Kenny Werner, The Bad Plus, Michael Brecker, Box Of Dub, Cinematic Orchestra
Kenny Werner is reasonably well known as a Pianist, mostly working with a trio, in relatively conventional post-bop style. With his latest album though (his first for Blue Note), he has thrown everyone a giant curveball. Not only has he assembled an absolute dream team for these sessions (Dave Douglas, Chris Potter, Scott Colley and Brian Blade, who plays at this swinging, subtle best here), but he has also ventured into the realms of jazz-rock and electronics. Actually, there’s probably enough refined jazz here to keep everyone happy (Werner’s playing is especially mellifluous on ‘The 13th Day’, a long piece that ends with a haunting theme), but what is most striking is the inventive use of studio resources. Luckily, Werner has achieved this without stifling his group’s energy, and Colley and Blade appear to have struck up an enervating empathy with each other. ‘New Amsterdam’ is underpinned by a quirky groove, whilst the brilliantly named ‘Lawn Chairs (and Other Foreign Policy)’ features some deliciously squelchy keyboard sounds and ‘Uncovered Heart’ is a lush ballad with hints of African melodic influence. ‘Inaugural Balls’ is superbly jagged, and features some energetic free blowing. The electronics sit comfortably alongside the group performances and this is an album of refreshing variety.
It’s always good to hear from The Bad Plus, a group who have divided opinion for as long as they have existed. Oddly, both Marsalis brothers appear to detest them, whilst others (myself included) admire them deeply for expanding the language of trio jazz and opening the music up to a whole new audience. In recent years, however, there has been a strong sense that the group have been losing commercial ground, particularly in this country, where a whole new wave of British groups have occupied the open minded jazz-rock ground they once claimed. ‘Prog’ appears to be a mostly self-financed album, released independently by the band themselves.
The album also represents a certain kind of retrenchment by increasing the quota of reworkings of popular songs. Most are played pretty straight – it’s arguable that this version of ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’ is as ponderous and meandering as the original, albeit with pretentions at serious art. ‘Life On Mars’ is carefully extrapolated and rewired, whilst by its very nature, Rush’s ‘Tom Sawyer’ is inevitably the most deconstructed. None are as exciting as their earlier interpretations of Nirvana, Blondie or Aphex Twin though, and ‘prog’ seems to confirm my suspicions that it is now their original compositions that are most rewarding.
Luckily the group excel themselves in their writing here, particularly bassist Reid Anderson, who contributes two masterful compositions in ‘Physical Cities’ and the choppy ‘Giant’. The latter allows versatile, supremely technical drummer David King to flex his muscles. Ethan Iverson’s piano playing is characteristically polyrhythmic throughout, often apparently pulling in several different directions simultaneously. They remain a superb ensemble, capable of real structural invention.
What a tragedy that Michael Brecker’s final album ‘Pilgrimage’ has had to be released posthumously, but what a miracle it is that he essentially kept himself alive in order to complete it. This would be a remarkable record from anyone in full health – as a result, it’s next to impossible to believe that Brecker was in the advanced stages of terminal cancer whilst recording this. His playing throughout is vibrant and full-bodied, and it’s clear that he remained a confident master of his instrument right to the last moment. It’s also by no means mere hyperbole to suggest that Brecker might have reached his compositional peak here. Whilst there’s nothing in this set that will challenge or reshape the musical landscape, the themes are consistently memorable and the record has an appreciably timeless sound.
It certainly helps that Brecker assembled a group of masters to accompany him. Pat Metheny is at his expressive best here, providing subtle chordal backings and frequently supporting the main melody with counter figures of his own. John Patitucci remains one of the ablest and most solid bassists in the world, and combining him with the swashbuckling drive of Jack De Johnette makes for a pretty much unbeatable rhythm section. The compositions are therefore rendered rhythmically intricate and the intensity is brilliantly sustained throughout, notably so on the magnificent opener ‘The Mean Time’ and the driving groove of ‘Tumbleweed’. The latter has a brilliantly onomatopoeic title, for it does indeed tumble and rattle – with real energy and conviction. There’s also a neat contrast between the insistent, immediate piano playing of Herbie Hancock and the more ponderous and studied style of Brad Mehldau (a musician I personally find somewhat difficult).
There’s a relentless momentum to much of this material, alongside some brilliant improvising, investing new life in what are essentially familiar modal explorations. The sound is always crisp and full of spirit, so even over the most elaborate extemporisations (the extended introduction of the title track for example), there is a curious warmth and zest. The group is equally adept at handling introspection though, and the central ballad ‘When Can I Kiss You Again?’ is moving in its unassuming grace and elegance.
‘Pilgrimage’ will inevitably be seen as a symbolic recording – a miraculous valedictory statement of real integrity and depth. In this case, though, this is not without genuine justification. Brecker appears to have imbued this material with personal warmth, compassion and humanity. As a result, it’s a record that, whilst brimming with musicality, is also purely and simply enjoyable.
The Soul Jazz record label, already established as a superb chronicler of otherwise hard to find soul and reggae rarities, has been branching out considerably in recent years. Branching into the world of arty disco, punk and post-punk, they have been instrumental in recovering a number of lost masters of their art. Perhaps their most significant release to date remains the wonderful Arthur Russell compilation, the success of which led to other companies investing in recapturing the rest of his extraordinary output, both as a composer and as a producer (although I’m still waiting for a CD reissue of the Dinosaur L album). This year, they have journeyed yet further into the contemporary pop landscape with a compilation of prime jungle and drum ‘n’ bass from the early nineties, and the truly magnificent Box Of Dub, a compilation that neatly connects the nascent dubstep movement back to its dub reggae origins.
All the genre’s prime movers and shakers are here (Burial, Kode 9, Skream, Scuba), with a generous selection of tracks not available on their respective albums. The Kode 9 and Burial tracks are particularly impressive, dark and imposing in their creative vision, and brilliantly executed.
Yet it’s the less well known moments that are most striking, in that they show clear links between this ‘future dub’ collection and the classic Lee Perry and Keith Hudson produced works which no doubt served as major sources of inspiration. ‘Dread Cowboy’ is credited to Tayo Meets The Acid Rockers Uptown, a direct reference to the King Tubby/Augustus Pablo classic, and is a deliciously laconic skank refreshed for the contemporary sonic landscape by the use of stuttering percussion and sub-bass sounds borrowed from grime. The two tracks by Sub Version feat. Paul St. Hilaire (unfortunately the sleeve notes are not informative enough to indicate whether these are direct collaborations or a producer’s reversions of pre-existing tracks) are most illuminating – Hilaire’s voice is strongly reminiscent of Horace Andy, and both tracks are majestic.
Jason Swinscoe’s Cinematic Orchestra have finally returned with yet another ‘soundtrack to an imaginary film, as yet unmade’. Fortunately, ‘Ma Fleur’ is arguably their most evocative record to date, benefiting considerably from a number of significant contributors from the jazz world and beyond, and frequently moving outside the jazz-meets-trip-hop box in which Swinscoe had been in danger of confining himself. There are hints of folk music and pop balladry (the latter mostly brought by singer-songwriter Patrick Watson), and the comparisons with Talk Talk’s ‘Spirit of Eden’ are not entirely wide of the mark, although ‘Ma Fleur’ doesn’t share that record’s extraordinary sense of space and control.
That being said, those wanting more of the same will be more than satisfied with the reappearance of legendary soul and gospel singer Fontella Bass on ‘Familiar Ground’ (aptly titled) and ‘Breathe’, the latter pulling off a neat trick in combining concerns both old and new. It’s a strikingly beautiful and poignant piece of music, brilliantly constructed. Bass has apparently been unwell – perhaps as a consequence she sounds more vulnerable and less overpowering on these tracks. ‘Child Song’ again prominently features the sinewy drum loops of Luke Flowers and rolling upright bass figures of Phil France, albeit with some neatly arranged backing vocals varying the texture. Elsewhere, guest musicians such as percussionist Milo Fell and pianist Nick Ramm leave their own indelible mark on proceedings, and the string arrangements are dependably lush, particularly on the lovely ‘All The Stars Fell’.
A number of the other tracks require some effort on behalf of the listener, particularly the gentle, deceptively simple ‘Music Box’ which sees Watson share vocal duties with former Lamb singer Lou Rhodes. The title track represents Swinscoe at his most engaging, collaborating with saxophonist Tom Chance to produce something immersing and compelling. The opening ‘To Build A Home’, somewhat oddly, most closely resembles Coldplay, were that group to have any sense of real drama beyond the merely emotionally manipulative.
‘Ma Fleur’ is a slow burning but beautiful achievement, and it seems appropriate that it needs to be ingested as a complete whole. It has a delicate ebb and flow, and at its best is as emotional as it is atmospheric.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Journey To The Margins Part 2
Stars Of The Lid, Colleen, Fennesz Sakamoto, Led Bib, James Blackshaw
Much has already been written about Kranky label artists Stars Of The Lid, with the 4AD label boss making the particularly bold assertion that they were already making the most significant music of the 21st Century. Such hyperbole surely neglects all the minimalist composers who have so clearly influenced them, but there’s little doubt that there is something strange and beautiful about this percussionless, almost anti-rhythmic music.
It’s certainly physically and mentally relaxing, and for many listeners ‘Stars Of The Lid and Their Refinement of the Decline’ may be far more effective at inducing sleep than any tranquiliser. Yet there’s also something contemplative and meditative in its very stillness – a peace and calm that is decidedly absent from most popular music and also exposes most branded ‘chill out’ music for the vacuous wallpaper that it is.
Stars Of The Lid’s music is all about the lush combination of electronically generated sounds with the intervention of acoustic instruments. There is no percussion, no beat, and only the vaguest sense of time and rhythm. This is music that, as Jason Pierce might have it, floats in space. There are also no clearly identifiable themes – instead melodic ideas (always played at the most laconic pace imaginable) drift in and out of the ether at undefined intervals. Adam Wiltzie and Brian McBride mostly avoid dissonance or uncomfortable sound clashes, but there’s still something peculiarly disquieting and odd about this music. It constantly leads the listener in expecting some form of climax that never arrives – there is never any release of tension. It also feels eerie and solipsistic. Even if it were being performed live to a stadium crowd, you’d still feel as if you were the only person listening.
There’s also something quite delicious and enticing about their dry sense of humour. This is clearly evident in their song titles, from the opening ‘Dungtitled (in A Major)’ to ‘Even If You’re Never Awake’ and ‘Another Ballad For Heavy Lids’. They’re certainly leaving an open goal for anyone who does wish to charge them with being soporific!
This is a double set, an undoubted indulgence, and I would find it quite a challenge to get through both discs in one uninterrupted sitting. This album is uniquely relentless in its adherence to one single idea, and some may even find it tyrannical as a result. Still, it’s beautiful music made with real conviction that rewards close attention.
Cecile Schott has been making tranquil, beautiful music under the name of Colleen for the Leaf label for a few years now. ‘Les Ondes Silencieuses’ may be her finest work to date. She has veered increasingly astray from her initial preoccupation with electronic loops in favour of acoustic instrumentation and cross-fertilising early music with a defiantly minimalist approach. The list of influences on her website is both fascinating and refreshing, running the gamut from Schubert to Terry Riley, Keith Jarrett and Derek Bailey. She also lists a whole range of ‘non-western’ music with which I am completely unfamiliar. It’s brilliant simply to find a contemporary musician prepared to admit to being influenced by a musical heritage (in my time in student radio I got so bored with interviewing pop musicians who claimed, absurdly, either not to listen to other music, or not to think about it). It’s therefore even better to find someone who is prepared to inform themselves from all angles.
Colleen’s last work saw her playing a number of music boxes, with impressively powerful results. On ‘Les Ondes Silencieuses’ she performs on a wider range of unusual instruments, including the viola da gamba, classical guitars and the spinet. The music is deliberately under-arranged, often revolving around repeating four note motifs. The playing is consistently delicate and restrained, and textural variety is achieved through very minimal overdubbing and the use of different playing techniques. It’s somehow both spare and elegant, and remarkably peaceful.
I’ve been an admirer of the work of laptop experimentalist Christian Fennesz for some time now, although I’m reliably informed that watching him live is much like watching paint dry. Whilst his early work tended to be abrasive and uncompromising, he has gradually steered himself towards something more accessible, but no less challenging. His greatest achievement perhaps remains the ‘Fennesz Plays’ EP, for which he radically deconstructed Brian Wilson’s ‘Don’t Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder’ and The Rolling Stones’ ‘Paint It Black’. The following ‘Endless Summer’ album, now something of an established classic, was his warmest, most inviting work, full of all manner of intriguing processed guitar sounds set against an all-enveloping fuzz. If anything, the follow-up (‘Venice’) was warmer still. His latest work is a collaboration with the legendary Yellow Magic Orchestra mainman Ryuichi Sakamoto, and it is decidedly intimate. Fennesz’s laptop processing is becoming increasingly musical – there’s much more variety in pitch and tone here than on previous outings. Sakamoto’s sustained piano chords meld with Fennesz’s backdrop with consummate ease, and, in leaving harmony hanging unresolved, Sakomoto adds elements of mystery and suspense (‘Kokoro’ sounds particularly creepy). The whole work seems to have a modern chamber feel, but also sounds vividly cinematic.
Along with Fraud, Babel labelmates Led Bib are another heavily hyped act in the new explosion of British jazz talent. Drummer/composer Mark Holub, although an American by birth, now lives in London. He has recently been heaped with all manner of acclaim and is the recipient of awards and funding galore. It’s not difficult to understand why Led Bib are incredibly hip right now – much like Acoustic Ladyland, their sound references punk and heavy rock as much as it does a jazz tradition. Their music is brash, noisy and blisteringly intense, and after several listens, I’m finally being convinced that there’s more to 'Sizewell Tea', their second album, than meets the eye. The compositional device of using two alto saxophonists (Chris Williams and Pete Grogan) to play the melodies in demonically dissonant intervals initially works brilliantly. The opening ‘Stinging Nettle’ is both fiery and nasty and ‘Battery Power’ is impressive in its willingness to embrace the tangential. Across an entire album though, the formula begins to reek somewhat of gimmickry, and the band work best when they veer away from this rather restrictive template (‘The Keeper’, for example, despite its rhythmic invention and playful quality, is really rather irritating). The improvising is mostly savage and untamed, but perhaps not especially musical. As a drummer, Holub is powerful, driving, heavy and furious, but rarely inventive or innovative. The group playing often seems more competitive than complementary, and the general dynamic seems to be simply to play hard and fast. This works well when Grogan and Williams battle against each other, but gets oppressive when overused. When other players are allowed more space, such as when keyboardist Toby McClaren blurts all over ‘Spring’, the results are emphatically more challenging. The uncharacteristically pretty ‘Shower’, the marvellously crisp ‘Manifesto For The Future’ and impressive refashioning of David Bowie’s ‘Heroes’ are standout moments that may well point the way forward.
James Blackshaw is a young self-taught guitarist from London who gathered rave reviews from well informed music writers for his last work, 2006’s ‘O True Believers’. He’s now back with another spiritual-themed work, again strongly influenced by the Takoma school of guitar playing instigated by the legendary John Fahey. His latest work ‘The Cloud of Unknowing’ consists of five mostly long pieces that extemporise on basic themes. His layers of rolling guitars feel like undulating tidal waves, and the music veers between feeling meditative and overwhelming. It’s a powerful set with a very distinctive sound, suggesting that Blackshaw is not just a master instrumentalist, but also a master craftsman. This is an enriching work far removed from any underlying trends in British music.
Much has already been written about Kranky label artists Stars Of The Lid, with the 4AD label boss making the particularly bold assertion that they were already making the most significant music of the 21st Century. Such hyperbole surely neglects all the minimalist composers who have so clearly influenced them, but there’s little doubt that there is something strange and beautiful about this percussionless, almost anti-rhythmic music.
It’s certainly physically and mentally relaxing, and for many listeners ‘Stars Of The Lid and Their Refinement of the Decline’ may be far more effective at inducing sleep than any tranquiliser. Yet there’s also something contemplative and meditative in its very stillness – a peace and calm that is decidedly absent from most popular music and also exposes most branded ‘chill out’ music for the vacuous wallpaper that it is.
Stars Of The Lid’s music is all about the lush combination of electronically generated sounds with the intervention of acoustic instruments. There is no percussion, no beat, and only the vaguest sense of time and rhythm. This is music that, as Jason Pierce might have it, floats in space. There are also no clearly identifiable themes – instead melodic ideas (always played at the most laconic pace imaginable) drift in and out of the ether at undefined intervals. Adam Wiltzie and Brian McBride mostly avoid dissonance or uncomfortable sound clashes, but there’s still something peculiarly disquieting and odd about this music. It constantly leads the listener in expecting some form of climax that never arrives – there is never any release of tension. It also feels eerie and solipsistic. Even if it were being performed live to a stadium crowd, you’d still feel as if you were the only person listening.
There’s also something quite delicious and enticing about their dry sense of humour. This is clearly evident in their song titles, from the opening ‘Dungtitled (in A Major)’ to ‘Even If You’re Never Awake’ and ‘Another Ballad For Heavy Lids’. They’re certainly leaving an open goal for anyone who does wish to charge them with being soporific!
This is a double set, an undoubted indulgence, and I would find it quite a challenge to get through both discs in one uninterrupted sitting. This album is uniquely relentless in its adherence to one single idea, and some may even find it tyrannical as a result. Still, it’s beautiful music made with real conviction that rewards close attention.
Cecile Schott has been making tranquil, beautiful music under the name of Colleen for the Leaf label for a few years now. ‘Les Ondes Silencieuses’ may be her finest work to date. She has veered increasingly astray from her initial preoccupation with electronic loops in favour of acoustic instrumentation and cross-fertilising early music with a defiantly minimalist approach. The list of influences on her website is both fascinating and refreshing, running the gamut from Schubert to Terry Riley, Keith Jarrett and Derek Bailey. She also lists a whole range of ‘non-western’ music with which I am completely unfamiliar. It’s brilliant simply to find a contemporary musician prepared to admit to being influenced by a musical heritage (in my time in student radio I got so bored with interviewing pop musicians who claimed, absurdly, either not to listen to other music, or not to think about it). It’s therefore even better to find someone who is prepared to inform themselves from all angles.
Colleen’s last work saw her playing a number of music boxes, with impressively powerful results. On ‘Les Ondes Silencieuses’ she performs on a wider range of unusual instruments, including the viola da gamba, classical guitars and the spinet. The music is deliberately under-arranged, often revolving around repeating four note motifs. The playing is consistently delicate and restrained, and textural variety is achieved through very minimal overdubbing and the use of different playing techniques. It’s somehow both spare and elegant, and remarkably peaceful.
I’ve been an admirer of the work of laptop experimentalist Christian Fennesz for some time now, although I’m reliably informed that watching him live is much like watching paint dry. Whilst his early work tended to be abrasive and uncompromising, he has gradually steered himself towards something more accessible, but no less challenging. His greatest achievement perhaps remains the ‘Fennesz Plays’ EP, for which he radically deconstructed Brian Wilson’s ‘Don’t Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder’ and The Rolling Stones’ ‘Paint It Black’. The following ‘Endless Summer’ album, now something of an established classic, was his warmest, most inviting work, full of all manner of intriguing processed guitar sounds set against an all-enveloping fuzz. If anything, the follow-up (‘Venice’) was warmer still. His latest work is a collaboration with the legendary Yellow Magic Orchestra mainman Ryuichi Sakamoto, and it is decidedly intimate. Fennesz’s laptop processing is becoming increasingly musical – there’s much more variety in pitch and tone here than on previous outings. Sakamoto’s sustained piano chords meld with Fennesz’s backdrop with consummate ease, and, in leaving harmony hanging unresolved, Sakomoto adds elements of mystery and suspense (‘Kokoro’ sounds particularly creepy). The whole work seems to have a modern chamber feel, but also sounds vividly cinematic.
Along with Fraud, Babel labelmates Led Bib are another heavily hyped act in the new explosion of British jazz talent. Drummer/composer Mark Holub, although an American by birth, now lives in London. He has recently been heaped with all manner of acclaim and is the recipient of awards and funding galore. It’s not difficult to understand why Led Bib are incredibly hip right now – much like Acoustic Ladyland, their sound references punk and heavy rock as much as it does a jazz tradition. Their music is brash, noisy and blisteringly intense, and after several listens, I’m finally being convinced that there’s more to 'Sizewell Tea', their second album, than meets the eye. The compositional device of using two alto saxophonists (Chris Williams and Pete Grogan) to play the melodies in demonically dissonant intervals initially works brilliantly. The opening ‘Stinging Nettle’ is both fiery and nasty and ‘Battery Power’ is impressive in its willingness to embrace the tangential. Across an entire album though, the formula begins to reek somewhat of gimmickry, and the band work best when they veer away from this rather restrictive template (‘The Keeper’, for example, despite its rhythmic invention and playful quality, is really rather irritating). The improvising is mostly savage and untamed, but perhaps not especially musical. As a drummer, Holub is powerful, driving, heavy and furious, but rarely inventive or innovative. The group playing often seems more competitive than complementary, and the general dynamic seems to be simply to play hard and fast. This works well when Grogan and Williams battle against each other, but gets oppressive when overused. When other players are allowed more space, such as when keyboardist Toby McClaren blurts all over ‘Spring’, the results are emphatically more challenging. The uncharacteristically pretty ‘Shower’, the marvellously crisp ‘Manifesto For The Future’ and impressive refashioning of David Bowie’s ‘Heroes’ are standout moments that may well point the way forward.
James Blackshaw is a young self-taught guitarist from London who gathered rave reviews from well informed music writers for his last work, 2006’s ‘O True Believers’. He’s now back with another spiritual-themed work, again strongly influenced by the Takoma school of guitar playing instigated by the legendary John Fahey. His latest work ‘The Cloud of Unknowing’ consists of five mostly long pieces that extemporise on basic themes. His layers of rolling guitars feel like undulating tidal waves, and the music veers between feeling meditative and overwhelming. It’s a powerful set with a very distinctive sound, suggesting that Blackshaw is not just a master instrumentalist, but also a master craftsman. This is an enriching work far removed from any underlying trends in British music.
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