Review: Ikue Mori/Lotte Anker/Steve Noble at the Cafe Oto, Sunday 28th November, 2010...

In the bleak midwinter with a vengeance...  But some warmth offered on the latest trip to town...  Sunday night last at the Cafe Oto...

The first set, three duos: Lotte Anker with Ikue Mori, Mori with Steve Noble, Anker with Noble.
Anker opened on soprano sax, easing in although they were both in the same high sound range, laptop/electronics giving chirruping undulations as Anker fenced for openings.  Sat just a few feet away from her, I saw the concentration and thought involved, part of the fascination of a live gig.  She has played with Ikue Mori before so they know each other's work but it was interesting to see her sound out the room, as it were.  They came together eventually –  equally absorbing to witness Mori respond speedily from what can be an unwieldy set up, as she did throughout.  This factor gave the night a special twist: during most improv gigs I've been to which have been weighted on the jazz side, the electronics never seem to mesh as equals.  (Especially noticeable at 'Freedom of the City').  This has a lot to do with the technology – it's not difficult to set up drones/washes of colour/various granular scrabblings but realtime fast reaction – for some -  is not so easy.  Here, for example, Anker – or Noble, can change direction/inflection etc in microseconds to respond or lead/offer a path with small muscular/breath gestures.  Unusually, in my experience, Mori was on the same footing, her small kit of electronics  and her laptop leading, blending and following with no problems of response delay/latency etc.  She came to the music via the New York downtown scene in the Seventies (starting off drumming with DNA - a great clip here of the younger Mori and co here...
), rather than from a jazz background and that often seems to be the way – that greater flexibility and imagination comes from the noise/rock/power electronics scenes, who do not sound as stodgy and unimaginative as many from more academic musical areas do.  A great opener.

Anker switched to alto for her set with Noble, more within free jazz areas, probably because of the instrumentation.  Some fine interplay, Anker a musician who is not afraid to stop and think occasionally – she has the technique down, sure, but does not seem to trot out any pet licks or coasting runs.  One of the most original saxophonists I've heard for a while.  They bent in and out of free-ish multi-level pulses and more abstract areas where sounds were sketched , layered, moulded.

Noble and Mori – different sonic spaces created yet again.  Noble has a wide range of techniques – at first sight he is playing a very standard kit, snare, raised tom, floor tom, bass drum, hi-hat and a couple of cymbals.  But as the evening progressed he produced more additions, various bits of ironmongery that are placed on drum heads, or sometimes scarily tossed aside to land with a crash.    These are struck/rubbed with a variety of sticks, brushes, beaters and hands to unroll a wide carpet of colours and options.  Small shaken instruments, maracca-like clacking  What appeared to be a large tuning fork was also brought into the sonic fray.  Noble is a tall guy with a wry face which betrays a certain sense of humour, I suspect – at one point in the night he produced a battered metronome which ticked away on a drum head as if in another universe of strictly measured time while all around it rhythms bent and stretched and multiplied.  Mori shows her musical origins - starting as a drummer, she moved to programming drum machines – and her skill at manipulating a laptop with minimal added electronics, as mentioned above, is well displayed tonight.  There is a sharp clarity and bite to her sounds, discrete pops and snaps unadorned by much effects decoration.  Operating at similar speeds to Noble, she also started to dig in with lower registers crumps and rumbles that echoed the role of bass.  I was too far away and in front of her to see what she had loaded on the laptop – apparently Max/MSP is the basis of her technique these days and she is obviously at ease with its deployment.

Second half – le tout ensemble.  An amazingly well sustained piece that held the room tight throughout.  Anker started on tenor but it seemed to get a bit muddied in the mix – those low roars from Mori especially blatting across that area - so she opted for alto and soprano, going back to the larger instrument when the air cleared for it later on.  She was happy to breathe easily, riding a note or short phrase as well as firing off longer lines when the spirit called.  It all moved together, freely improvised yet with much compositional intelligence.  They seemed to be winding down a couple of times near the end, then suddenly set off again.  Yet this was nothing superfluous, more afterthoughts that added value to the whole.  The (well-deserved) encore saw Noble swivelling almost into straight time with a couple of insistent figures that were echoed by Mori, then quickly unravelled between the trio.  And back.  Stunning stuff.  Despite the biting cold weather, agravated by the asinine tube strike, enough people came together to form a quorum who bore witness to some wonderful music, the Cafe Oto at its best, still my favourite space for music, despite the distance to travel involved...

Back home - after Gauguin and Ikue Mori/Steve Noble/Lotte Anker

Just arrived home to God's Little Acre... Yesterday a wonderful double hit - finally got to the Gauguin exhibition at Tate Modern, which was predictably crowded but because of their special Sunday late opening, I managed to go round again when the mobs had cleared somewhat.  Superb stuff, Gauguin not being a painter I have ever explored much in the past.  My loss.  The gig in the evening at the Cafe Oto was also wonderful, one of the best mixtures of free jazz/improv and laptop/electronics I've witnessed.... more later... 

Review pending... Oto soon...

Such a light few months musically - no gigs so no reviews.  Hopefully all to change soon - I'm down to the Cafe Oto a week on Sunday to catch Iku Mori/Lotte Anker/Steve Noble so will write something after that gig.  Also working on a review of two cds, GU4's Lean On One Another and Julie Tippets/Martin Archer's Ghosts of Gold - had the idea late one night that by writing about two seemingly different albums I could say something about folk music and other forms that may or may not be related.  In parts, the Tippetts/Archer work seems to be operating within a re-defined pastoral mode that is very English and linked to older ghosts, wrapped in the digital/analogue mix of the music.  Thus - two cds that on the surface seem drastically different have odd links and the exploration of the differences and similarities may prove to be interesting.   (Or not).  Definitely a heuristic project - I've no idea exactly where it will go.  Which is the fun in doing it...

Onwards anyway... 'Don Partridge and Company'...

Probably the main reason why my blog posts have been very sporadic this year is because I have been working on a book – provisional title: 'Don Partridge and Company' – with two friends, Patrick Keene and – Don Partridge, 'King of the Streetsingers.' Who, of course, sadly died a few weeks back. (I have also been busy on another project, a novel). Don and I started the book a couple of years back and very soon afterwards brought in Patrick, but our progress was understandably delayed when Don's partner Pam died about eighteen months ago. A lot of grief has been carried. The premise of the book: three interlinking stories, two fairly obscure characters, one who became very famous for a while, then left orthodox show business to go back to his original occupation, which we all shared. Busking – the art of being a street musician. Don, especially after he launched his one man band, inspired originally by Jesse Fuller (whom he had encountered in London when he booked him for a gig at Ealing Town Hall in the early Sixties) but with a more flexible mobile apparatus, had already made a lot of waves in London and beyond before he was discovered by Don Paul and subsequently became a pop star. He was earning a very good living on the streets and lived high, wild and well. Patrick Keene, who was playing with Don when I first met them, sometime in 1966, had started busking in Paris in 1960, mixing with the likes of Alex Campbell, the young Davey Graham, Derroll Adams, Richard Farina, Ralph Rumney and the Guggenheims (I kid you not). (Pat also recorded an lp with Don just before the one man band days). I started playing in London (having dipped my toe in the water here and there) in the summer of 1966. Pat was also a photographer and increasingly focused on his talent in that area to make a living. He did some freelancing for the Daily Mirror, the Sunday Telegraph and other mainstream newspapers – plus some work for the underground publication International Times. The idea of the book was to use our stories to bounce off the more famous one of Don, illustrated by the stunning black and white photos that Patrick took in the late Sixties on the streets and beyond – culminating on the night of the Buskers Concert at the Albert Hall in 1969. Which have never been published. Inspired apparently by Alan Young, Don's oldest friend and fellow busker, Don booked the Albert Hall and brought all the London street musicians, young and old, together for a unique event. Helped by his agent, Don Paul and his publicist Max Clifford, the show was a sell-out. An amazing night – yet one that now has been almost forgotten. The three of us were involved – myself playing with my then street sidekick Aidan Agnew and with The Earl of Mustard, a tap-dancer and street legend whom I had often worked with, when his accompanist refused to go on with him because he was in drag(!). Don, top of the bill of course – and Patrick, who did not perform but was there as a photographer and who also appeared obliquely. Pulled out of the audience by the escapologist who coaxed him to reluctantly stand on his throat! Pat, who was and is a tall, powerfully built man and who was wearing cowboy boots, was naturally a little reluctant. But this guy knew his trade (although there is a story that a couple of years later, another busker, whose name escapes me, obliged his prompt to the crowd for someone to tie him up at the Derby in front of a large crowd – and trussed him up too tight for him to escape!). But on this occasion, the show went to plan! (And Patrick was not arrested for involuntary manslaughter).
All of this was - and will be – the meat of the book. There are many stories and characters in the world of street music: ours just illustrate a particular time period, from the beginning of the decade to the next – by the seventies, London was becoming over-crowded with buskers and many of us had created other circuits in Europe where the pickings were better. Perhaps the Albert Hall concert stands as a unique event, the culmination of something wonderful and weird...
So Don is gone – but the book was almost complete and will be finished perhaps differently, relying on some other testimonies. The special flavour he brought to it I hope I have captured. We are doing the rounds of publishers at the moment, some more work needs to be done. But hopefully...

Don Partridge 1941-2010: In Memoriam

So: where to start? After the initial shock of the phone call from our mutual friend Patrick – to relay the news of Don struck down by a massive heart attack – the re-grouping, the business: people to be informed across networks which might not be immediately available to the family, so you distract yourself by being busy. With words: which are useless, but you go through the rituals and realise as you do so – yet again – that rituals – the informal rituals of bereavement - have a purpose. To distract... Then a fitful night and more phone calls and the process of the human placing of death into something that can be manageable. Which of course it never is – which is the awesome power of death. Hence the rituals. But the force of it all finally drops down enough for you to decide that something should be written, especially as you have spent so much time over the last couple of years digging back into the past with Don and Pat as we slowly created the manuscript we called 'Don Partridge and Company,' our on-going project, a three-way chronicle (Don, Pat, me) of the sixties busking years culminating with the famous Buskers Concert at the Albert Hall in 1969. With suddenly a final chapter...

So you place yourself in the futile position of trying to apply measure.

So: how do you measure a person? Specifically: Don Partridge, such a unique character in the myriad groupings of your friends which comprise so many characters possessed of strength, talent, creativity, belief in themselves, humour, love and that blissfully undefinable sense of – FUN. Because Don was FUN to be with. So many people who knew him - read the testimonials already and at the funeral there will be a legion more prepared to step up and say: here was someone whom we enjoyed the company of greatly, who made an impression on our lives - maybe the the link between them all will be that sense of FUN as a counterbalance to the loss. A deep FUN, manifesting in a joy in life, despite the recent tragedy that he had to bear and the resultant dark hours, the loss of Pam from the ravages of cancer last year. When I was with Don a few weeks ago, the sadness and grieving were still there but he made me welcome as usual in his house as we worked on the book and took a drink or two and laughed over our reminiscences, the triumphs and absurdities all recounted with his good humour - and his wry, hard-won wisdom. That welcome he had always provided – from the crowded flat in Archway he shared with Alan Young, Jester and Joker, his oldest perhaps sidekick, where I slept on the floor with Barbara in 1966 before we found our first apartment off the Fulham Road where we reciprocated in equally cramped conditions. The house in Hastings where he wrote 'Rosie' and drove us all mad with the first drafts of the song that would propel him to fame – to the extent that when he came into the old 'Earl of Sandwich' bar, back of Leicester Square and said he had recorded it, the general consensus was: 'Bollocks, Partridge!' So we were wrong... in spades... that song we mocked, recorded in E.M.I.'s Studio Regent B for six quid, at the instigation of the man who found him in Brewer Street market and became his manager, Don Paul, that took him to the hit parade, a certain measure of fame and money which provided a bigger house in West London we dubbed the 'Mansion' where more welcomes were offered amid mucho craziness – the first time I went he somehow drove us back from central London (both of us and Paris Nat having been thrown out of the 'Troubadour' for alcoholic crimes against folk music), despite the onrush of the acid we had both taken as a chaser. Which freaked Nat out when he realised, somewhere down the Uxbridge Road... Those were the days, as they say... That house where I heard some of the nascent formations of 'Accolade,' the folk/jazz/rock band he formed with Gordon Giltrap that should have taken him beyond the One Man Band/novelty/variety act that the Biz saw him as and which he was rapidly wearying of. And not to blame the Biz too much for that, because that was the game then and they did not have the measure of many a musician who stepped across boundaries, let alone one as idiosyncratic and wilful as Don. A band who never got the launch, maybe, they deserved, for whatever reasons, but who stand up pretty well now against much of the crap and the twee of the time, something more than hey-nonny with a clumpy rock backbeat. Pentangle aside - English folk-rock: jeez. But he eventually turned his back on the Biz to follow his own footsteps that led back to the streets. Scandinavia and back, criss-crossing Europe, Canada, hitch-hiking down the 'Trans-Canadian Highway.' One of his better songs and it should also be put down here that he was a musician of talent way beyond the sometimes stifling if necessary repetitions/confines of the busking arts, beyond the confines of the Biz as stated above. A very good songwriter when he felt the muse, a brilliant arranger of others' songs and traditional material into different formulations – because Don was incapable of copying after he had acquired his mature style early on. For a recent example of skilful adaption: dig 'The Highwayman' if you can find it, his long riff on the old Alfred Noyes poem which works so well because he gets inside it so well. Maybe he was never truly captured on record – and for all that, you could say his art was that of the busker, which is transience, a song on the wind that produces enough temporary pleasure for the bung to the bottler or the open guitar case – and the larger the better, please. We have thirsts... Don said that ultimately he preferred the natural lighting of the streets, daylight and sunshine, streetlights and shop illuminations at night, the backdrop of arenas filled with people and bustle, to the artificial sets and lighting of the Biz and the compromises that go with it. That was his true stage, his realm. Remember this: he was The King of the Buskers. Others were buskers before him and others will no doubt aspire to the crown he has sadly vacated – but he was the first to get there, by the sheer chutzpah of self-coronation and he held his kingdom down the years, against all comers.

So: you come to the measure and find, as with all great people – and I choose my words carefully – that the idea of measure, however human and hot-wired into our heads, is a paltry thing, when we consider such a man. Yes he was fickle, infuriating at times, faithful to something beyond conventions of faithfulness, yes and that is romantic and could be seen as a cop-out but Don did not, in my experience at least, ever cop-out. Wherever the road led him, he was true to its directions and imperatives. Not an easy life, as all who have travelled it know well enough. Not an easy life perhaps, for family and friends at times. The King was no saint. But when he looked down that road he saw it clearly and followed it with no small measure of courage. And love. In the end, he overflows any measure you can make and that is the plain damn truth. He was too damn big to be defined easily. He leaves a large hole in our hearts and memories as we here extend our condolences to the family - and all who knew him. He was a true friend and I loved him and I will miss him.

'If you don't see me next spring, I'll be in Berlin.'

Don Partridge R.I.P.

With a heavy heart to write this - my good friend Don Partridge died yesterday from a heart attack. The King of the Buskers has moved on... All our condolences to the family. I'll probably write more about this unique guy - but not tonight...

News... sort of...

A fallow time for blogging recently... haven't been to any gigs so no reviews... travel plans buggered because of illness and other craziness. But the beat goes on...

So a quick gather - Black Stepdad (yes, I know) who have some material out on our label The Lows and the Highs  scored a review by Byron Coley in the current Wire:

I think he liked it...

Whitedog has been playing around with deep drums, free rhythms and reverb - here's a rough edit of a possible new track on his forthcoming album on ditto label:

Freeforming go deep by rawmusics

figure of outward has a new album looming as well, playing off folk musics, sorta... this is 'fantasia on my lagan love' with the late Margaret Barry standing in for the singer who will eventually make it into the studio...

Fantasia on lagan love by rawmusics

Reviews will return - I'm off to a double header in London soon - alldayer at Cecil Sharp House (I kid you not) - 'Ghosts from the Basement' and John Tchicai at the Cafe Oto a couple of days later... hopefully I'll be more mobile by then... otherwise stretcher bearers will be called for...

I'm supposed to be in Ireland - but I'm not, which is annoying. Hope to get there in a few weeks...

Review: Tiger Folk/Grand Union Folk at the Shepshed Watermill, Saturday 31st July...

There had been clouds all day, with a hint on the wind that we might get rain, but luckily the inevitable shower only hit late on and was mercifully brief. This was to be a unique event: organised between the Tiger folk club and the Grand Union with the co-operation of the owners Jeff and Kath, as a fundraiser for the ongoing refurbishment of the Shepshed Water Mill. An advance ticket job, barbecue provided, a tour of the restored mill and then music – an informal folk session, mainly unaccompanied, leavened with a smatter of guitars and accordion.

Venue: idyllic, to use an over-used word. On the backroad from Hathern to Shepshed, near to the M1 yet tucked away, folded into an older landscape, the ever-present swish of fast-moving tires a faint – and oddly soothing – soundtrack. What the writer Iain Sinclair calls 'motorway hymns.' A lot of work has been done here - refer to the web-site for more detail. Correction: a lot of hard work – restoring the mill has entailed much digging and humping, apart from the brain power to plan, the money to fuel the endeavour, the sheer will to see it through. When you meet the owners you get the vibe straight away. And it's not a dour cause, rather one carried through with enthusiasm and much good humour.

We got there early which gave a chance to wander round the grounds as the barbecue was being fired up. Yum. People drifted in as food was being made available – and a pleasant evening for al fresco eating. Then a tour of the project, narrated by Jeff, as a digestif.

We started to gather in the space allotted for the music. A small but high-ceilinged room, good acoustics. Intimate atmosphere, with the doors open to the evening at the back. Emcee for the night, Bill Wilkes, (GU4, Barrow folk club, all round good egg) decided that it was time to go and started singing one of his signature shanties – a strange experience with the water wheel of the mill still turning at my back before being shut down for the performance. The metallic creakings and splashing of water seemed to match the song, like marine sound effects. Synchronicity – the music meshing with an older technology, if you wanted to explore that fancy.

Bill always runs an informal but tight gig and a good balance of music was maintained. Not the least, perhaps, because this was not a hundred per cent hardball 'folk' crowd. A couple of surprises – the usually reluctant Ed, stalwart supporter of the Barrow Folk Club was coaxed into singing and how good he was, a light but supple voice, sure of its movement and no discernible wavering from nerves. More please. Going round the room performers acquitted themselves with their usual aplomb – some excellent singers here, of course, Farmer Dave, Corrine Male, Dave Walters, Joe Tormey and apologies to any I missed. They also serve: Karen Harris in good voice, dragged from her barbecue/cookhouse duties – as was Sheila Bentham, who essayed a story with a nice twist. Mr Bentham was late on parade due to his (and Ed's) sterling work with the liquid refreshments. His rendition of 'An evening in summer' seemed to select itself...

John Adams, with accordion and soft voiced song added to the variety – as did Mr Marmion – on bouncy form, his guitar abetted by myself. (Not having played together for a long time we had a rehearsal a few days before – somewhat on the conceptual side as ever, but I don't think I played too many bum notes).

Another milestone of the night – Mr Peter Burnham was apparently celebrating his retirement from the day job, (no doubt a move to derail the more clichéd hecklers, ho ho) and much cake was handed round. He performed solo, with his old partner Sheila Mosley and as one third of GU4, tonight minus Miggy Campbell. Sheila did the old McTell warhorse and a song I have uncordially hated for many years, 'Streets of London.' In the process making me realise that it is a much better song than I realised with a strong moral message that overrides the piety. Always a valuable experience to have one's prejudices confounded. Being such a good singer helps, of course...

But not a night to single out people as all gave of their best. This was very much a communal effort, coming together for a good cause - raising somewhere around £400, I believe – with excellent food and drink and to enjoy a variety of musics – mainly, but not exclusively traditional - under the broad 'folk' banner. A very good advert for two of our strongest local folk clubs which also proved that flexibility without compromise can pay off handsomely – take a bow, everybody. This is a superb small venue with a lot of potential for future events – so a good time to mention the next fundraiser. Saturday September 18th, Tiger Folk and Grand Union clubs again but a slightly different angle – 'Stories and Songs.' Jacket potato supper and real ale on tap for £7, which includes a tour of the mill and outbuildings etc. Tickets via email from John Bentham: the.benthams@ntlworld.com – note that there will be a limited number due to space considerations so book early...

There's an old mill by the stream...

I've been incommunicado all week since the gig at the Shepshed Water Mill last Saturday - apart from a brief foray out for a rather good late lunch in excellent company the other day.  Belated review of the evening to follow...

Happy Birthday...

Happy Birthday Dux!

Review: Magpie Lane/Habbadam at the Teignmouth Folk Festival, Central Theatre, Saturday, June 19, 2010

Down in Devon for a few days on a mission but coincidentally I noticed a while back that the Teignmouth Folk Festival would be running on the same weekend. And that Magpie Lane were headlining on the Saturday night...  So I bought a ticket with the hope that I could get to the gig.  Luckily - I did.

The venue was the Carlton Theatre just off the beach in Teignmouth centre, a small joint but very welcoming.  Backup on the night were Habbadam and Babylon Lane (no relation). The sound system was very good – a difficult balance to get in a space like this with the large selection of instruments being used. Lighting was somewhat surreal occasionally as was the occasional waft of dry ice – which was dryly amusing and received in good spirit. 



Habbadam are guitar, violin and soprano saxophone – an odd instrument for a folk band perhaps but it blended very well – something about the lemony timbre coupled to the power of a sax which made me wonder why it's not used more often. (Again – I was reminded of the old gag – folk followers being often a conservative bunch. But no one suddenly unfurled a banner with the immortal words emblazoned: 'Go home, dirty bebopper!). (Scroll down). Dane Sigurd Hocking played fluent guitar, the odd fluff early on perhaps, but blending with fiddle and sax to provide an unusual, intriguing set. The occasional vocal thrown in to balance it out – I found them much more interesting perhaps than the usual WBD Oirish set.  (Worthy But Dull).  Ditte Fromseier-Mortensen, also from Denmark, provided violin and vocals, Hanna Wiskari, the lone Swede, took command of the soprano. The material was unfamilar to me – based on the traditions of the Baltic Sea island of Bornholm - but oddly enough not, on another level, reflecting links between Scandinavian music and the British Isles. Some pleasant surprises as well - the Lars Ipsen tunes were plain weird with strange melodic arcs, taking the listener into a distant and wonderfully unusual sound world. (Ipsen was apparently an 18th century fiddler from Bornholm).  Towards the end, they brought on a local singer, Peter Huggins, to deliver 'Three score and ten,' the fishing disaster song from the East Coast that obviously resonates strongly down here as well.  In fact, with proximity to sea and rural Devon, the traditional musics and street dance/morris displays of the festival took on a relevance that is not always obvious back where I live these days in the urban Midlands.  Habbadam went out on a mainstream jazzy number to much applause - obviously a festival favourite and a band I'd like to see again.

Next up: Babylon Lane, a four-piece vocal group devoted to shape-singing. Interesting, but they didn't quite grab me, not sure why. I had to leave early in their set anyway – had a text message I urgently needed to reply to – so did not have time to settle in to their music to offer an opinion.

Magpie Lane. Mr Giles and band came recommended to me very strongly a few months ago when I was urged to attend a gig back home when they were playing just down the road from God's Little Acre. They blew me away – and few folk groups do that. Ian Giles has a remarkable voice and buttressed by the talent that surrounds him, this is a band with much firepower – instrumentally and vocally. In the present incarnation: Andy Turner/Sophie Polhill/Mat Green/Jon Fletcher play concertinas, melodeons, cello, whistle, fiddle, guitar, bouzouki and harmonica. And all sing – when they suddenly burst into five part harmony it is a joy to behear, offering a majestic swathe of sound. That first time I encountered them was in the upclose intimacy of a folk club, this go-round the more formal setting of a concert. Even though the Carlton Theatre is a relatively small venue and the band would have spent much of the weekend fraternising and playing on sessions in close contact with festival goers, amplification and stage still give a couple of degrees of separation. Which, tellingly, did not seem to make any difference. Big gig, small gig, there is tremendous skill involved here that covers all the bases, yet is not jammed in your face but subtly held back a notch or two. A lot of power under the hood... Much traditional folk music is ideologically conflicted for many reasons, historically, culturally – and often stupidly. Possibly, playing in the idiom is like learning a foreign language. For some people, surface accuracy and varying degrees of misplaced piety are enough and a certain stiffness is inherent to the delivery. For those who enter deeper into the cultural episteme(s) beneath, the rewards will be fluency and emotional engagement with the material and the audience they deliver it to. (This also goes for the listener: most of the folk audience come to the music from outside - some initial effort is usually needed to connect with the material). Giles sings with an ease and flair that subtly belies his technique and knowledge.   As do they all. The references are backwards historically, based in the main in the English country dance and song tradition, yet the band's ease of technical erudition channels the material effectively . It lives and breathes before you, rather than being a ghost dragged reluctantly to perform at a séance.  Opening with 'The Jovial Cutler,' a song from the cusp of the Industrial Revolution concerned with earlier work practices that still continued, a strategic piece that looks back at a dying world and forwards to a newer, problematic urban existence.  The timbre of Ian Giles helps to keep these old songs fresh – resonant and flexible, not given to decoration and some of the more affected ticks of the 'tradition.'  The achieved clarity and the warm emotion with which he delivers it front the band well.  But this seems a democracy of many interlocking skills: Giles will disappear occasionally to let other line-ups play in varying combinations, down to duos – Sophie Polhill and Mat Fletcher gave up a stunning 'Turtle Dove,' for example.  Hard to pick anyone out over their compatriots – they function so well on all levels it seems, held together by the dark threads of the cello's weavings. (An instrument I love and how fascinating to hear the ways in which it is deployed).  Giles amusingly said that they 'mucked' songs about, finding different tunes to well-known words, that sometimes this worked and sometimes it didn't.  This willingness to continually expand and experiment give them a bracing freshness.  A couple of examples: 'A begging I will go' and 'The Foggy Dew.'  The first floated across the dance tune 'Grimstock' in a fascinating reworking of an old chestnut, the second given a more delicate and plaintive reading than usual.  Giles also dons a side drum occasionally which gives some added muscle in the rhythm department.  Nothing 'folk rock' (mercifully – in most of its manifestations a lumpy mess) – rather than clumsy grafts of backbeats, he plays from the song itself.  He uses two drums – one orthodox snare, the other a deeper military-looking artifact, sort of a quarter-lambeg on the diagonal, that looks like it was nicked from the set of 'Sharpe.'

They bow out on the encore unaccompanied: 'The Constant Lovers' aka 'Drowned Mermaid.' The five part harmonies here gave an amazingly full sound, the voice interactions on the verses – from solo to duo, adding another level of interest. I know they have been criticised for being too lush vocally but I love this expansion that seems to stretch until it fills the hall (and beyond).  But I'm a fan.  And look forward to the next time...

Teignmouth...

I was down in Teignmouth last week on other biz, glancingly encountering the folk festival as the sun shone. Here's a couple of photos from the town centre in the afternoon.  The Fabulous Fezheads were fun, keeping the old sand dance tradition alive - memories of my late old friend Ronnie Ross of the Roadstars and solo street  fame.  The guys below were playing some nice American Old Timey sounds as I stopped to sample Guinness alfresco...  The only event I made it to was the Sturday night concert - the rather wonderful Magpie Lane.  Review written but still being deciphered (very delayed...).

Thelonious Monk/Miles Davis/Doc Watson/Delmore Brothers/Max Roach

The bloody World Cup is here again so I am in need of (much) distraction, although not having a television helps to a certain extent... But, despite the fact that football bores the bejasus out of me, it would be churlish not to wish for the best in South Africa – a big moment for them.

And I am off to Devon tomorrow for a few days r and r and some biz. So:

The curse of the blogger of course, is to make rash statements: 'Apologies for being away but now I'm back etc' – to then disappear again. I have not posted any mp3s for some time and reviews have dried up somewhat as I have been busy on an ongoing project that has taken much time and energy. But I like to think that I can still roll one or two out here and there... Some jazz, some folk blues, some bluegrass, eclecticism rules as ever...

I posted Jimmy Guiffre's version of this sometime back – so here is the original, a recording of 'Blue Monk' made by the composer in 1954 with a trio, himself on piano, Percy Heath on bass and the redoubtable Art Blakey on drums. Over seven minutes long, giving them a chance to stretch out. Monk takes this at a sprightly tempo – he always plays this tune a fraction faster, I think, than you realise at first, the brain seems to say that it's a slower drag blues. He leaves plenty of space, floating phrases then suddenly doubling back, clenched repeating figures that suddenly spring out in an unexpected direction. Solid bass springs the track and Blakey knows when to push with quick cymbal spats and those trademark rolls, the battering triplets. Giuffre's version caught the pull of the time-line in the theme – at once archaic and modern and Monk of course, even more so now at this distance, proves this even deeper. Heath takes a fluent solo over Blakey backbeat hi-hat cymbal clips that continue into his own solo. Some hint of parade ground cadence that swings off sideways. Monk still in his springtime, on the cusp of greater recognition. And still fresh.

Miles from 1966: 'Dolores' a track on 'Miles Smiles.' Certain people regard this album as the last TRUE JAZZ acoustic Davis recording. Each to their own. What you do have is Miles coming to terms with the new wave and rock, both of which inflect on this album. Davis's Fifties Quintet was seen as a pinnacle of his art and certainly the rhythm section of that band took some beating – Philly Joe, Red Garland and Paul Chambers. Here the young drummer Tony Williams moves the band into new areas – I've always contended that jazz could not evolve any faster than its drummers. A lot of fifties attempts at moving the music beyond bebop fell foul of this rule... 'Dolores,' a Wayne Shorter composition opens uppishly on a line by tenor that falls into bass, band then bass again. Miles takes the first solo, open horn swirled along by William's wash of cymbals and a fast bass walk. No Hancock at first – Miles was always a master of space but with this quintet he was to explore the frontiers anew. Shorter follows Hancock enters at last on a single note line, leaving his left hand at home. Without chords being sketched, the linearities can take unexpected directions Peppy and fresh...

Another American treasure - Doc Watson playing 'Deep River Blues.' Just the Doc and his acoustic guitar, some fine picking and that warm baritone voice. Recorded in 1964, the album this comes from was a staple round our house several years later as all the guitar players worked out their own versions of many of the songs.

Alton and Rabon Delmore, brothers born in Alabama, pioneers of country music, regulars in the Grand Old Opry from the thirties onwards. (The Opry is the longest running radio show in the U.S. I discovered on the Wikipedia entry – I knew it had been around a long time but not that long!). Like Doc Watson, interestingly they crossed styles as and when, no doubt confounding purists, who seem to have little understanding at a distance of the commercial moves a musician makes. Their version of 'Big River Blues' is an antecedent of the above 'Deep River Blues' and gives a fascinating contrast in linked but different styles. Singing in close harmony, straight out of the high lonesome, backed by interweaving guitars, whether it's because they come from an earlier generation, one can track the rhythmic differences. They are just that fraction more four-square than the Doc, albeit that the lead bounces nicely off the accompaniment. Much more country, as well, Doc's voice reminding me oddly of a folk blues Jack Teagarden. In another strange reversal, later in their career, during the forties, they added electric guitar and drums – Doc Watson had started his professional career playing electric guitar in a country/western swing band. I gather his superb flat-picking technique came in part from playing fiddle tunes on the electric, in later years moving them onto his acoustic guitar.

Searing stuff from Max Roach and company – 'Mendacity,' recorded in 1961, from his album 'Percussion Bitter Sweet.' Booker Little leads the ensemble in on soured trumpet before the Abbey Lincoln takes the song. A chorus then stopped by an ensemble surge. Then the incomparable Eric Dolphy's alto – talk about 'vocalisation of tone' – this reminds me of the musical conversations he had with Charles Mingus in the quartet that recorded equally biting music - 'Faubus Fables' etc. Another ensemble punctuation then Max takes his equipment out front, the most musical of drummers, chunks of silence after each statement. An unusual solo that stops and starts, stops and starts, yet with a narrative line throughout. Far from the ker-ching of orthodox modern jazz - the times were a-changing in many ways. Abbey Lincoln returns, the lyric darkly spelling out the racism these musicians and their people endured. Angry, righteous music.

Thelonious Monk
Thelonious Monk (p) Percy Heath (b) Art Blakey (d)
Blue Monk
Download

Buy

Miles Davis
Miles Davis (t) Wayne Shorter (ts) Herbie Hancock (p) Ron Carter (b) Tony Williams (d)
Dolores
Download

Buy

Doc Watson (g, v)
Deep River Blues
Download

Buy

Delmore Brothers (g, v)
Big River Blues
Download

Buy

Max Roach
Booker Little (tp) Julian Priester (tb) Eric Dolphy (as) Clifford Jordan (ts) Mal Waldron (p) Art Davis (b) Max Roach (d) Carlos "Patato" Valdes (cga) Carlos "Totico" Eugenio (cowbell) Abbey Lincoln (vo)
Download

Buy

Review: Day Two/Freedom of the City Festival, Conway Hall, London, Monday 3d May, 2010...

Afternoon:

A crowded hall, ready for John Butcher and Mark Sanders, saxophones and drums, a palpable hum of expectation.  Butcher out fast with greasy, smeary tenor saxophone as Sanders bounced rhythms and sounds around him.  Not all sturm und drang – plenty of episodes where Butcher displayed his remarkable technique on both saxes, multiphonics, snapping/popping of the reed, digging deep into the ontology of the instrument, as it were.  Sanders had small metal bowls and cymbals to bow and scrape and rub against his kit to match the granular excursions.  Exploratory – and held together throughout, no meandering, each playing for the other.  When they finished, the audience gave them a rapturous reception.  Lot of lurve here...

Jennifer Allum/Grundick Kasyansky/David O'Connor/Eddie Prévost:
Eddie Prévost runs regular workshops for improvisers in London and this set showcases some of his participants.  Electronics, baritone sax, violin and Mr Prévost at his kit – although tonight, as if in penance to Gods of Improv for his forays into straight time the night before (it would have been classic if someone had suddenly displayed a banner with the message – 'Go home, dirty bopper!'  A gag for the older among you – see here...), he in the main concerned himself with finely graded texture – bowing a large gong and cymbals.  This was thoughtful, austere (yet almost dreamy music at times) that flowed  well – the obvious benefit of those workshop sessions.  Again, violin suffered a bit from undermiking.

Adam Bohman/FURT (Richard Barrett/Paul Obermayer)/Ute Wassermann:
Phil Marks in on drums, depping for the indisposed Richard Barrett - started a wild barrage somewhat at odds with the others.  They took a long time pre-set trying to get the balance right and... well... Ute Wassermann, one of my favourites from last year (when she played with Aleks Kolkowski see here), was struggling at times to rise above the mêlée .  A superb singer with an operatic technique that she bends successfully into the wilder shores of vocal improv, covering a gamut of sounds that FIT... Some nicely abrasive laptop interruptions.  Adam Bohmann back in the mix – despite his impressively large jumble sale table – getting some good textural noise when you could hear him.  Somehow it didn't quite coalesce, but I enjoyed it.  Perhaps a lot of the fun is the high-wire balancing acts that improvisation demands – sometimes you fall, but I'd rather be witness to that than tribute band banality...

Jean-Luc Guionnet/Ross Lambert/Philip Somervell:
I missed some of this set.  Some fascinating piano sonorities, interesting alto playing – much of the acoustic guitar playing of Lambert was under-miked in the overall balance.


EVENING

Stellari String Quartet: John Edwards/Charlotte Hug/Marcio Mattos/Philipp Wachsmann:
The players assembled  in front of the stage (again), this time I was a little better sited.  Improvising essentially chamber music, with the odd jazzy nuance, one could argue that this is what 'third stream' music should have sounded like.  They played  through the gamut of contemporary string techniques – rubbing, scraping, attacking the instrument in places on the body other than the strings and neck – but these were flowing from the music rather than being grafted on artificially, propelled by a strong emotional force.  Plenty of ideas here – a thicket of melody and sound at times, listening and looking to each other to come together or stand back.  Mattos and Edwards locked in as and when to provide a thrumming bottom bottom end and middle as Philip Wachsmann and Charlotte Hug spun off each other with shards of melody and sonic exploration.  Wachsmann wafted his violin about while bowing like an old-time hoedowner at a couple of points.  To improvise music of this level of creativity and coherence is a mighty achievement.  A gas, as we used to say... Unfortunately, this was the last of the festival for me – I had plans to get across town to the Cafe Oto to catch Carlas Bozulich but just ran out of energy...

Summation: some marvellous music, some that didn't quite work but I applaud the participants for their risks – and that's only my opinion anyway.  A couple of other blog reviews - Mapsadaisical one and two and Daid Grundy's very details account here to consider...  A festival – especially one like this, with so much concentrated in a relatively short time space of two days – will – and should - always offer a collision of styles and strategies.  Put it this way - there was no musician or group of performers that I would not want to see again, either here (next year) or in other contexts/venues.  Evan Parker shouldered much of the compering duties and he was both amusing and acerbic – rants aplenty.  Despite his acrid observation that Time Out had not bothered to give them a mention, my overall observation was that the audience was out in force for demanding musics and seem to me to be much more of a cross-section in age and sex than when I first went to this event a few years ago back at the much-lamented Red Rose.  Evan said that they will be back next year and I look forward to that.  The only downside for me was that some of the miking seemed underbalanced, especially for the acoustic stringed instruments – violin, cello, guitar.  Wish list?  Same as last year... I think that the festival could benefit from some more interesting electronic performers.  It would be interesting to see how the noise mob would fit in - after all many of them base their musics on improvisation.  It's a little on the academic side here, compared to the fire and energy available in other areas.  I'd enjoy someone like Aaron Dilloway on stage with Steve Noble, say, a power sax player and John Edwards (if his bass was balanced in the mix)... But let's be thankful this festival in still ongoing and congratulations to all who make it happen... 

Review: Day One/Freedom of the City Festival at the Conway Hall, London, Sunday May 2nd, 2010

Back to the Conway Hall for another Freedom of the City Festival... I skated in just in time to grab a drink and a seat, caught the opener, Peter Evans. One might think that solo trumpet was a bit on the austere side to start the fandango – however, Evans was revelatory, playing to a packed hall on amplified trumpet and cornet (I think) with some minimal adjustments via a foot pedal. Fancifully, you could consider this as a history lesson, linking back to the early days of jazz when developing an individual sound was paramount. The shift from the standard classical/marching band tone to 'vocalised' instrumental individuality. Part of the fun of being a 'jazz' fan was/is in blindfold tests - identifying a player by his sound. This was inherent in the music from the start, it seems. So when Peter Evans fires off a flashing bravura melodic line bending back in and out of bebop, or earlier, his tonal alterations – squeezed half-valve, a variety of muted effects – simultaneously are part of the contemporary 'avant garde' preoccupations with sound experiments and also deeply embedded in the line that goes back through Rex Stewart to Bubber Miley and beyond. He showed a lot of variation and a shrewd sense of dynamics - the brassy fire of the trumpet was contrasted by the smaller instrument, lighter, clarion pure. And Evans' participation in a trio with Evan Parker (and cellist Okkyung Lee) later in the day was perhaps prefigured by some occasional relentless circular breathed passages that reminded of the elder saxophonist's technique. An impressive start, then – to a fairly full hall.

Okkyung Lee and Paul Lytton:
Cello and drums/percussion, Lytton going from delicate to fiery, leaving space when necessary, as when Lee stopped strings with the left hand way down the neck near the bridge and bowed to produce dry, sharp sounds. When she went deeper in the cello range, richer textures emerged. Highly intelligent music where mutual listening was essential. Lytton – sporting a two-hihat setup, interestingly could so easily have overpowered, but had in his armoury a full range of ironmongery to produce high sonorities, rubbed, lightly struck or played on the drums and cymbals to produce interesting clashing/additional sounds. Bit more mike on the cello, perhaps... a small criticism I could make of the festival overall, where delicate textural balances were often not audible enough in the mix.

Tania Chen/Lol Coxhill/Dominic Lash:
Lol, of course, will never be too far away from jazz, even when he ventures into saxophone sound manipulations a rich flowing seam of melody is never covered for long. He is the dominant player here tonight, ably supported by a restrained Dominic Lash on bass. Chen is fairly minimal in her interjections with occasional forays inside the piano. Towards the end of their set she suddenly unleashed some smashing clusters, elbows to the keyboard, that changed the overall direction, shaking it up nicely. Not sure that this trio really hit the spot although they played some interesting music, maybe Lol is too 'jazzy' this afternoon to go into some of the areas implied by his partners. I'd like to hear them again – in a club situation perhaps, where the piano may come through more.

I missed the last set of the afternoon - the London Improvisers Orchestra - but got back in time for the evening session...

QuaQua – is John Russell's yearly ever-changing lineup, tonight featuring Chris Burn at the Bosendorfer plus electronics, bookended with Matthew Hutchinson at a Roland keyboard and added effects. In between - Stefan Keune, saxophone, Satoko Fukuda, violin, Henry Lowther, trumpet the leader on guitar and Jean-Michel Van Schouwberg, voice. The latter's gurning facial distortions were very distracting – I'm not a great fan of vocal improv with a few exceptions (one of whom would be playing on the next day) so am probably easily pissed off. Although putatively a collective experience – the leader's guitar is never dominant, although I wonder if this is deliberate or just that under-miking again – Lowther's declaratory trumpet led the show. Not that he overplayed – he is far too good a musician for that. This group proceeds by small increments of sound, splashes and scrapes of colour that suddenly coalesce into unusual shapes, at points erupting then suddenly falling again.  A somewhat ascetic approach, perhaps, leavened by the trumpet and the Roland adding some nice rumbling electronic details.  The gurning aside, I enjoyed it a lot.



Louis Moholo-Moholo/Steve Noble/Ishmael Wadada Leo Smith:

The famed trumpeter had apparently requested a two drummer hit to back him. He's a cool looker, dreadlocks and dark glasses, a player of flashing and assured brilliance. I've been listening to a lot of his recorded work recently so was looking forward to hearing him live. Steve Noble set the pace with a thunderous barrage from the off, leaving Louis Moholo looking a little puzzled, perhaps. He seemed to have difficulty finding his way in and Noble was not going to step back, it seemed. They were playing in front of the stage and from where I was sitting at the back, I didn't get a clear view of the set. Smith took care of everything thrown at him, as one would expect from someone of his stature, riding the rhythms with power and invention. Further in, Moholo set up an occasional groove, at one point with just the insistent ticking beats of two sticks. There was some vocal interchange that I didn't quite grab: Mapsadaisical records it thus:
'He even tried to cut the set short; “No, baby” he said at a quiet moment when Noble was threatening to drive things back up to another powerful rhythmic peak. “Yes, baby” said a clearly not-yet-finished Wadada, and off they went again.' From here...

Again, great to hear good musicians, but a little hit and miss, pulled along by Smith's experience. Hey, they call it improvisation...

SUM was Seymour Wright, Eddie Prevost and Ross Lambert on alto, drums and guitar. An odd line-up, given my previous experience of Seymour whom I have grown to greatly appreciate. Eddie was hitting straight time in places (!), Lambert played a lot throughout – too much perhaps, I felt that he didn't seem to handle silences very well. Seymour – well, he's noted for minimal and precise interrogations of his instrument, materially and, perhaps, philosophically/conceptually. Tonight he played more than I have heard him before – although given that most sax players will fire off a string of sixteenth notes and he might play – one, two, three if you're lucky – this was still not a great deal. He will hang on a note and repeat it, turning it around and about, tip it sideways.  Tonight he would suddenly give a small flourish of something approaching melody. More flurries than one is used to – and some accurate high register stuff. I found it fascinating...

Evan Parker/Peter Evans/Okkyung Lee:

The guv'nor with two younger players, Evan on his usual tenor and soprano saxophones joined by Lee on cello and Peter Evans on his brass. No feints, stabs of jabs of sound to set things up – straight in with three superb players weaving and spinning complex interlocking/opposing lines in a glorious tapestry. They have played together before and it shows in their mutual understanding.  I mentioned above that during his solo set Evans's circular breathing gave hints of where Parker has gone before: tonight in this tight trio, the saxophonist being generous and reining back his formidable technique to blend with the others. Sonorities changed between tenor and soprano and back, similarly Evans switched between his trumpet and the smaller instrument. A delicate balance necessary for more granular playing as it would have been – and was on occasion – easy to step into the cello's sound space (the miking again!) – luckily most of it came through. At one point Evan did launch one of his circular passages and sucked everyone along with him – Evans replying in kind to hit another level of exhilaration. Stunning music. Given my fanciful thought about the opening set and its link to the tradition, you could imagine this three-way contrapuntal blowout as similarly linked to the early collective tradition of New Orleans – via European avant garde chamber music. Oh play that thing...

Freedom of the City Festival, 2010...

Finally back in God's Little Acre from the Freedom of the City Festival - which I thought the best yet... more to follow when I've had some sleep (honest - I've written most of it already)... Great and challenging music, good crowds, Evan P on fine ranting form (you had to be there)... But I missed Carla Bozulich at the Oto - had an idea I could do the double yesterday but ran out of energy... to get back to a hotel where they were digging up the road outside until 1.30 am this morning... loudly.  Didn't even have a recorder with me to sample it...
Later... much later...

Review: Ken Vandermark/Paal Nielssen Love plus John Edwards at the Cafe Oto, Friday, April 23d, 2010...

Back to the Cafe Oto again... and a good seat up close and personal – although with drummer Paal Nilssen Love nearer to me, some of Ken Vandermark's playing was a little muffled at times. According to his Twitter feed, 'Easyjet damages the baritone, can't play it' so he stuck to tenor and clarinet tonight. First set was as a duo and hurtled straight off into the fray, Vandermark using melodic fragments as his base, firing the permutations around at speed, gunslinging tenor sax, as the drummer cracked along mightily, in the main using hi-hat, snare and floor tom for the engine room. But for all his heavy hitting- even when he repeatedly favoured brushes, he got as much bite as swoosh - Paal Nilssen Love has an impressive grasp of dynamics, knowing when to drop back, using his high-hat, cowbell and cymbals for colouration or adding small cymbals, woodblocks, tambourine laid on the drum skins. Vandermark is a gutsy tenor saxophonist with a mastery of the ranges from deep down honk up to high squeal pushed through fast linearities, yet he will also hover over a phrase, chew it up and extract as much groove juice as possible, riding the riffs. Traces maybe of the the Chicago heritage he became a major part of, blues and then some, Southside to experimental and back. Given Paal Nielssen Love's similar propensity to slip from implied pulses back to almost Blakey-like hihat bebop ker-chings and at one point a lolloping 6/8, they provide plenty of common reference pointers back into the tradition. 'Free jazz' has come a long way in that respect, working now with such an expanded vocabulary, that a dash of 'swing' is quite refreshing. Vandermark is also a composer of note which gives his performance an architectural wholeness, form rising from improvised content but a flexible form perhaps shadowly implicit. This is music that communicates – without dumbing down. Eventually he switched to clarinet and was equally impressive, using circular breathing at times, judging by his facial movements, oddly avoiding the chalameau register in the main in favour of higher declarations. The clarinet seems to be edging back into favour these last few years. This higher register worked well over the swirl of the drums but it wasn't all squall and blatter – throughout the first set they edged into quieter episodes where melodic interrogation went sideways into colour and sonic texture. Vandemark ended their first set with a clarinet feature – maybe this was one of his compositions rather than a totally free improvisation? The melody seemed naggingly familiar, with a dash of Monk influence to my ears... Ending quietly, coming to rest...

Grab a bit of the duo flavour (with Vandermark on baritone - here...

Second set with John Edwards, bass about town, added. Vandemark had not played with him before but Edwards was at full throttle straight away, joining the tenor with his bow to arco along with the opening melodic statements and locking seamlessly in with the drums.  Edwards' ferocious attack is powered by hands that seem to have superhuman strength in order to stand up to the assault of flesh and bone on string and wood. He plays with such ferocity that he broke a string (again – that's the second time I've seen this happen in a couple of months). Less flowing tenor lines here, more concentration on group interaction – again Vandemark would lock on various riffs and exploit their repetitions with small changes. Perhaps a wise move – in this context, with the added busyness of the bass and no direct miking, longer lines would tend to get a little lost in the thickets of sound being generated. The riff taken onwards... When they slipped into the more abstract areas of granularities, breath/embouchural manipulations, hands on drums, cymbals, added small effects, Edwards' large sonic canvas scored high, his rubbings, scrapings and expansions of the conventional sound world of the bass providing mighty additions to enlarging and enriching the immediately expanding terrain. Solos all round, Love providing some roisterous drums alongside his more contemplative forays into sonorities, Edwards using bow, hands to pluck, slap and pummel, in one passage skittering near to more conventional jazz lines with accurate and fast pizzicato walking. Vandemark deployed his clarinet to good effect again, the high register sailing over the clattering middle and bottom with elegant freedom. Near the end he gave a breathy held note on tenor that seemed to be a signal to stop – but the other two continued for another couple of minutes until another long note finally brought the performance to another quiet conclusion.

Great stuff. From his Twitter again: '...burning trio with John Edwards- great.' Succinct and accurate...
So: another extremely enjoyable night down at the Oto – flying the flag for free jazz... I love this place and the continuing variety of superb musicians they have been bringing in, the intimacy where you can see/hear close up the nuances and shifts that make up a successful improvisatory snatched-in-the-moment experience. The lager is crap, though, but a small sacrifice – the art not the booze, or something... ars longa lager brevis...
Next Sunday - off to Freedom in the City - and Carla Bozulich on the monday night...

Alan Sillitoe 1928-2010...

Sad news that one the truly great English writers has just died - Alan Sillitoe. A hero of mine, especially coming from just up the road, Nottingham, and one of the few writers, in my opinion, to stand near his earlier neighbour, D.H. Lawrence. Tough, uncompromising, unique, an anarchic presence in the over-ordered house of Brit literature - where there aren't many great writers these days, apart from Iain Sinclair and a couple of others. I re-read his William Posters Trilogy recently and marveled at the freshness and hope, passages of stunning writing. Forget Amis, McEwan and co... We shall not see his like...

Vandermark/Love/Edwards...

Just got back from London after attending another mighty gig at the Cafe Oto - first night of Ken Vandermark/Paal Nilssen Love's gig, with John Edwards in attendance.  Maybe review to follow - not making any more rash statements of intent, given the last few weeks!

Arkestra...

Just back from London and my head is still spinning from the fantastic gig last night - The Sun Ra Arkestra (directed by Marshall Allen) at the Cafe Oto. More later...

figure of outward...

It's my birthday - so what better time than to launch a new album/venture: figure of outward/one which will be on the RUU label - sited now at Bandcamp.

  Music and info here

Pete Morton at the Musician...

Over to Leicester on a raw, miserable night - to be uplifted by Pete Morton, previewing new material for an upcoming album.  Stirring, brilliant, maybe review to follow... This man is always moving, never content to fall back on nostalgia/safety, and his new songs are well up to his own high standard...

Eartrip 5 out...

Just got back from a damp Sussex and discovered that David Grundy has just upped
Eartrip 5... worth a read, folks - a labour of love... download links are on the site...

Review: Joe McPhee/Chris Corsano with John Edwards/Paul Dunmall at the Cafe Oto, Tuesday 9th March, 2010...

Wordsworth famously wrote in his introduction to 'Lyrical Ballads': 'poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.' There was plenty of 'spontaneous overflow' flying around on Tuesday evening last at the Cafe Oto, the first leg of Joe McPhee/Chris Corsano's two night residency and the end result was: instant poetry. Joined by master bassman Jon Edwards and Paul Dunmall on tenor saxophone, a fascinating gig unfolded – one of the best of the year in a year so far full of them. Tranquility a plenty here this morning... but the recollection scenario may be a trifle more complicated. A few days back and no notes taken, only the snapshots and aural fragments remain in this ageing bundle of synapses. And I am not the poet but the inadequate carrier, the origins and immediate results were on the night. But here we go:

Opening with the headliners, drummer/percussionist Corsano and McPhee on alto saxophone, starting quietly with discreet noises, taps and rattles, breathy ghost notes, they soon started to stretch out across the territory available. Which given the majestic pedigree of Joe McPhee and the younger Corsano's awesome technique is a wide, wide open space. McPhee is a master of multisonics on his instruments and Corsano uses an expanded kit and often electronics to buttress his rhythmic muse. Their explorations moved from small gestures - some on the brink of audibility, a fascinating move in this crowded room but it worked, forcing you to concentrate - to the wilder polyrhythmic shores of Corsano unleashed, with McPhee hard-blowing over the top. McPhee's experiments with sounds and granularities were balanced by a strong melodic anchoring throughout. A modal/folkish feel at times.

They were eventually joined by John Edwards and Paul Dunmall, the bass player starting in with clicky, fast finger-picked figures high up the neck, one hand plucking and fretting as the other chased it, before he went deeper into the range and locked in with the drums. Dunmall up, for a trio at first as Mcphee dropped back, tonight playing more fully, I thought, than the other week with Matthew Shipp, in the first set unleashing torrents of long lines, a big brawling warm-hearted sound. McPhee eventually joined them, going between his alto and his pocket trumpet, this last a high-scrabbling that ran in exhilarating tandem with Dunmall. Onwards, they veered between fire music and filigree: smaller, quieter interludes – a master exercise in dynamics over this long set, finishing on a fantastic duo section between saxophone and trumpet.

Second half. Dunmall more oblique in places, short abrupt phrases tossed rhythmically about - although he unleashed plenty of longer line linearity, there was a more jagged feel, spiced with some deep blats and honks out of the classic r and b playbook. A varied set again, with the musicians splitting into trios, duos and occasional solos. McPhee hauled out his soprano to add to alto and trumpet, giving a more powerful weaving with Dunmall's tenor – the pocket trumpet struggled a little throughout due to its relatively lighter sonority. Again – what was striking was the ability the band had to move between sonic abstraction and more 'jazz' pulse orientated improvisations. Solos all round, of course – Corsano brought the house down with his and Edwards was his formidable self, McPhee and Dunmall equally assured in their expositions, the older man pushing further outwards on his instruments than the tenor saxophonist yet always returning – as did Dunmall – to primal melody. What was fascinating was the expanded space created where movement freely crossed the usual barriers – it was not 'jazz' with added sonics unsteadily grafted on or the reverse but a music in the moment that moved fluidly between these vaguely signposted areas and beyond. Several times throughout I suddenly realised that one section, say a duo between drummer and bassist which had been digging deep into expanded technical sonic gestures, bowed cymbals, frottaged bass, for example, had suddenly edged back in to the whole band rocking at full blast – with no perceived 'join' or Zornian jumpcut - rather a natural movement of mutual authority and widened vocabularies.

If a word summed up the evening, it would be 'generosity.' McPhee shared his sets equably and amicably, giving each performer plenty of opportunity to strut their considerable stuff while displaying the generous range of his own talents. A pure master. Put this all together and you have a satisfyingly/stimulatingly generous range of music – that 'spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings,' the instantaneous musical poetry of which is later commented on – here - in hazardous recollection and some 'tranquility.' The memory does not create the poetry. In this case – it was already there in the moment... Trust me on that at least...

Without generosity, there is no adventure... let Joe McPhee have the last word:

'This music...call it jazz or whatever, is a living thing, not museum music...it needs to take risks in order to adapt and survive.'
(From here... )