MMM Quartet – Oakland/Lisboa (RogueArt, 2015) ****½

By JA Besche

Jazz is probably the most scrutinized music in the world.  Not necessarily by the media or public at large, but one would be hard-pressed to find the same level of debate within the fans, players, and historians of another genre, mostly asking the metaphysical question of “what is jazz?”.  This has to do with many factors, mostly how jazz originated as a truly American, truly black art form that came out of the bonds of slavery, and how far it has come since then, how it has branched out musically, and how it has been consumed and reinterpreted across cultures and social classes since that time.  Adding to this is the serious nature in which fans and players analyze the concept and technique behind a recording, which, if not more profound, is definitely more esoteric than most genres of music.  Even within free jazz, we have certain (false) dichotomies that have been created since the likes of Ornette Coleman and Albert Ayler birthed the concept.  Typically this has to do with the impetus behind free jazz, which in its infancy was mostly a response to the restrictions and staleness of post-bop paradigms, but in equal measure the rejection of the status quo of society, black empowerment, and cultural revolution through the freedom of expression.  On the other end of the dichotomy is what is commonly called European creative music, which some have taken as a sort of cultural appropriation, or at least less genuine than the free jazz being played in New York lofts during the 1960’s.  There is also the idea of the “white hanger-on” being less talented, more content to skonk and screech with no purpose or ethos, making wanky, long jam sessions that do nothing but satisfy their own neurosis.  As I implied before, I find this to be a false dichotomy and in reality the people who argue along these lines aren’t really serving any purpose for anyone except to satisfy their own egos (in my opinion), especially some 50-60 years after the fact.  Jazz has not died and it probably never will while music is still being made, at least in spirit and in the development of improvisation techniques.  Everyone is entitled to their personal opinions about certain music, but to write it off for some perceived lack of authenticity because it’s been analyzed too narrowly is not helping anything.

As I had recently read an op-ed dismissing the genre of free improv as generally talentless “white hanger-on music” (whereas third stream was the writer’s chosen authentic form of looser improvisation), these and other thoughts popped into my head as I listened to this album, which is quite comfortably in the free improv column.  This is probably the one (nebulously defined) genre that receives most of the criticisms I’ve described above.  Sometimes records in this vein take themselves so seriously that they come off as almost laughable in their pretense, others are so cheeky in their approach that they make the listener feel like the butt of a joke, and others still are just a woman playing “tenor balloon” (I love you Judy Dunaway!).  It’s often the kind of stuff that has detractors of the genre painting its musicians and fans as taking themselves way too seriously, but those who follow the genre know that there are incredible displays of musicianship and passion to be found on many recordings.

So, I had these thoughts swimming around in my head as I sat and listened to MMM Quartet’s album Oakland/Lisboa from Rogue Art records.  I can’t say that I like all free improvisation, or that it sometimes doesn’t feel like a huge exercise in pretense, but this is not the album for that.  This is a barrel load of talent, passion, technique, and most importantly FREEDOM.  I think that the creative music that spawned from free jazz was the natural progression, and that while the original free jazz that spawned in America is incredible and life- affirming in so many ways, it’s not something people should try to mimic ad infinium, which would obviously be against the spirit of free jazz in the first place.  Our need to define and categorize things can sometimes obfuscate the simple beauty of those things we take for granted because they don’t fit neatly into a specific box. 

I’ve already gone on too long of a rant without saying enough about this album, but its all here.  Yes, the band is irreverent (MMM stands for MillsMusicMafia, obviously tongue-in-cheek), but the music is as serious as it gets without being self-important.  You have, in my opinion; four of the best musicians in the world in this genre, who together have an incredible understanding of each other’s playing.  For a live free improv performance you would think that this had been expertly mapped out beforehand.  Leandre seems to know exactly when to pluck her strings or when to saw right into your head with her heavily bowed double bass.  Fred Frith is the best non-traditional guitarist ever, I assume.  On this record, he makes just the sound of plugging in an electric guitar (leaving the cord touching the input but not quite fully plugged in, creating a droning electronic squelch) sound like art.  It sounds like something anyone could do to the untrained (like those parents who think their kids can paint as well as Picasso or Pollack), but it’s about knowing the players around him, understanding space and timing; it’s not easy yet he pulls it off impeccably.  Urs Leimgruber adds so much texture through unorthodox playing of his saxophone that makes it sound more like a tenor balloon (I still love you, Judy Dunaway!), before he provides crucial counter points with melodic phrasing during the noisier moments of his compatriots.  Alvin Curran is most recognizable as the one playing a traditional instrument, his microtonal piano runs cutting through the fog at crucial times.  On the other hand, his sampling and electronics work provides immense layers of dense and tough to distinguish sounds, adding a large amount of textural and dramatic elements.  They do all of this for a long time, never losing steam, never running out of ideas, morphing in and out between tonal playing and pure texture, between cacophony and silence, showing their virtuosity one moment before deconstructing the idea of a musical instrument the next.  It’s not just thought provoking or ultra-progressive, but enjoyable, fervent, and well made.  Dividing and categorizing art, trying to fit it into neat categories, and then judging it based on how it fits into such categories is not what anyone remembers.  Records like this are what people will remember, and most importantly, what will continue to push other musicians to progress, take risks, and build an ecstatic community based on freedom of expression.  As a fan, one can’t ask for much more. 

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Book of Angels, Vols 24 - 26

By Lee Rice Epstein

With the increasing attention on John Zorn’s classically-oriented output, it’s a little too easy to overlook his massive Book of Angels project. With 27 volumes already released, Zorn’s completely outdone himself, taking some of the most notable aspects of Masada Book 1, traditional Jewish harmonies filtered through a pianoless Ornette-inspired quartet, and repeatedly blown them apart and reassembled them into compelling, and catchy, ways. Here’s a brief look at the 2015 releases.

The Spike Orchestra - Cerberus, The Book of Angels, Vol. 26 (Tzadik, 2015)  ***1/2

First, I love that Tzadik bills this as “the Big Band Masada project you’ve been waiting for.” From one perspective, there have been a handful of big-band Masada projects throughout the Book of Angels series. And yet, about halfway through the album, when the London-based, 18-piece Spike Orchestra hits its Ellingtonian stride on “Armasa,” it’s clear this really sounds unlike any other Masada project. In truth, the big-band swing kicks in about a minute into “Gehegial,” the album opener. Cue up 00:35 and be transported to a fantasy New York where Harlem borders Hasidic Williamsburg. The band, led by vocalist Nikki Franklin and trumpet player Sam Eastmond, wears its classic big-band influences on both sleeves and waves them like huge flags. “Hananiel” is a straight-ahead swinger that really cooks under Stewart Curtis’s clarinet solo. “Lahal” nicely blends orchestral verve with klezmer, showcasing Sam Leak on keyboards and Paul Booth on tenor sax. The centerpiece of the album, and my personal favorite track, is “Armasa.” Erica Clarke lays down a banging baritone sax riff, and gradually the rest of the band layers on until about 2 minutes in, when the swinging melody takes over. Clarke remains the highlight of the track, but the high brass section of Eastmond, George Hogg, Noel Langley, and Karen Straw adds brilliant counterpoint. On the final track, “Pahadron,” a guitar-heavy stomp backs Franklin’s almost mystical vocals. A brief klezmer-inspired bridge segues into a melancholy solo from Eastmond. The closing moments are an inspired blast of chaos, hinting at some greatness to come. Definitely recommended.

Mycale - Gomory: The Book of Angels, Vol. 25 (Tzadik, 2015) ***

GOMORY is Mycale’s second entry in the Book of Angels. The all-women vocal quartet—Ayelet Rose Gottlieb, Sofia Rei Koutsovitis, Basya Schecter, and Malika Zarra—uses a pared down, crystalline minimalism that recasts the original Masada quartet. Vocals are sung in multiple languages, including “Portuguese, Berber, Hebrew, French and Spanish” according to Tzadik. I’m going to go ahead and start by damning with faint praise: GOMORY is a fine follow-up to the group’s debut, MYCALE, and it’s certainly a welcome installment in the bonanza of new groups that have sprung from Zorn’s imagination. But the resulting album is little more than a sequel to a great album, so some of the shine has been rubbed off. However, Mycale remains a remarkable interpretation of Zorn’s work, and this group, much like the Masada String Trio, has become a staple of the whole Masada project. “Huzia” alternates wordless staccato rhythms with a gorgeous sung melody. The mix of languages gives the whole recording a decidedly Sephardic flair that plays against the more pronounced Ashkenazi influence of the first Masada quartet. On “Pelial,” Mycale undercuts a yearning melody with a barbershop-influenced rhythm. About a minute later, the quartet coos soothingly before transitioning into a kind of four-way vocal duel. Popping and leaping in different directions, Gottlieb, Koutsovitis, Schecter, and Zarra open up the spaces between each other, providing an intriguing refraction of the opening minute. For anyone who enjoyed Mycale’s debut, I highly recommend this album. For those who are new to the band, either is a perfect place to begin.

Klezmerson - Amon: The Book of Angels, Vol. 24 (Tzadik, 2015) ****

Klezmerson’s 2011 Tzadik album, SIETE, was a major breakthrough for the band, and AMON is a thrilling follow-up. As a band, Klezmerson’s more out-there moments belie a lightness and humor that’s woven into Zorn’s music. Much like Masada represents a filtering of traditional Jewish music through various world musics, primarily jazz, Klezmerson’s Benjamin Shwartz weaves together elements of Sephardic music, filtered through a Mexican-infused klezmer sound. The result is danceable, funky, and richly satisfying. The stage it set on the opener, “Samchia.” Reeds start with a brief teaser over light rhythm guitar work, as Moises Garcia provides a piercing call and response on trumpet. Before the first minute is up, Chatran Gonzalez and Gustavo Nandayapa join on drums and percussion, and horns and strings swing into the pulsing melody. If I’m not mistaken, this is the largest band Shwartz has recorded with under the Klezmerson band. In total, there are 16 names on the liner notes, and the credits include strings, brass, and reeds, as well as Central and South American guitars, like leona, jarana, and requinto, and seemingly infinite layers of percussion. Tzadik likens the result to the Secret Chiefs 3 album, and I’d include Eyvind Kang and Zion80’s album in there, as well. These large groups seem eager to tap into the deep postmodern roots in Zorn’s music, pulling together influences from Naked City, Painkiller, and Masada. On “Yefefiah,” the group lightens up Shwartz’s cocktail-inspired arrangement with a smooth ‘50s-inspired Latin groove. And album closer “Amabiel” kicks off with layered guitar work that before morphing into a groove that wouldn’t be out of place on a movie soundtrack of young Israeli spies finding love as they battle surf Nazis off the Argentine coast (someone, make this movie so Klezmerson can soundtrack it). For a Masada Book 2 project, this just feels exactly right. Highly recommended.

The Spike Orchestra teaser:

Klezmerson teaser:

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Thomas Chapin - Night Bird Song ('Olena Productions, 2016) *****

By Paul Acquaro

A few weeks ago I had a chance to catch a screening of this new documentary on saxophonist/composer Thomas Chapin. It was an early cut of the film, and about two and half hours long. Not knowing a tremendous amount about Chapin, I went in thinking that 2.5 hours on a sunny Sunday afternoon is quite a commitment ... yet as the film neared its end, I was not ready to leave, I wanted to -no, needed to - see and hear more about this tremendous musician.

Stephanie Castillo, the filmmaker, is the sister-in-law of the late Chapin, who passed away from leukemia in 1998. She turned her eye towards making a documentary on Chapin a few years ago, after not really know him when he was alive (she explained in a Q&A that she lived in Hawaii, while her sister Terri lived in New York with Chapin). What she uncovers is a rich and focused life that comes into sharp relief in light of his untimely death.

The film, using footage, photos, documents and interviews, presents Chapin's life in two parts: the first a rather chronological log of his life growing up in Connecticut, his family, his growing musical interests, and his studies at Rutger's in the early days of its renowned jazz program. The film moves on to his work as music director of the Lionel Hampton big band, the fury of his group Machine Gun, and finally the creation of the Thomas Chapin Trio with bassist Mario Pavone and drummers Steve Johns and Michael Sarin. In watching the arc of Chapin’s foreshortened career, you cannot help but see how his ambition and focus were always underscored by his humanity and genuine curiosity. It can be humbling to watch.

The second half delves into some darker topics. There is mention of a brief period of alcoholism, followed by Chapin's spiritual discovery and his creation of the group "Sprits Rebellious" - a deep dive into Latin music which is still as fresh and enjoyable today, as evidenced by the performance by guitarist Saul Rubin and bassist Arthur Kell at the film’s screening. This coincides with the success of the Thomas Chapin Trio and the brilliant string of albums on the Knitting Factory label and is explored through conversations with people who knew and worked with Chapin, including Knitting Factory Label founder Michael Dorf, Downtown Music Gallery owner Bruce Lee Gallanter, bassist Mario Pavone, guitarist Saul Rubin, Terri Castillo Chapin, and many others.

In the final stretch of the film, we are confronted by Chapin's illness, which manifests during an extensive trip to Africa. It’s hard not to be swept with emotion as you watch this man who put so much energy into his music and had so much his lust for life, be taken by cancer.

My one complaint is that I wish there was more and higher resolution video footage of Chapin at work. I suspect that when he was working at his prime in the mid-80s through the mid-90s, it was just harder and a bit more costly to do video - not everyone walked around with HD video cameras like they do now, just rampantly documenting!

Needless for me to say at this point, Night Bird Song is a moving film that will hopefully present Chapin's small but brilliant body of work to a new set of appreciative listeners.

The filmmakers are now taking the work to the major film festivals, and you can check with the Downtown Music Gallery as they may have DVD copies of the film available.

The film can be viewed Wednesday, April 27 at 8:30 pm during The New York City International Film Festival. http://www.nyciff.com/thomas-chapin-page.

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Alberto Pinton Noi Siamo- Resiliency (Moserobie, 2016) ****

By Eyal Hareuveni

Italy-born and Stockholm-based reeds player Alberto Pinton's new quartet is called Noi Siamo - 'We are' in Italian - a name that echoes the conscious-confident titles of Ornette Coleman's classic quartet albums. The title of this Noi Siamo debut album, Resiliency, and the title of the opening piece, “Krigarens Väg” (The Warrior’s Way in Swedish) suggest even more about the spirit of Pinon’s music. Now few will be surprised to know that Pinton is also an experienced marathon runner.

Resiliency is only Pinton's ninth album as a leader (though his discography encompasses about sixty recordings as a sideman).  Recorded live at the famed Glenn Miller Café in Stockholm on July 2015, is features Pinton alternating between baritone sax, bass clarinet and clarinet. His quartet is comprised by trumpet player Niklas Barnö, known from the groups Suis!, Snus,and Mats Gustafsson’s a Fire! Orchestra; double bass player Torbjörn Zetterberg, who has collaborated before with Pinton in his Quintet, the Dog Out quartet and Zetterberg’s group Och Den Stora Frågan, and drummer Konrad Agnas.

Pinton wrote all of the six compositions. The 18-minutes “Krigarens Väg” and the extended “Magnetism” and “Kapten K” captures faithfully the urgent and powerful intensity of this quartet. These loose pieces dwell between the post-bop and the fiery free jazz of the late sixties territories but without subscribing to any form or convention. Pinton and Barnö keep exchanging commanding, muscular solos, pushed by the restless, fast-shifting rhythm section of Zetterberg and Agnas. Pinton's charismatic voice on the bass clarinet on “Magnetism” sounds like an inspired transformation of Eric Dolphy's innovative sound on that instrument. The intimate, open-ended duo of Pinton and Barnö on “Tangible-Intangible” emphasizes even further the telepathic interplay both have developed. Later their conversational solos on “Lacy and the beautiful ballad  “L’Aquilone” goes even deeper.  

Great performance, great quartet.  

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Dan Weiss - Sixteen: Drummers Suite (Pi Recordings, 2016) ****

By Lee Rice Epstein

Dan Weiss returns with a slightly larger ensemble and a more-cohesive, driving vision. His previous album, FOURTEEN, was a grand big-band spectacle. On SIXTEEN: DRUMMERS SUITE, Weiss has crafted a glorious tribute to six of the all-time great drummers: Elvin Jones, Max Roach, Tony Williams, Philly Joe Jones, Kenny Clarke, and Ed Blackwell. The source material for each composition (“Elvin,” “Max,” “Tony,” “Philly Joe,” “Klook,” and “Ed”) comes from specific patterns performed by each drummer on a certain recording. And truly, one could spend hours digging into the original recordings, comparing them to these compositions, digging further into each drummer’s discography to pull together the various threads of inspiration that informed how Weiss attempted to shape each track in the style and personality of its namesake. But I want to spend slightly more time on what an exceptional big-band album this is.

“The Drummers Meet” introduces the album’s concept with a Weiss solo that incorporates elements of each drummer’s style. Weiss then abruptly kicks off “Elvin,” the track that inspired this entire project. Sixteen retains many of the same players from Fourteen, with a few additions and substitutions: Stephen Cellucci, Thomas Morgan, Jacob Sacks, Matt Mitchell, Miles Okazaki, Katie Andrews, Anna Webber, David Binney, Miguel Zenon, Ohad Taylor, Jacob Garchik, Ben Gerstein, Judith Berkson, Lana Is, and Jen Shyu.

Morgan introduces “Tony” with a brief solo. About a minute in, the horns lay down the first melodic line, followed by a short piano duel and harp riff. By the time Taylor, Binney, and Zenon begin trading saxophone solos, the rhythm section, along with the vocal trio, is absolutely swinging. Later, Mitchell is heard on glockenspiel backing Okazaki, a pairing that recurs a couple of times throughout the album. And these are the kinds of moments that showcase Weiss’s imagination, dazzling interplays often between instruments you’d never typically match up.

“Philly Joe” opens with a beautiful tabla pattern, eventually settling into a meditative choral stretch that takes up most of the middle section. A Xenakis-inspired horn pattern pulls the track forward into a fascinating blend of new music and wordless vocals, that somehow segues into a Mitchell organ solo, countered by Sacks’s circular piano line. During the last third of “Klook,” Morgan and Weiss perform an evocative duet, teasing a pairing I’d love to hear more from.

At 15 minutes, “Ed” is the undisputed standout. Opening with a free, unaccompanied chorale, the entire band gradually joins in, adding another voice and layer to the floating improvisation. There seem to be shades of color here, rather than discreetly composed lines (though I may be mistaken), as only a few melodic elements repeat. After Weiss joins on cymbals, there’s an extended duet by Sacks and Mitchell, echoing some of the lines heard during the horns’ warmup. The echoing line is picked up again by the saxophones, and the full band comes and go in thick waves, with Binney and Zenon occasionally singing a high alto note above the fray. Weiss plays a couple of tabla-inspired drum solos, but “Ed” somehow manages to showcase all sixteen players at once. Webber’s flute, like Binney and Zenon’s altos, cuts through in later sections, but the group’s heady interplay is what’s being showcased, in many ways an inspired reflection on all the drummers honored here. The album fades out on a contemplative conversation between guitar, glockenspiel, and piano, punctuated by quiet fills from Weiss. It’s an unexpected finish to the thicket that came before, suitably elegiac and thoughtful.

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Peter Brötzmann, Heather Leigh – Ears Are Filled With Wonder (Not Two Records, 2016) ****

By Colin Green

The duo of Peter Brötzmann (reeds) and Heather Leigh (pedal steel guitar) has been causing something of a stir since their first meeting at Glasgow’s Tectonics Festival in May last year. The pedal steel guitar has long outgrown the familiar C&W twang but it doesn’t have much of a profile in free jazz or improv. Not anymore. Leigh is US born but now resident in Scotland, and on her recent album, I Abused Animal (Ideologic Organ, 2015) we also hear her haunting voice.

This album was recorded during a residency by Brötzmann’s Octet, of which Leigh formed part, at the Alchemia, Kraków in November 2015. It consists of the title piece, at just under half an hour. I also had the chance to catch the duo during their recent short tour of Britain at Salford’s Islington Mill, Brötzmann’s first visit to Manchester since the Eighties. Their set lasted about twice as long as the album performance but covered more or less the same ground.  

Leigh’s playing is often simple but hypnotic; like Brötzmann, reduced down to essentials and shorn of frippery, and a perfect foil for his repertoire of dramatic peaks and troughs as he excavates down to the core, the stuff that matters. They play without a break using overlapping blocks of material as one picks up from the other or introduces something in contrast. Brötzmann opens with impassioned calls on tárogató accompanied by glistening, slightly queasy guitar arpeggios. He moves to vibrato-laden tenor, building into smeared bursts of energy urged on by Leigh’s warped slide guitar, edged with distortion. On clarinet, an instrument for which Brötzmann reserves some of his most reflective and lyrical playing, his brooding melody is supported by quivering tremolos, jolted by abrupt changes in tuning.

In Salford, the duo raised the temperature to boiling point with Leigh’s incessant riff and Brötzmann blasting though the ceiling, before ending on a dreamier note.

Recommended.

Islington Mill:

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Taku Sugimoto - Septet (Ftarri, 2015) ***½

By Nicola Negri


Rebecca Lane – flute
Michael Thieke – clarinet
Johnny Chang – viola
Koen Nutters – contrabass
Derek Shirley – cello
Taku Sugimoto – electric guitar
Bryan Eubanks – sine-tones

Guitarist Taku Sugimoto is usually associated with Onkyo (sound), a style of improvisation that developed in the early 2000s around “Off Site”, a gallery and performance space in Tokyo. A style based on pure sound, low volume and a massive use of silence, whose proponents were more concerned with the act of listening than with producing any intelligible musical statement, a sonic dimension in which music simply happened.

This approach was not exclusively Japanese, of course, and the same aesthetic approach can be traced in other contemporary improvisational communities, most significantly in the Echtzeitmusik scene in Berlin, still active to this day.

Sugimoto was one of the first among those improvisers to seek new grounds to explore beyond the experience of Onkyo, and this new record is a good representation of his interest in composed materials and a more conspicuous sound presence.

Septet consists of a thoroughly composed piece that fills the entire record, for a total of 38 minutes.

Sugimoto’s usual attention to detail and timbre is focused on long tones and slightly shifting durations, sacrificing silence for a musical piece saturated with sound, and improvisation for a strictly determined formal structure.

The composition is conceived as a double concertino for clarinet, flute, and small ensemble (formed by musicians of the Wandelweiser Group), where the two main “soloists” repeat a single tone throughout the entire piece, while the other instruments (viola, cello, contrabass, guitar, and sine-tone generator) produce a deceptively narrow spectrum of microtonal variations beneath them.

There are recurring pauses in the composition, and the slow, relaxed pulse gives the illusion of a living, breathing organism. Clarinet and flute do their best to keep every iteration identical to the preceding one, letting the inherent character of each instrument to slightly color the sound. The other musicians work on a determined set of microtones that gives the impression of almost motionless waves of sound, with the exception of Sugimoto himself, whose single guitar accents, slightly displaced on the formal grid, discreetly come to the fore by virtue of this apparent disjunction from the ensemble.

At first the compositional idea at the base of this record may seem more interesting than the actual performance, but repeated listens reveal a surprisingly rich sonic environment, with complex dynamics and carefully chosen timbres. The end result is a peculiar aural experience, and in a sense is both a development and a reminiscence of Sugimoto’s first works, inviting the listener to almost forget the general outline and to focus instead on every single sound produced, exactly like those improvisations at “Off Site” fifteen years ago.

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Dave Rempis, Elisabeth Harnik, Michael Zerang - Wistfully (Aerophonic, 2016) ***

By Lee Rice Epstein

First off, I am loving this new run of digital releases from Aerophonic records. First was the excellent Engines double album, GREEN KNIGHTS, and now comes a stellar improvised outing from Dave Rempis, Elisabeth Harnik, and Michael Zerang. The album, recorded live in Graz, Austria in 2013, features Rempis on alto and tenor sax, Harnik on piano, and Zerang on percussion, yet even this simple listing misrepresents the range of each performer’s contribution. The recording, even the grouping, exists almost by luck. The trio hadn’t performed together, and only met up as Rempis and Zerang went on tour following a Resonance Ensemble residency. The resulting performance is every bit the kind of album you want from a freely improvised session. 

Recently, I was trying to explain to a friend what’s powerful about improvisation, and how if you’re new to it, you may need to see a group live to grasp what they’re accomplishing. That’s probably not the case here, as the trio’s range is somewhat larger than a single performance or recording can possibly capture. Harnik’s piano playing is massive, encompassing a range of sounds that matches the Zerang’s broadly percussive style. On “Wistful 2,” the pair creates a metallic and angular clanging that plays under Rempis’s sparse solo line. Harnik occasionally adds chords to deepen the sound, but its her extended techniques inside the piano that really challenge the listener. Zerang takes the lead on “Wistful 3,” with a rollicking solo that explores the various timbres of the drums and cymbals, a neat counterpoint to Harnik’s percussive piano playing. Rempis opens “Wistful 5” with a barely accompanied solo that embodies the title’s emotional state. 

Rempis has a genuine gift for imbuing free improvisation with emotional honesty and humor, and I look forward to hearing more from this digital series. There’s a little more risk in these settings, and much greater rewards for listeners willing to go along.

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Alister Spence Trio - Live (Alister Spence Music, 2015) ****

By Eyal Hareuveni

Making a live recording - a really good one - is considered in Australian slang to be somewhat of a 'slippery eel’ . You need to have a good sounding space, an able sound engineer with state-of-the-art equipment, and obviously, you need the musicians to be in top form. Fortunately, the stars aligned above the Sound Lounge in Sydney, Australia on March 20, 2015 when the trio of pianist Alister Spence, double bass player Lloyd Swanton and drummer Toby Hall recorded their first live album after about twenty years of working together as a trio.

Live, the trio's sixth recording, sounds fantastic and it captures this experienced trio's essence at its best. The trio has toured United Kingdom, Canada and Japan. Spence, its leader and the composer of most of its pieces, has developed an international career in recent years, recording with Scottish sax player Raymond MacDonald, Japanese pianist Satoko Fujii and trumpeter Natsuki Tamura, American pianist Myra Melford and Swedish rhythm section of double bass player Joe Williamson and drummer Christopher Cantillo. Swanton is renowned composer and plays in another legendary Australian trio, The Necks. Hall is known for his collaborations with pianist Mike Nock.

The telepathic, tight interplay of the trio allows the three musicians to shift the dynamics instantly from thoughtful and fragile interplay to an intense and dense one, morphing abstract textures into propulsive pulses or playfully building and releasing the tension, as demonstrated impressively on “Felt”. “Brave Ghost” highlights the trio's patient manner of constructing and deconstructing Spence's cyclical melodic theme in many clever ways, alternating organically between a bluesy rhythm (with a commanding solo from Swanton), to ecstatic piano flights. 

The free-improvised “Not Everything But Enough - opening” and the following , Spence-penned “Mullet Run”, stresses the trio's expansive and open interplay. Spence adds samples and Hall alternates on the glockenspiel, and all together sketch a mysterious and subtle multi-layered texture. Their music's complex architecture is patiently fleshed out, but never settles on any pattern, pulse, or theme for more than few brief seconds, and just keep searching on and on. The trio concludes the set with “Seventh Song”, developing the moving theme in an economic and reserved manner, as if playing its skeletal outlines is enough to illuminate its profound structure.

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Waxwing - A Bowl of Sixty Taxidermists (Songlines, 2015) *****

By Derek Stone

The title of Waxwing’s new album might seem a bit obtuse, but once its origins are known, it reveals itself to be simultaneously illuminating and heartbreaking. Ross Taggart, a saxophonist/pianist in the Vancouver jazz scene, was dying of cancer - laid up in the hospital, half-awake, and likely under the influence of a large number of painkillers, Taggart might not have been in the most lucid state-of-mind. Thus, when a visiting friend asked him what he needed, he gave the following cryptic response: “a bowl of sixty taxidermists” (Read the whole story here). That phrase, with its twin evocations of absurdity and poignant sadness, is perhaps the best representation of what this album manages to do. As well as being a dedication to Taggart, it’s a meditation on life, loss, and the mysteries that inhabit both. Waxwing consists of only three musicians: Jon Bentley on saxophone, Peggy Lee on cello, and Tony Wilson on electric guitar. While some might suppose that such an arrangement allows for only a limited range of possibilities, Waxwing dispel that notion with ease - A Bowl of Sixty Taxidermists is a rich, multi-faceted work, and it’s an unmitigated success.

The first track, “A Bowl of Sixty Taxidermists,” immediately demonstrates the fine interplay between these three musicians: over Wilson’s simple, spiky pattern, Lee and Bentley lay out a winding, sinuous motif that is given dramatic weight by the guitar’s minor-key chording. It’s a striking composition, but it doesn’t necessarily dictate the direction the album will take - the next piece, “For Ross,” is melancholic, meditative, and achingly lovely, and its structure is much more conventional, Bentley’s saxophone producing an exquisite, emotive stream of notes. One of the joys of this record is the way in which the players juggle sentiment and style. Given the album’s subject matter and dedications (to both Taggart and Claude Ranger, who disappeared in 2000), it would have been incredibly easy for it to become a schmaltzy mess. It’s to the credit of all the players involved, however, that it didn’t; the emotional moments are tucked in the folds of the album like glittering jewels, and they are brought forward sparingly and delicately. In other words, we don’t get beat over the head repeatedly with heart-rending themes and histrionics - the emotions here are unaffected, authentic, and they are all the more effective for that reason.

There are many things to love about this album, but one of them is its wide array of styles and moods. While there is definitely cohesion between the individual pieces, there’s also the sense that each composition is incredibly distinctive, revealing something special and unrepeatable. Take “Clementine,” for example: it’s an old traditional, and many of us have probably heard the tune a thousand times or more, but this particular version locates a heart of sorrow in the central melody. It’s possibly the most moving moment on the record, if only because the players have taken something a bit stale and breathed new life into it, transforming it into a devastating lullaby in the process.
Waxwing aren’t afraid to branch out into more abstract modes, either.  Pieces like “Snow Blind” illustrate what happens when the group works together in a more improvised setting. Peggy Lee and Jon Bentley offer hesitant, sputtering notes, and guitarist Wilson snakes along menacingly in the background. “Dune” is an expertly-constructed sonic landscape, and it conjures up the world that its title suggests: desolate stretches of desert, shriveled plants, and the sucking-in of scorched air. After a feverish, dream-like introduction, cellist Lee provides the austere back-bone for the piece; Bentley and Wilson soon join her in creating an exotic, expressive sound-sculpture.       

A Bowl of Sixty Taxidermists is a treasure-trove of melody, emotion, and masterful musicianship, and I truly believe that there’s something here for everyone. This is bold, exciting, fervent, often daring, but always eminently listenable jazz - do yourselves a favor and pick up a copy soon!

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