brilliantly imaginative multi-instrumentalist - is a damnation-like concoction of styles, a hypothetical synthesis of Harry Partch, Univers Zero, Tom Waits, Snow White's Seven Dwarfs on LSD and Ed Wood imagery in which instruments such as banjo, trombone and Theremin recite an essential role amidst a general feel of out-of-timeness bathed in warped sinuosity. The large part of the tunes is instrumental - lots of food for bad-tempered thought everywhere – and there are two covers: the Russian traditional “Dark Eyes” and “Meet Me Tonight In Dreamland”. Still, the really distressing track has to be "Coney Island Creepshow", a veritable aural depiction of a horror show becoming substantial through ruthlessly frenzied vocals and wicked laughs in the background. Preposterously, something that would terrorize many children is exactly what pushes this writer's attention even more towards the twisted, trippy, outstandingly designed adventures that Carpenter dreamed of. Among the implicated parties we detect the presence of Antony & The Johnsons' cellist Julia Kent, while the sleeve artwork - which includes reproductions of original postcards and typical comic graphics - was masterfully devised by Brian Dewan. The production is a great achievement by Martin Bisi, who Carpenter thus defines: "a meticulous sculptor who took my big, seemingly impossible ideas and moved them forward to an outcome which more often than not surpassed what I had originally envisioned". Amen.

When you're down and troubled, as Mr. Taylor used to croon, there's nothing better than the helping hand given by a Brotherhood Of Breath album. Luckily, Cuneiform keep devoting a lot of resources to seek out the cream of what the archives worldwide offer as far as Chris McGregor's collective's live tapes are concerned, the latest succulent fruit falling off the branch being the gorgeous Eclipse At Dawn, titled after a tune by Abdullah Ibrahim (aka Dollar Brand). I always felt that the ultimate review for a release by BOB should consist of a sheer list of the players’ names, since that's enough of a proof of the quality of the musicianship implied; although for this concert - recorded at 1971's Berliner Jazztage Festival - trumpeter Mongezi Feza was not in attendance, the rest of the companionship did their best, succeeding, to let the listeners forget about single instrumentalists. This record is an uninterrupted ode to cheerfulness, paradoxically offered by a group of artists that was literally decimated by death over the years. Even some imprecision and a few incorrect notes turn into an element of inner fortitude, the performance largely built upon sing-along, riff-centered themes alternated with maddened blowouts (Gary Windo's brain-splitting incinerations of saxophone's rules are something to be heard indeed). An unremitting whirlwind of exhilarating playing, a heart that pumps like a bodybuilder's buried under a frayed appearance, and yet another stunning success featuring our honest heroes. Listen to the crowd's reaction following the set’s finale and no extra words will be required. "Bless you a thousand times", says McGregor to the audience at the end of the fiesta. They were actually blessed that night and now you can be, too.

Three Free Downloads From Sijis

This material, released between the spring and the summer of 2008, stands among last year’s finest as far as static (or less) music containing field recordings and concrete elements is concerned. It is definitely worth of attentive scrutiny; as they say in the trade, “download now”.

Scott Smallwood presents different, if all connected aspects of his accomplishments in 3 Soundscapes. “Still In Here” is a live take from 2006 featuring the NOW Ensemble in Princeton, NJ. It’s a minimalist reflection pointing to a zone halfway through a La Monte Young-ish calmness and Michael Schumacher’s Fidicin Drones (one of the genre’s epochal masterpieces), gently wavering cloudy masses of guitars and held brass tones slowly surging amidst imperceptible environmental activities. “Colton Swarm” is a powerful everlasting cluster of electric plastic harmoniums which, listened via headphones, causes serious cerebral dislodgment. In this case, we’re drawn to think about Charlemagne Palestine’s organ opuses such as Schlingen-Blangen but Smallwood’s personality remains visible. “Stay” is another live set, this time in New York, 2005, where contrabassist Mark Dresser and cellist Frances-Marie Uitti first are blended with, then gradually emerge from a series of metropolitan suggestions (captured on the Brooklyn Bridge) with delicately mourning string murmurs. I’m not acquainted with the majority of Smallwood’s releases; this music is unquestionably the best I’ve heard from him in relation to my limited knowledge.

An alumnus of Denis Smalley, Tom Wallace works primarily with electroacoustic matters. In Blood & Water he extracts the musical components of a haemodialysis machine recorded at King’s College Hospital in London. After a spoken introduction by sister Rachel Mwansa explaining how the unit is operated, the sounds of the complex processes at work in this kind of operation start taking possession of the listener’s psyche, dripping liquids, electronic beeps and rhythmic gurgling at the basis of a disquieting sort of stupor. Not sure if some measure of processing is involved – in the final minutes at least, it would seem so – but nevertheless this is a nice example of practically unadulterated, ear-pleasing musique concrete without any pretence of hidden messages. What you hear is what you get - and often it’s better that way.

Ubeboet (Miguel Angel Tolosa), Juan José Calarco and Pablo Reche are renowned artists, active in the district characterized by the use of drones and ambiences that, in general, tend to the hauntingly mesmerizing spectrum of the sonic frequencies. Biesi (“demons” in the Russian idiom) doesn’t contain elements that might be defined “groundbreaking”, and the piece itself is not really unpredictable. Still, the composition is worthwhile exactly for this nearly complete immutability, an unremitting accumulation of hazy apparitions and whooshing whispers intimidating as a pre-storm black sky. In truth, there’s nothing here that made me envision ghosts or evil spirits; the ocean’s distant rumbling 'n' washing is what this composition mostly tends to sound like. A voice which, no matter how frequently one listens to it, constitutes the foundation of humans’ determination to remain alive.

Sijis

Epiphany With Noise And A Little Saccharine

The sixth day of January is a particularly felt holiday in certain regions of this sinking country, many children receiving presents on this date rather than December 25; furthermore, this is the closure of the Christmas holidays (hooray!). Depressing memories, which this writer tends to escape like plague. Thus, what’s healthier of a triptych of records - noise as the preponderant factor - to celebrate the end of this miserable period?

The first one, quite sincerely, didn’t persuade me. Released by No Type, Les Arbres by Nicolas Bernier – a composer based in Montreal who studied acousmatics with Robert Normandeau and Jean Piché, equally well versed in music for dance and cinema – is a satisfying item from a graphic point of view, the pieces inspired by interesting images by visual artist Urban 9, included in the CD package under the guise of six classy cards. The record is an “elegant jumble” of regular instruments – also comprising vibraphone, piano, cello and accordion - and not better contextualized mangled-and-garbled sources. The whole, although pleasing at times, results as a little too soundtrack-ish to these ears. In particular, the melodies and the thematic materials designed by Bernier are often excessively simplistic, the stridency between this easiness and the boisterous components of the electroacoustic “triturations” (as per the composer’s definition) relatively evident throughout. After a couple of listens I already knew that nothing more could be expected; that’s usually the indication of an archiviatio praecox.

The accompanying card by my friend Matjaž Galicic (a young man from Slovenia who generates hard-to-believe rumbles with rubber balloons) contains these words: “Hope you’re doing fine and enjoying the summer”. A-hem. This tells plenty in relation to what happens on this desk with 100 incoming releases or so every month. I know that the guy is serious, therefore please accept both the excuses for the delay and an advice: grab these low-budget, high-interest outings on Galicic’s [&] label. The first is a 3-inch containing what follows: 1) A typical eruption of angry, ear-piercing, raucous vomit by Mattin, a real sandblasting of the auricular membranes; 2) A magnetic-yet-sour monolithic track by Gen 26 (Galicic himself, source unclear; don’t think they’re balloons but you never know. The piece is okay, though); 3) Two segments by Turkish Batur Sonmez, recalling industrial atmospheres from the late 80s with a modicum of trance aroma. The second disc is a 54-minute CDR. Mattin is again there, teamed with Torturing Nurse, in a pair of magnificently obdurate cataclysmic negation of reality, chock full of distorted voices (from TV?) and ball-roasting fusillades of terrifying blasts. Amper-O-Mat uses a grater, of all things, for three “tribal atmospheric instant compositions” (sic) that in truth sound a bit “Z’EV during a depression stint” but, overall, are acceptable. The best comes at the beginning, this time: the longest selection, Aaron Hull’s “Crumble” (a live recording, for good measure) is a splendid labyrinth for losing yourselves in cerebral fog. Balanced, refined and slightly threatening at once, this is a mesmerizing example of electronic minimalism with the right dose of interference, just about enough not to destroy the killer charm of the essential design. Great stuff, and I’m going to ask Aaron for additional material. We’re at that kind of level.

Four On Evan Parker's Psi

Volume is double bassist John Edwards’ unintentional attempt to establish, once and for all, his name in the gallery of the greats of this instrument. This solitary recital, totally conceived around the comprehensive mistreatment of the entirety of the bass components, is at the same time an extremely composite, splendidly harmonious statement, in which Edwards only needs to recur to an exclusive source of inspiration – his own imagination – to produce tangibly malleable silhouettes and concrete stabs at the customary metaphors characterizing an unaccompanied performance. This kind of forward-looking approach to improvisation doesn’t need hornblowing: we’re given undressed, yet nutritious food for the ears, down to the tiniest module of sound. Each piece seems to focus on a single subject matter while extrapolating the innate virtues and the gist of elemental artistry, which in this case coincides with an advanced form of craft. One has the impression of observing the protagonist at work, bent on the machine aiming to turn the empirical experience into a logical specification of the myriads of often hardly audible occurrences defining the timbral complexion of the whole act. We could easily assert that the success of this CD derives from the fact that listeners are drawn to pay attention to the instrument’s assorted voices rather than trying to lay emphasis on the individual component behind the music. This would be thoroughly unfair to Edwards, whose cogent sensitiveness is the actual raison d'être of another excellent record for solo contrabass from this label, shortly after John Eckardt’s extraordinary Xylobiont.

On the opposite side (and size) stands the London Improvisers Orchestra, “a remarkable musical and social phenomenon” to quote Evan Parker’s passionate liners. We can now enjoy the four Improvisations For George Riste thanks to the zeal of Tim Fletcher, who keeps an archive of most concerts featuring improvising musicians in the city. For about ten years, LIO has been playing a monthly gig at The Red Rose, thus developing a network of strict links between the artists that, more or less regularly, join these performances. This is the collective’s eight release, which includes three segments from 2003 and one from 2007, the length ranging from nearly 12 to over 22 minutes. Trying to set into specific words the dynamics involved in the sonic expression of a group consisting of up to 20 elements would be rather pointless, especially in consideration of the calibre of the implicated players, a veritable who’s who of contemporary improvisation comprising old warhorses such as Parker, Lol Coxhill, Steve Beresford and Harry Beckett and younger exponents like Roland Ramanan, Caroline Kraabel and – guest in the first track – Amy Denio, plus the bulk of the usual suspects (Butcher, Hallett, Northover, Fell, etcetera). A complex architecture of indefiniteness finds its ultimate realization in the continuous shift from edginess to stillness - and vice versa - that typifies various sections of the pieces, usually taking shape from sparse suggestions and probing hints. The instrumentalists channel their intuition towards the margins of different latent tonalities, instantly pulverized by the inside power of the acoustic creation. The weighty humanity of this music is often in nearly painful evidence, aesthetically improbable mechanics miraculously connected and working yet still frail, almost in danger of being scattered around by the ever-strong winds of an uncongenial conformism. But LIO seems to be willing to resist to that threat.

Australian-born saxophonist and flutist Ray Warleigh is one of the most important British session men, having worked with everyone but the kitchen sink (including, among the myriads, Nick Drake). A deep knowledge of the melodic connotations of an improvisation stands as the basis of his soloing, of which Rue Victor Massé contains a comprehensive showcase. Warleigh placed himself and percussionist Tony Marsh in the latter’s girlfriend’s apartment situated in the namesake street, armed with a single microphone and a couple of carpets as dampers. “What I play is absolutely unpremeditated”, declares the protagonist; still, there’s a definite “late-night aroma” in these tracks, where both the homemade feel of the instrumental dialogue and the very value of the notes played lets us think more to a friendly set of relaxed, nearly nonchalant exchanges than an intense effort to carve something truly meaningful from the wood of this meeting. Being the man a notorious perfectionist (hence the fact that his music is definitely under-recorded) I found this release a little strange in that, in all honesty, it misses the target of excitement of several metres. This is cool, tasteful but not memorable stuff and Parker, ironically self-defining a “producer manqué” in the sleeve annotations, seems prone to admit that these recordings were released almost obligatorily after lots of unproductive tries.

Rarely this writer met a level of near-perfection in an improvisational setting such as what’s reflected by Alexander Von Schlippenbach’s Friulian Sketches, in my opinion this poker’s ace of hearts. Friuli is a region of Northern Italy bordering with Slovenia and Austria, Udine – the place where this recording occurred – being the area’s main city. From there hails saxophonist Daniele D’Agaro, here performing – in masterful fashion – on clarinet, in some instances the real hero of this chef d’oeuvre. The man is able to steadily write repeated epitaphs for the absence of imagination, his spectacularly sparkling timbre in continuous evidence whenever the music urges him to intervene; tightly reined melodic visions and dynamically considerate technical uniqueness are but two of the many facets of a truly reputable rare talent. Of the three protagonists – old hands in the German pianist’s Globe Unity Orchestra - cellist Tristan Honsinger appears like the one whose energy is barely controlled, often accompanying the playing with guttural emissions and intense breathing. His instrumental voice is the contrasting factor per antonomasia, oscillating between a sinister kind of smartness and the rootedness in the iconography of unpredictability. Schlippenbach plays marvellously throughout, a double-edged inspiration at the service of the muse of perfectionism. Crystal-clear chords and fearsome runs distinguish this virtuoso’s art from the mass of pretenders, pitiless demonstrations of superior nimbleness touching the heart of the knowledgeable ones while incinerating the illusions of the reprehensible plink-plonkers who memorize a couple of exercises to show off amidst equally desperate companions of calamity. A fantastic release, very highly recommended – especially to the many who still need to realize what “musician” in actual fact means.

Psi

Memories Of Mr.23 (The Alfred Harth Chronicles)

ALFRED HARTH / NICOLE VAN DEN PLAS / FRANZ VOLHARD / PETER STOCK / THOMAS CREMER – 4 Januar 1970

This primeval vinyl, self-released in 300 copies, encloses the recording of a summit that took place in Frankfurt on the title’s date. It is one of the earliest episodes in Alfred Harth’s discography, all the more charming given its age – which in any case is not echoed by the material comprised, fresh-sounding to this day. Harth and drummer Thomas Cremer had met pianist Nicole Van Den Plas in 1969 at a jazz festival in San Sebastian, Spain; at the same time, the Just Music collective – also featuring cellist Franz Volhard and bassist Peter Stock – was taking shape so, in essence, the LP documents the meeting of Just Music and Van Den Plas. The latter went on to become both the saxophonist’s partner and a key element of subsequent projects, including recordings at Frankfurt Radio that involved, among others, Peter Kowald, Peter Brötzmann, Paul Lovens and Jean Van Den Plas (Nicole’s brother). In 1972, Alfred, Nicole and percussionist Sven-Ake Johansson joined their forces, giving life to E.M.T.; thus, what’s heard in 4 Januar 1970 is considered by A23H, together with the above mentioned radiophonic sessions, as an ideal link between Just Music and E.M.T.

The short extent of the program – about 34 minutes – gives perhaps only a faint idea of what these musicians were able to dream up and fabricate, placing at the forefront of the frame a true cooperative spirit not mottled by egotist spurts and haywire tendencies. This means that there’s no available room for flapdoodles: each member sounds concentrated, stable-minded, eager to actively build the muscle of the improvisation until a communal sonic fission becomes substantial, under the semblance of small nuclei of instrumental interaction and intelligible upsurges where each input – also counting Van Den Plas’ abstract vocals appearing here and there – looks for the adjustment to unexpected responses as opposed to privileging the strained alternative of an unnatural terminology. Of course, the highly skilful, persistently enlightened legerdemain of the participants is unmistakable, as not for a single instant the immediate signals seem to have been “thrown away”. Every phrase, every minute of reciprocal listening symbolizes - more than the achievement of a predetermined goal - the untouched beauty of that kind of spur-of-the-moment gestural courage that was typical of arts and musics from the late 60s and early 70s. Eras that in all probability delimited the birth – and, unhappily, the rapid death - of inner movements and structures of thought that are destined not to resurface anytime soon. In that sense, 4 Januar 1970 is as prized an article as you might find.

Amor Fati Roundup

Amor Fati is a label from Bordeaux specializing in free music, whose releases are characterized by cardboard sleeves featuring individual abstract pictures and drawings, very nice collector’s items indeed. Last August, label manager Mathieu Immer was so kind to send me a copious selection of their production (sorry for the delay, Mathieu!). I decided to divide the reviews in two groups, of which this is the first (the rest will follow soon-ish - promise).

GIANNI GRÉGORY FORNET - Troppo Tintu È Addivintatu Lu Munnu

Previously unknown to this writer, Fornet (supposedly a Corsican, given the evident Sardinian influence of the title which means “the world has become too colourful”) is gifted with intelligence and sense of humour. Working solely with guitar overdubs and looped parts, he concocts a series of misrepresented melodies, rupestral asymmetries, Frithian references and discordant carousels that range from minimal possessiveness to melodic toadying – with a few caveats. The music often tends to paroxysm yet there’s also a nicely interpreted, properly constructed “song” that lets us open the heart to its simplicity and raw freshness. Both flustered and recusant of authority, Fornet skedaddles from the trite canons of many solo guitar albums in a remedy against the artificial spuriousness of certain areas of improvisation. Probably because the majority of his pieces is not really spontaneous – or is it? In any case, not one for the desert island but a sincere effort nevertheless.

JOBIC LE MASSON / BENJAMIN DUBOC / DIDIER LASSERRE - Free Unfold Trio

For this CD pianist Le Masson, contrabassist Duboc and drummer Lasserre were recorded in 2006 at Musée d’Aquitaine in Bordeaux. Gracefully poised jazzy improvisations from any observation angle, rather harmless as far as unforeseen surprises and impulsive twists and turns are concerned. There’s a commendable intercommunication between the parts, with a few accelerations causing the semi-controlled manners of the trio to become, sometimes, a fallow terrain of hurried glances to dissonance and clustered fragmentariness. But, overall, the skies where the daring birds of instantaneous inventiveness are used to spread their wings remain pretty clear. In other words, nothing new under the sun, despite the irrefutable technical adroitness of the participants.

3 ROCKS & A SOCK - Merci De Votre Visite

If you appreciate spoken word balancing spur-of-the-moment music, you might want to throw a pinch of consideration towards this CD, where Steve Dalachinsky reads contemporary poetry and texts from various authors (including Pier Paolo Pasolini) with involving enough dedication and the right dose of theatrical detachment, while Sébastien Capazza’s tenor sax and Didier Lasserre’s drums sketch different kinds of improvisational shapes around him, often verging on the “tolerable free-jazz” territory, elsewhere accompanying more tunefully so to speak. I, for one, would be a liar by stating that this is an unforgettable disc. There’s of course a certain grade of appeal in the chiaroscuro interplay generated by the musicians, a hide-and-seek machination that is nevertheless barely noticeable for memorable consequences; only through intense absorption we manage to sustain the attention throughout these 55+ minutes. It’s better seeing this stuff live than listening at home; the visual aspect is probably critical in that sense, and the music per se is not really catchy.

JEAN-LUC GUIONNET / BENJAMIN DUBOC - Self-titled

Richard Morice’s atelier in Paris is the location where, in 2005, this performance occurred. It’s an alto saxophone + contrabass duo that gives back some lustre to the concept of “use of space” in improvisation; that’s also to say that this is a very strong record in its succinctness. These men show indeed how a shrewdly reductionist approach works when the essential ideas are lucid: there’s a superb amalgamation of silences and sudden outbreaks that don’t sound like actual eruptions, appearing instead as big dots on a blank sheet of paper. The rest is a scrupulous analysis of the vibrating elements of the instruments, in which sheer hypotheses look well-rooted, getting instantly translated into a seamless texture of parasympathetic correspondences, each of the couple’s members constantly aware of the position occupied by the partner. The magnificently luscious timbre of Duboc’s bass is in itself a luxury for the ears, and Guionnet’s reed-fuelled efficient cleverness is, by now, an acknowledged fact.

SYLVAIN GUÉRINEAU – Dies Irae

Telling that Guérineau can’t play his instruments (alto and baritone saxophones) would be unjust, as he is the owner of a vigorous, American-rooted tone often complemented by the very voice of the artist, who screams in conjunction with the instrumental flare-ups when the occasion arises. Yet these 36 minutes of solo elucubrations, recorded at the Church of Saint Côme et Saint Damien in Luzarches – the lengthy reverberations should tell – are not particularly irresistible. Let’s be bluntly honest: several parts of this CD bored me a little bit. Consecutive successions of frequently prolix, otherwise rather predictable phrasings, halfway through “atonal” and “loosely thematic” and with few pauses, didn’t manage to elicit more than a superficial curiosity, soon put aside in the useless wait for something unanticipated to come and save the day – which never happened. Maybe next time?

BENJAMIN BONDONNEAU / FABRICE CHARLES – Dordogne

Even without excessive originality, Dordogne - a double CD by clarinettist Bondonneau and trombonist Charles, recorded minus supplementary effects during a trip along (you guessed it) Dordogne in the fall and winter of 2006 – is among the best, if not THE best of this first batch of releases. There’s more or less everything one would expect from an open-air recording session: the washing of the waters, sporadic meetings with natives, out-of-tune marching bands, rain, insects and birds. It’s how the artists mix their playing with the environmental sources that results as the winning card of the set: apart from the predictable tube-channelled airy currents, sublingual flutters and farting explosions, the couple makes sure that the instruments are perceived like a part of that natural setting, strange animals wailing, hissing and self-responding amidst semi-urban sceneries and long echoes defining solitary walks. When we’re left alone with the field recordings, it’s easy to be ensnared by the frequent moan-and-chug of some machine over which singing women and stuttering children manifest their microcosmic appearance, or appreciating once again the evocativeness of circumstances – say, a passing train – that should be considered ordinary but instead keep awakening the quiescent memories of adolescence. Our growth, in essence, before someone else decides to try and pollute that otherwise inaccessible mental purity.