Lazro / Pauvros / Turner – Curare

(No Business)

The program of this release may be shaped around two pairs of tracks from different performances — respectively, at Montreuil’s Instants Chavirés (2008) and Besançon’s Jazz En Franche-Comté (2010) — but the essential suggestion materializing across the 48 minutes of Curare is that of a trio whose purpose resides in filling the interstices between “vibrant connection” and “approximation of stillness”. All the textures identify an interplay that sounds surreptitious, occasionally out-breaking, always refreshing.

Jean-François Pauvros is perhaps the most perceivable instrumental voice in this particular framework. The guitar irradiates the baffling tints to which Daunik Lazro’s baritone and tenor saxophone relates in creating non-serene, almost presageful correspondences. From states of somewhat worrying tranquility they overlay electric surges, bizarre animal utterances, gentle string-slides à la Frith and animated-yet-controlled reed bursts. They frequently join the lower ends of their palettes with stretches that would be considered positively even by certain drone zealots (check the mixture of thrilling roar and Coltrane-ian invocations in “The Eye”). When the waters are calmer, we can appraise the tasteful sensibility of Roger Turner’s work as he underlines, inspects and pinpoints, never losing his grip on what his French comrades are fabricating. The percussionist offers a performance of such a cultured refinement that it risks being overlooked among the music’s more evident traits. Yet the man’s command of the subtleties of a drum set in an improvisational context is a treat for specialist ears.

The whole is probably too “obscure” — for lack of a better word — and intelligently devised to be included in the current era’s top ranks. However, if you don’t believe the hype, this is a testimonial of significant insight by three unsung artists hiding brightness behind a veil of discretion.

Scott Fields Ensemble – Frail Lumber

(Not Two)

Scott Fields’ penchant for overlaying antithetical forms of instrumental action — typically involving cross-pollinations of improvised sections and more composed structures — finds one of its peak expressions in Frail Lumber, a project carried on with the aid of a string ensemble featuring cellists Daniel Levin and Scott Roller, violists Jessica Pavone and Vincent Royer, violinists Alex Lindner and Mary Oliver plus Elliott Sharp on guitar as well as the leader. The group’s partitioning in four twos of equal instruments is obvious, but this does not imply separation between the parts or disorganized and fragmented music. The five chapters — a total of about 67 minutes — appear in fact as mutating aggregates of harmonic question marks where, in turn, beauty of timbre, displacement of pulse and a general disinclination to follow pre-set strides acquire importance depending on the participants’ instinctive gestures and choices.

Speaking of which, Fields did give instructions to the performers while setting their decisions and respective sensibilities within a looping fabric where — by wordlessly nodding at certain points — everyone can “invite” other members to join the circumstantial happenings with on-the-spot phrases and movements that help the agglomerative flow to remain complex in relative stability. The composer calls this procedure a “fancy cueing system”, but the lightness of the definition is inversely proportional to the gravity of the resulting music. We remain affected by the awesome electro/acoustic chromaticity, by alternating relative quietness and gradually mounting nervousness, and especially by how effectively a procedure that might potentially lead to untidy scenarios consolidates instead the musicians’ diverse voices and personalities into a cohesive unit. The wealth of involuntarily synchronic sketches even permits the camouflaging of melodic snippets amidst shifting accumulations of tension, as evidenced by the opening moments of “Paulownia” (all titles refer to types of woods and/or trees).

Make no mistake: this is not an album for enticing an unsuspecting partner during a candlelight dinner. But it’s definitely one of the Cologne-based Chicagoan’s finest ever releases.

Mary Halvorson and Jessica Pavone – Departure Of Reason

(Thirsty Ear)

From the initial moments the Halvorson/Pavone duo’s fourth outing appears as their finest, with touches of distinction identifying tunes born from rational wisdom and nourished by vivacious souls. The arrangements are accurately outlined; the compositional strategy discloses uncharacteristic solutions. There’s nary a moment in which these features result in unfriendly aloofness: the attentive listener remains engaged and smoothly flabbergasted during each episode.

Inspirations are shown without timidity. The opening “That Other Thing” reveals an obvious Frith-ian ascendant in its East-European inflection; feels no shame in enjoying progressions that sound softly charming and utterly hospitable. In “Saturn”, an example of unusual — and absolutely not simple — vocal counterpoint is met: puzzling lyrics surrounded by Halvorson’s straightforward strumming and specific fret board geometries, Pavone’s affecting viola adorning the whole with customarily austere grace. Practiced ears are going to detect infinitesimal junctures and slight adjustments in tones that do not require a surplus of equalization to stand out in the mix.

“Ruin” finds the pair in technically advanced form, intertwining figurations that maintain complete intelligibility in the elaborate sections. These women definitely know the value of an unexpected pause in a score: we find ourselves stumbling a bit, all taken by the rush of pulses that are abruptly stopped five seconds later. The inevitably enigmatic closing “Why Should You Surrender?” releases its entire wording at the very end, following another helping of gossamer textural interaction imbued with lucid resolution. There are lots of comparable moments in Departure Of Reason, a record that is destined to carve a permanent niche in the heart of many.

Vinny Golia Quartet – Take Your Time

(Relative Pitch)

Vinny Golia, Bobby Bradford, Ken Filiano and Alex Cline show both the muscular definition of a trained athlete and the intellectual acumen of a bright young student attempting to write a book of experimental poems. The group, evidently typified by stellar musicianship, not only manages to last the distance — over 70 minutes — but the “technical stamina factor” remains decisive in every single moment of this set. An example of enlightened self-government enriched by the mixture of straightforwardness, rationalism and intensity typical of the most satisfying jazz albums, Take Your Time is a fascinating chapter in this particular lineup’s book.

Along the eight tracks, the combination of two prominent personalities such as Golia and Bradford causes the linear materials to intertwine, challenge obviousness and even fight a little. Articulate statements — intelligently penetrating, never redundant — are released by the dozen, the swiftness of each instantaneous concept finding a clever contrast in diverse perspectives and moods, including consistently lucid variations on given themes. Basic parameters for the success of the dialogue are the forward couple’s timbral command and melodic ingeniousness, gifts that both artists possess in abundant doses.

Separating Filiano and Cline in our enthusiastic depiction would be ridiculous. The bassist offers one of his best performances in recent times, a brawny arco as the pillar on which whole contrapuntal edifices are built while letting everybody know what expert fingers can rip off those thick strings when the going gets tough. Cline’s enterprising fluctuations amidst conventional swing accents and reformist fracturing of pulse — not to mention a sensational support to the comrades’ far-sighted riffage when the time is up — deliver the music from frivolous frippery, punching the listener’s body with refinement and efficiency.

Frank Paul Schubert / Matthias Muller – Foils

(FMR)

This duo, embodied by relatively young improvisers —Schubert on soprano sax, Müller on trombone — belongs to a sphere of impromptu performers of unsullied virtuosity, also sensible to the subtle hues that differentiate raucous dilettantism from accomplished researching. Foils — recorded in Berlin, February 2011 — does not offer excessive target for the arrows of unforgiving criticism; all over its nine tracks — even the calmer ones — heartfelt passion fuels the musicians’ intention of avoiding the “let’s-contemplate-what-we-did” attitude that drags a fair amount of recordings down the waters of tedium.

Each piece might be taken as an example of exuberant technical maturity, some of them outstanding in terms of sharp legerdemain and sheer involvement. “The Epiphany Diagram” sees the couple running fast across articulate counterpoint-cum-screaming outbreaks, still leaving space for the mind to understand the majority of the occurring events. Then we’re suddenly pushed into the pop-fizz-and-hiss area, but with musicality and sense of spacing virtually unknown to the novices who pretend to be experts in the disproportionate egalitarianism of today’s art.

What’s instantly noticeable is the absence of any trace of plagiarism. Every pitch, or mere emission, sounds connected to a primary instinct, halfway through surviving in a dangerous place and the necessity of telling uneasy truths in their entirety before someone comes and shuts the dissenter’s mouth. “Written On Rubber” compares two kinds of similar needs, both players apparently driven by the burning desire of arriving — quickly — to a thorough assessment of who they are. To this aim, no password or trick is requested; just the internal combustion that should propel an honest improviser. Believe it or not, the number of those who belong to the category is not that high.

Shelley Hirsch & Uchihashi Kazuhisa – Duets – 10 Years After

(Innocent)

Try and listen to one of the dozens of short semi-autobiographic stories narrated by Shelley Hirsch during her exhibitions. Likelihood is, following a couple of chuckling bursts you’re going to get sucked into a whirlwind. No — make that two or three parallel whirlwinds. Tornados of words squeezed and mangled after having been pronounced with the most gorgeous operatic pitch. Storms of implied meanings for which you presume comprehension throw right back at the beginning, head scratched in amazement and perplexity. Ghiblis of mutating characters whose size ranges from a tiny mouse to a humongous soprano, speaking of all kinds of experiences, attractions, loves, fears and rebellions, sticking a few healthy obscenities in between. Though distant in terms of musical influences, Hirsch shares with Frank Zappa the ability of involving an audience in not-exactly-penetrable personal flights of fancy, complexities rendered easier by references to daily life and past events that almost everyone can recall; hints to popular tunes help a wandering listener in feeling welcome. Hearing this woman perform is like watching an incomparable plant grow multicolor flowers at a breakneck speed.

Uchihashi Kazuhisa, a long-time partner of the vocalist, again reveals himself to be a practically perfect complement for her evolutions. The pair utilizes electronics to alter what they emit in not-too-radical fashion, but this Japanese artist is not hiding behind loops. He is the possessor of a style made of many different styles, melted in a coherent and utterly intelligible world of luminous chords, tangential sacrileges, sardonic obliqueness and respectful approach to “classic” methods of comping. Every once in a while he lets a distorted scream go in a sort of twisted jubilation, in absolute correspondence with what Hirsch decides to do in that precise moment. Looking as industrious as cleverly relaxed, Kazuhisa stands among the rare guitarists who extract smoothness from intricate improvisations, applying coats of discernible factors and bizarre compounds to utterly musical structures.

Ultimately, the preceding paragraphs should be regarded as a warm invitation to obtain a copy of Duets — 10 Years After (the first episode appeared — obviously — a decade prior on this very label). The twelve tracks, recorded at London’s Café Oto and NY’s Roulette, are exhilarating and even touching: check the great version of “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” that ends the set. Given the relative paucity of recordings featuring both actors, the CD belongs in a genuine connoisseur’s collection.

Keith Tippett Octet – From Granite To Wind

(Ogun)

Keith Tippett’s immediately identifiable musical individuality breaks away from the common norms of affinity with neighboring genres. This notwithstanding, it is impossible not to detect the influence of the most genuine spirit of big-band jazz in From Granite To Wind, which in a way appears as a recap of everything the pianist and composer has tackled over decades of activity, occasionally surrounded by an Ellingtonian aura of sorts. Besides himself and wife Julie, the group comprises a wealth of reeds (Paul Dunmall, James Gardiner-Bateman, Kevin Figes, Ben Waghorn) plus Peter Fairclough on drums and Thad Kelly on bass. The recordings occurred in early 2011, the music as fresh as baked bread.

Following an introduction for solo piano, the composition exposes themes and refrains with salubrious enthusiasm, the ensemble diving right into the rapids of a swinging river where instrumental legibility remains a must nevertheless. Circa 17 minutes in, the whole slows down quite noticeably, the interaction shifting from intermingled saxophone lines to Julie Tippetts’ rendition of her texts defining moments of smoky respite. There’s some space for reflection after the preceding high-energy runs, the ballad-like qualities of the material creating opportunities for an extremely refined kind of orchestral circumspection. It’s nice to see that, once again, the exemplary democracy of Tippett’s scores stands at the forefront: a general consistency of colors, tones and rhythms that is beautiful to perceive, even during the sections in which several forces are superimposed, apparently contrasting each other. Brilliant soloists donating their souls to the collective cause without the private arrogance typical of many affirmed jazzists, for that type of behavior is not allowed in this family.

Exactly at the thirtieth minute, the music’s libertarian traits are back with a vengeance, rarefied pitches and fragile harmonic hints originating an improvisation that, in turn, introduces another section defined by an alteration of song structure and disciplined freedom. That goes on until the splendid conclusion, based on the mere resonance of breathing. The ability of meshing whispered suggestions and persuasive statements is just one of the outstanding values of this work, the balance between intelligible complication and reserved modesty constituting the winning move. Thinking about it, has Keith Tippett ever given us less than important records to cogitate on? It certainly doesn’t seem so.