
Marc Robot
Electroacoustico-improviso-dronisito-Ground Zero
Ici
Review | by Thom Jurek |
Conference Call is a quartet made up of reed and woodwind master Gebhard Ullmann, bassist Joe Fonda, the criminally under-recorded pianist Michael Jefry Stevens, and drummer Matt Wilson. This date is not a session by a group of musicians who've adopted a moniker, but a full-on working band who rehearses, composes, and plays together as often as it can since each member is a working soloist in his own right. The prime directive here is, not unexpectedly, Ullmann's intense and fluid sense of off-kilter lyricism. His seamless approach to the horn and staggered sense of open harmonics and tonal structuralism are ever-present. What is surprising is his pairing with Stevens on the front line. Stevens is a knotty pianist whose influences are Cecil Taylor, Bill Evans, Andrew Hill, McCoy Tyner and Horace Silver. His stunning architectural renderings of vast, previously unshaped chords; minor shadings; and furious ostinato are tremendous solo gifts, but in this ensemble, they create a wide and deep floor for not only Ullmann as a soloist, but for the rhythm section as well. What's more, Stevens provides the necessary punch and clamor for the band to swing unencumbered by their considerably complex improvisational style, which is often slipped inside a scored section or bridge. A fine example is "Could This Be a Polka," an effortless series of off-minor piano phrases strung together by the bassline and loped into a melody by Ullmann's gorgeous restraint and willingness to turn the harmony inside out in an even exchange with the impressionistically beautiful melody. Elsewhere, the band's theme, written by Ullmann, features all of the band's intensity and tension in a furiously paced, yet wonderfully rendered melodic architecture of tonal inquiry and multi-scalar invention. But it is Stevens' shimmering balladry on "Liquid Cage" that brings all of the band's influences into play. There is the sense of silence and tension as compositional elements à la Morton Feldman, the notion of tonality itself as a construct of not only sonic dimension, but metaphysical space as well. The idea that rhythm can exist in a melody this intricate and subtle is revolutionary, but Fonda and Wilson carve out a space in inner space and inform and extend the improvisational structures that emanate from the heart of Stevens' gloriously restrained pianism. This is a remarkable record with a surprise at the end that will leave the listener wondering why this band isn't headlining festivals all over the world. |
Review | by François Couture |
The early '70s were still formative years for saxophonist Evan Parker and percussionist Paul Lytton. Following the release in 1995 of Three Other Stories, a CD of 1971-1974 studio recordings by this duo, in 1996 Emanem issued a companion CD, Two Octobers, consisting of one studio and two live improvisations found while preparing the previous album. The sound quality of the live material is surprisingly good. The two longest tracks (the live ones) were recorded in October 1972 and October 1975 (hence the title). Parker's circular-breathing technique had almost reached its peak already -- just listen to the middle section of the mammoth 43-minute improv "Two Horn'd Reasoning, Cloven Fiction" for a stunning example. The most surprising moment comes in "Then Wept! Then Rose in Zeal and Awe," when Lytton starts producing long string-like drones (a bowed string? an electronic trick?) and is answered by Parker vocalizing drones of his own in a tube, turning the piece into a Tibetan ceremony for a few minutes. The level of communication is not yet what it would be within the Parker/Lytton/Barry Guy trio of the 1990s, and some tricks and techniques had yet to be fully developed and integrated in each musician's vocabulary (the drummer's ill-inspired ultimate fill at the end of the longest piece is a good example of how not to end an improv). Yet, Two Octobers makes a nice CD and a meaningful addition to Parker's under-documented 1970s output.(AMG) |
Günter Müller and Lê Quan Ninh are both improvising percussionists who have worked increasingly with electronics over the past few years. Müller has released numerous records on his groundbreaking For 4 Ears label, including collaborations with Christian Marclay, Voice Crack, Otomo Yoshihide, and Erik M. Two more recent records involve Taku Sugimoto, The World Turned Upside Down (Erstwhile), which is a trio concert with Keith Rowe, and a duo released this fall, I Am Happy If You Are Happy (For 4 Ears). Earlier this year, Müller also released the gorgeous Direct Chamber (33revpermi), with Michel Doneda and Fabrice Charles. Ninh has worked extensively both in the improv and in the contemporary classical genres. His improv side has probably best been captured thus far by two superb trio projects on FMP, Burning Cloud (w/Butch Morris and J.A.Deane) and Open Paper Tree (w/ Michel Doneda and Paul Rogers), as well as by his solo tour de force, Ustensiles (For 4 Ears). As for his classical side, he's a member of the Hêlios Quartet, a percussion ensemble which recently released a self-titled CD on Vand'ouevre, containing compositions by Ninh, Jean-Christophe Feldhandler, Vinko Globokar and Toru Takemitsu. Ninh has also recorded John Cage's Ryoanji (Auvidis Montaigne), in duo with Joelle Leandre.
Müller and Ninh first met and played together in 1988, and have occasionally performed together since, most notably in the quartet Plugged in Zeit Reel with Jim O'Rourke and J.A. Deane. In January of 2000, Müller and Ninh traveled to CCAM in Vandoeuvre-les-Nancy, France and recorded four hours worth of material, from which the 75 minutes contained on this CD has been carefully selected. The title was inspired by a passage from L'Eau et les Rêves (Water and Dreams), a book by French philosopher Gaston Bachelard. The two musicians demonstrate their seemingly limitless palettes, slipping back and forth between percussion and electronics to create endlessly inventive systems of sound.
"The collaboration of these two percussive pioneers offers some of the most inspired performances I have heard by either musician to date. While not minimizing the quality of any of their other superb records, this seems to be a culmination of their history. Müller and Ninh are percussionists of two very different styles, and that is this record's strength- the sparse to the dense, the electronic to the acoustic ... a wonderfully dynamic ride." -- Tim Barnes
2000 LA VOYELLE LIQUIDEReview | by Thom Jurek |
A super-session in theory, this one-off gig was recorded in Berlin in 1990 during another of Cecil Taylor's extended stays. According to the liner notes, this gig was tense from the start because of some ill will between some of the band's members, hence the title of the album. Whatever. The two tracks that comprise this set are full of the explosive, full-bore playing each of this quartet's members is well-known for. It's easy to believe there is tension here, the playing from the outset starts at furious and gets wilder. But what's more interesting is that given Taylor's gigantic stature among musicians, even the three he's playing with, he doesn't dominate the proceedings. This is group improvisation the way it's supposed to be, with ideas being tossed into the fire from every angle. Some are picked up and extrapolated upon; others are left smoldering in the ashes. When it is time for Taylor to solo, none of the others stay out of the mix completely, not even Parker. Guy's bowed bass accompanies Taylor through each theme and phrase, each color and mode change until Taylor cedes the floor. Yes, it is all about muscle: all competition, all struggle, all music. As in the bebop days of old, this is a cutting contest in the purest sense of that word. Everybody bleeds here. At times, the playing is so intense the listener just wants to hate everyone on the bandstand, at others, so forceful (s)he is beaten into submission, and still at others, nothing but a resounding YEAH! Throughout the house or car will do. Sizing up the individual contributions to this mass of aural mayhem is fruitless. This is a group who insists on being individuals in a collective setting and, therefore, the listening level is so high -- so as not to miss any gauntlet laid down -- the attention to execution and imagination can't help but be top-notch. So, in essence, this is a super-session, but not one in the usual sense. It is among the finest of all the recordings released under Taylor's name from either of his Berlin periods, and, for the others, it charts with their best playing anywhere. This is group improvisation at its angriest, freest, and truest. |
Review | by Scott Yanow |
This CD reissues the second album by the Spontaneous Music Ensemble, retaining two musicians from the initial 1966 set (trumpeter Kenny Wheeler and drummer John Stevens) and adding Evan Parker on soprano, guitarist Derek Bailey and bassist Dave Holland. The young British all-stars (all virtually unknown at the time) stretch out on the six-part "Karyobin," playing quite freely in an idiom influenced a bit by their American contemporaries but already on its way to developing a more European sound. Bailey is mostly in the background with the key voices being Wheeler and Parker, but all five musicians make their contributions. The music is episodic and ends inconclusively but rewards repeated listenings. An important early recording for these five future greats. |