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| Photo by author |
As the geopolitical world continues to reach new depths of shallowness in terms of respect for humanity, my appreciation for the art that transpired at the 44th Konfrontationen in Nickesldorf last July has only grown. Dedicated to the phenomenal Swiss pianist Irène Schweizer, who had recently passed, the music this year now seems like a utopian counterpoint to the global tragedies increasing and accelerating. In some ways, I’ve always thought of improvised music as a model for living, an ethics-in-action, a real-time negotiation with the material world, an attempt to create something beautiful while wrestling with the myriad shifting social conditions involved.
The trio of Sylvia Bruckner (piano), Tony Buck (drums, percussion) and Martin Siewert (electric guitar, lap steel, electronics) embodied this spirit with understated precision. Siewert opened by groping the electrobuzz, kindling a delicate heartfelt piano twinkle harmonic resonance from Bruckner. Her melodies crinkled—somber and assured—using the dampening of the strings to bring mellifluous connections to the fore. Siewert added a few ghostly isolated acoustic strums on his guitar before zooming in on an essential psychedelic crux. (I know I always note his psych moments. Martin, dm me when you start a new-wave Flower Travellin’ Band; I’ll drop everything I’m doing and work for you.) This full band rose in waves, quickening their pace and amplifying the decibels before receding and rising again, multiple times – but each time finding surprisingly perpendicular routes to the halting and quietizing.
Green verdure from the music with the late night blue sky. Buck pulled out a scrape as harsh as pulling the skin off a bee, but verdure has that side too. Their second piece started swirlier, an invitation to the maelstrom, Bruckner bowing the piano leg, then a solid crosshatching by Buck to shade in the full picture: look! animals in a landscape!
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| Photo by Karl Wendelin |
The air was so blue, the light so piercingly blue, in the sky, on my lap, Bogdana started dancing, and then a weird howl that wasn’t coming from any visible instrument tornadoed through the garden. A piano vs. guitar warble-off broke loose, so Sakata got inchwormy, in the Coltrane sense. The grounding force of di Domenico’s piano in this ensemble cannot be overstated: his centeredness allowed the band to follow their wildest whims, and his precise accents made each wildness sound wilder, more beloved for being so.
Sakata went trilling toward heaven on alto before switching to clarinet, just as the guitarist switched to another more suited for congliptious underpinnings and thick washes of thrum. Škorić played a scrappy brand of workhorse drums, using leverage and balance to keep the music improbably afloat. Once Sakata opened his mouth for poetry, the full guttural grist and gumption came pouring out. It felt like a blessing, direct and primal. I remember sensing his vocal sounds emerging cone-shaped, spreading like seeds across the space, popping in everyone’s ears at slightly different moments. Edi said it felt like Sakata was narrating the final two episodes of Samurai Jack – bittersweet and oddly fulfilling.
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| Akira Sakata. Photo by Karl Wendelin |
Martin Brandlmayr (drums, percussion)/ Elisabeth Harnik (piano)/ Didi Kern (drums, percussion)
What struck me most was how effective it was that the two drummers couldn’t really see what each other were doing; they just listened and worked together to elevate Harnik. All three launched in with force and never let up. There was density—trebly density—with huffed cymbals rising mountainous into thinner air. At moments it felt like three drummers; at other times, five pianists. We’re talking real cymbal delicacy here – shimmers in tune. That mountaineering feeling never left me: this was music as adventure – climbing, rappelling, gasping for breath, struggling and loving it (what exquisite views!)
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| Harnik Trio. Photo by Karl Wendelin |
Flights of Motherless Birds
John Butcher (saxophones)/ Chris Corsano (drums, percussion)/ Flo Stoffner (guitar)
On the second day at the Jazzgalerie, I noticed how satisfying the new chairs are: cushy in two places! Perfect for sinking into while aborbing an interlacing of densities from three improvisors prone to prod the microclimates. They micro-processed air (Butcher), land (Corsano) and sea (Stoffner), each shaping a zone with exacting detail. There was something ladder-like about the performance – not in the sense of ups and downs, but in the regular intervallic shifting, like rungs you trace with your ears. I heard the theme song for a really twisted detective show – one with no crimes, but an overwhelming number of clues.
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| John Butcher. Photo by Karl Wendelin |
Insect-style improv, yes, but with a rhapsody corrector. They had the guts to stop when it was right, not dragging an idea past its peak: sweet conclusions discovered were honored, not inflated. It didn’t seem like they had a lot of different things to say, but sometimes saying one thing clearly, tenderly and fluidly from multiple angles is more than enough.
Luís Vicente (trumpet)/ John Dikeman (tenor saxophone)/ Luke Stewart (doublebass)/ Onno Govaert (drums, percussion)
This set felt like announcement music – declarative and insistent. Bogdana responded with a dance that felt like prayer through movement. Govaert was new to me, and I loved how he meshed with Stewart; the two built a thick, flexible web of bass and drums. At times, Dikeman’s overblown tenor made me wonder whether it’s the right horn for him, like maybe he would be better off figuring out new ways to freak a flute. Similar to Brötzmann, when he slows down, he can carve out a really fine sequence of notes, as he did while undergirding Vicente’s fast solo with a solid, descending motif.
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| John Dikeman. Photo by Karl Wendelin |
An intricate and fascinating staccato puzzle began forming in the rhythm section, until Dikeman burst in with vocalic exclamations that sent the whole thing in another direction. Stewart’s bass solo was all too brief – especially given the layered, detailed groundwork he was laying throughout, to anchor the wind instruments’ fervor. Playing bass in this band felt like trying to slow down a racecar: how can you get the driver to honor both the car and the track, the holistic totality of speed and terrain? If a bird’s flight is a message to be deciphered and then obeyed, the sunrise glory rays cast by a frog preparing to leap are pure command.
Red Desert Experience: Eve Risser (piano)/ Matthias Müller (trombone)/ Grégoire Tirtiaux (baritone saxophone)/ Tatiana Paris (guitar)/ David Merlo (bass)/ Melisse Hié (balafon, djembe)/ Ophélia Hié (balafon), Oumarou Bambara (djembe, bara)/ Emmanuel Scarpa (drums, percussion)
This was the set I had most anticipated all weekend, and I was not disappointed. When it began with a balafon solo, which soon became a duo by the Hié sisters, the first thing I noted was that even the musicians not yet playing were smiling, nodding and dancing with their heads. That’s what you want! I was trying to brush away the goosebumps on my arm—I was so full of anticipation for the full ensemble’s sound, I even cried a little imagining what was to come—but the goosebumps stayed, and I stayed riveted, perched on the edge of my seat for the whole performance (though I couldn’t help wishing some space had been cleared for us to dance). [I know the photos are all of djembes, but different moments in text can be illustrated by different images]
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| Red Desert Experience. Photo by Karl Wendelin |
Risser was already dancing on her piano bench before even touching the keys, which amped me up even more. As each instrumentalist joined in, it felt like they were adding colors we hadn’t known were missing – each entry making the picture richer and more vibrant. Merlo’s electric bass locked into perfect synchrony with Risser’s spectral scrapes from beyond the veil. I became totally enamored with her physicality at the piano: standing, throbbing over the keys, through the keys, throbbing through the music. She leads this orchestra not by dominance, but by sheer love for the sound – and that love is infectious. The interplay between piano and balafons was both sophisticated and tactile, harmonic and endearing.
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| Photo by Karl Wendelin |
We basked in polyrhythms, then Risser raised her hand and signaled: 1, 2, 3, 4 BANG – an abrupt, thrilling stop to open onto an abstract trombone solo from Müller, utterly enchanting. Later, Risser added flute, and suddenly we were in Conference of the Birds territory – especially as Tirtiaux played his baritone saxophone with the mouthpiece removed, sculpting soft, breathy reverberations. I’ve written before about how much I admire Risser, and this performance opened up a new dimension to that admiration: her ability to extend the traditions I love by infusing them with sound worlds that haven’t historically shared space. Dark waves of tone clusters and gorgeously exorbitant major chords meshed wondrously with traditional African percussion instruments. Michael said the performance felt like an homage to Schweizer; even if it was unconscious, Irène was certainly in the air. And I have no doubt she was flying on plumes of radiance.
Hamid Drake (drums, percussion)/ Georg Graewe (piano)/ Brad Jones (doublebass)
By the time this set began, I was wiped out – wishing it had been placed anywhere else in the program. (Why make anything follow Red Desert Experience?) But such is the largesse of the Konfrontationen: outrageous highs follow outrageous highs, and it’s the audience’s job to keep pace. Alas, even with musicians I’m practically obsessed with, I could barely focus in the moment. At the time, Jones’ bass didn’t seem to add much to the several-decade rapport between Graewe and Drake. But now that the recording has been released, I hear it differently. There’s a lot of strong, responsive pivoting in his playing – grounding the dialogue and giving it shape. Sometimes we need a little hindsight to hear what was really there.
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| Brad Jones. Photo by Karl Wendelin |
What Do You Want from a Bird?
José Lencastre (alto saxophone)/ Vinicius Cajado (doublebass)
Sitting in the shade of the stone arena at the Kleylehof to start the third day was just what the body needed. This pleasant afternoon wake-up set was perfectly embodied by the image of Lencastre, barefoot in the grass, playing alto saxophone. At one point, he even paused mid-phrase to let a breeze pass. His Desmond-like clarity and warmth couldn’t have been gentler, or more attuned to the moment.
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| Cajado & Lencastre. Photo by Karl Wendelin |
Cajado, too, leaned into tenderness – using the bass’s glorious low-end to soften and lubricate the lightness in the air, never perturb it. From the performances I’ve seen and the recordings I’ve heard, his wide range is clear – but today it was his restraint and generosity that stood out. This was an afternoon duo of subtle gestures, gracious pacing and attunement to the setting.
Egg Shaped Orbit: Almut Schlichting (baritone saxophone)/ Els Vandeweyer (vibraphone, balafon)/ Keisuke Matsuno (electric guitar)
I had to catch up on a meal during this set, so I listened from a little farther away than usual, which may have accounted for my inability to fully submerge into it. Strange, since I’m a longtime fan of Vandeweyer’s luscious, quavering vibraphone tone. Matsuno’s guitar playing leaned spaceward, pushing the vibe into slightly psychy territory before Vandeweyer scattered detritus on the vibes and plunked at the objects with a slightly madcap frenzy. Schlichting’s baritone came across a bit bonky, in the Vandermarkian way—repeated one-note blasts—and it didn’t quite land for me, though it may have been a case of schnitzel brain. Distance, digestion and sonic subtlety don’t always align, but I’d gladly revisit a recording of this set if it ever emerges.
Phil Minton (voice)/ Carl Ludwig Hübsch (tuba, voice)
If the voice is the most human instrument, is the tuba the most non-human? Nah, probably French horn (which could explain its scarcity in jazz and improvised music). Anyway, this set was an audience favorite: full of super-dramatic vocal exchanges (sometimes through the tuba, sometimes direct) that conjured hilarious scenes of kids playing, parents arguing, animals cavorting. Lots of whistling too. Hübsch’s stage presence was pure jokester – a perfect compliment to Minton’s impeccable timing and split-second shifts of tone and emotion.
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| Hübsch & Minton. Photo by Karl Wendelin |
Turquoise Dream: Carlos “Zingaro” (violin)/ Marta Warelis (piano/ Marcelo dos Reis (acoustic guitar)/ Helena Espvall (cello)
Between sets at the Jazzgalerie, things feel casual—people chatting, drinking, stretching and carrying on—but once the music begins, the atmosphere snaps into place. Focus tightens the stage with a kind of reverent immediacy: you can hear a bar glass clink from 50 meters away. The first sound that struck me in this final set was Espvall’s cello – echoey, but not hollow; open, ringing. Later she played a flamenco-inflected solo that became the highlight of the set for me; it was full of all the flair and constrained madness that characterizes the rhythmic complexity and tension of that music for me. Compelling.
At one point someone’s empty glass rolled on the stone ground; Warelis heard it and mimicked the rolling with a few churns through a high-end piano ramble – playful, uncanny. Attacking two corks placed wedged in his guitar strings with mallets, dos Reis was significantly more vicious with his guitar than I had ever heard him. He strummed it the way a dog barks. After one particularly manic onslaught, he picked up both legs and rolled back in his seat. Espvall watched, wide-eyed, with the same combination of encouraging esteem and total captivation that the audience seemed to share. (Her glorious solo followed soon after.) [Wow, it’s pretty amazing to write things and then get sent photos that perfectly encapsulate what you’ve already written]
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| Espvall & dos Reis. Photo by Karl Wendelin |
The dance party that followed was particularly memorable, Risser on flute and Stewart playing shot-glass percussion along with the DJs for quite some time. The 45th incarnation is right around the corner. You can have this dance.
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| Photo by author |
1 comments:
Living far from the big cities in the Midwest right now, it is almost unbelievable what kind of acts these European festivals get. I guess I will have to experience them vicariously for the time being. Excellent coverage, Andrew. Seems like one hell of a festival.
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