Review: Colour out of Space Festival, Brighton, Sunday, 13th February, 2011

Woke up after not much sleep with an appalling hangover but realised that staggering into the hotel breakfast was going to be a good idea... Somewhat refreshed - we talk in relative terms - I scanned the program for the day – and went back to bed. But come 1 pm I was down at the Sallis Benney, determined to bear witness to as much as my knackered-up body could stand. Cat Hawed were first off the blocks – three musicians from Helhesten and Towering Breaker – and played a stunning set, I thought. Starting in chamber music mode, accentuated by the use of clarinet, perhaps, although it was played on the extremes of register, poised and balanced as they tested the day, building to a roar as the form spread to encompass wilder sounds, loosely corralled, as it were, by intelligence. Bad Orb (Sarah Albury's solo vehicle) – standing stage left to the side of the projections on screen at the ubiquitous rummage sale table holding her electronics, voicing: ur ur ur repeated/recorded into the mike (Ur-Sounds?) to be bounced back and manipulated as source material, backdrop to a film, triangular motif and bird image recurring – superb in the marriage of sight and sound here. My day was off to a good start (no sight of Hugh Metcalfe-ian strategies so far). Martin Klapper's take on home movies was fascinating, old footage transformed by his bespoke techniques, dragged down slightly by the music which was a trifle cartoony, but the general flow pulled it along beyond annoyance. Other films that grabbed me: Stuart Pound's 'Breath Dance,' a cool hokey cokey in which the film stops, jumps back, moves on to create a stylised dance of pedestrians in Trafalgar Square. 'I'll raise you like a mother,' by Violaine Bergoin was a disturbing meditation on the trial and execution of the Ceasescu's, live horrific soundtrack placed over images of family life. With Gaddafi's recent televised demise fresh in the mind, it's worth quoting Violaine's remarks about her film:

'This piece is a reconstitution of a precise moment of my life, as a 8 year old, during an everyday family dinner and the broadcasting of the Ceauescu couple being trialled and executed. When Elena Ceauescu cried for her life, screaming to the guards taking her "I'll raise you all like a mother", which was then dubbed in French, my heart stopped and these words have been haunting me ever since and has been bringing impressions of déjà- vu until now. Today it has become a banality to watch upheavals, wars, famines, executions, genocides at 8 o'clock news within a familial structure. Yet the conflicts in this world may reflect our disabilities to communicate which results in decaying relationships. Maybe wars start within families first and expand to massive proportions.'

Back down to the Old Market for the last leg of the festival. Just in time to catch Ninni Morgia and Silvia Kastel, great wild guitar and howled vocals, processed and chopped about. Abruptly moving into a hard thumping beat as they rocked out – one that got some of the audience idiot dancing. I missed the beginning of Maja Jantar's set. A slight, slim figure on the side stage who displayed a wide range of vocal techniques – singing in tongues avant scat which segued at one point into a cool version of 'Cry me a river.' And back again. Noticeable for being able to hold a large crowd with nothing but voice . Vom Grill was loud, vocal contortions put through the electronic shredder, turning his vocals inside out. (YouTube vid here of a performance in Paris a couple of years back).

Then on to Vinyl Terror and Horror, Camilla Sørensen and Greta Christensen's duo who upturn turntablism as they use records as source material for their manipulations. Breaking open the straight box of DJing to reveal many other worlds inside, which were then explored intensively, their collective intelligence produced some of the best music of the weekend for this old boy. Cracks, crashes, pops, scratches, sudden bursts of trombones, choirs, voices wrenched out of the grooves into new configurations. Superb!

Unfortunately for me, the last act of the weekend. Dog Lady. Mike Collino is from Detroit and I fancifully thought I could hear the ghosts of old machines from the auto assembly plants in the subterranean chunks of sound grinding against each other. Across which he lashes some fragments of violin to be tossed and processed through his electronics rig.  Great set - after which reluctantly I had to go...

Final thoughts: a fantastic weekend. Large emphasis this year on sound poetry, hardly any jazz, lots of interesting films and multi-media, Colour out of Space back and firing on all cylinders. The new main venue at the Old Market looks like a winner, the crowds who turned up throughout must surely signal a success. Thanks to all who made it happen. And hopefully it will be on again next year

Another viewpoint here...
complete with ten minute snapshot overview.
 

Review: Colour out of Space Festival, Brighton, Saturday, 12th November, 2011

Saturday: strolled somewhat painfully from the hotel to the Sallis Benney (where the whole festival used to be held) for the afternoon sesh of film and sonics. Too much walking over the previous couple of days had left me somewhat hors de combat. I didn't stay for the whole event but caught Blue Yodel (Fiona Kennedy's solo gig) which cleansed my synapses suitably. Slew of good films: one that impressed me by its unsettling weirdness was 'Trypps#6 Malobil' by American Ben Russell. Catch a glimpse here...http://vimeo.com/6975261 A group of presumably white people in strange costumes come out of a building in a tropical village, soundtracked by drumming, walk through the assembled locals as off-camera sharp reports like gunfire occur sporadically. Some simulated sex. Some collision of cultures going on. If the A Band ever go on tour to South America, it could be like this. Ho ho. Apparently shot in the Maroon village of Malobe in Suriname. One of those films that lodge in your brain and will rerun over and over. Disturbing in a way it is difficult to describe.

Jeff Keen's movie was a psychedelic blast, fast moving streams of collage/images. But one bummer: never having seen Hugh Metcalfe live, I will never make the mistake of doing so in the future. The movie of his trip to an Austrian festival was embarrassing, to say the least. He used to team up with the late Bob Cobbing but his wanky repeating of phrases along the lines of: 'I fucking don't give a shit/Shit I fucking don't give/Give I fucking don't a shit' etc ad nauseam came across as some bad attempt at sound poetry/was just plain stupid. The barriers were broken a long way back, old cock. He looked like a middle-aged geography teacher trying to get down with the kidz.  How trangressive it all was. Called his ad hoc group: 'Turd Class.' Says it all, really. Maybe he should start a 'Feral Choir' (one of my other pet hates). Or as Bruce Sterling once said: 'If you want a sustained, independent and transgressive community that can’t be co-opted by society at large, you need to get out of the boho art scene, and right into organized crime.'

On a weekend bursting with creativities of all kinds, this was pathetic. But thanks for the warning...

Evening and back at the Old Market. Festivals are always over-loaded – it's difficult to get to every act, even when back to back in one place. Economies of thirst, urination etc, plus in my case, juggling with fatigue. So the night became truncated – more by accident in the end, it has to be said, when I ended up watching the boxing on Sky down the Conqueror, then became engrossed in conversations/new meetings with interesting people. But I caught Martin Klapper and Martin Jezek's set: video backdrop with electronics which were loud and crunchy but always moving forward, falling almost into conventional rhythms at times which kept them on track. Again, the performance filled the time with a logic that manifested through its form. Good stuff – and a Saturday feel now, hall crowded and buzzing early. This was going to be a sweaty, uncomfortable night... yet even the mob would fall silent when impressed, which is the hallmark of this festival. Where I was standing by the merch stalls, I thought I had taken a good vantage point for PeterFengler's segment, but more and more people pressed in – yet settled down quickly enough to enjoy the 'show.' Entitled 'Baroque/Non Baroque, I think. Which was as if Samuel Beckett had scripted a surreal cabaret for Tommy Cooper. Completely deadpan, based on repetitions of actions, stances and speech that seemed to inject obscure meanings into banal gestures, Fengler held this audience, slowly overcoming puzzlement and random chatter. And he was very funny. Suddenly jumping onto a low table, bending forward on hands and knees, lifting a leg and holding the pose. Bouncing a ball on the stage – my OCD took over and I found myself counting the number of repetitive acts until I stopped myself – tapping bits of wood. Scrunching a plastic cup while wrenching his head around in both hands to simulate colliding vertabrae. Again – difficult to describe why this was entertaining. He stretched patience to breaking point, then you realised that he was skilfully and dryly hilarious.

YouTube to the rescue again gives a flavour of the man...

The next section I caught was PC Fencott (aided by Robin Fencott), veteran of sound/word experimentation for many years, another link to the late Bob Cobbing, one of the dominant spirits in the air this weekend, it seemed.

Playing with some computer graphics that manipulated words, he presented 'Paradiddle Rox,' his voice processed into loops and echoes, creating a wild choir from his solo readings. But his best piece for me was a poem about the experience of sea-diving off the coast somewhere oop north. Foregrounding literally the poetics of breath, he simulated the gulps of air in a diver's mouthpiece in between the lines that described the experience of submergence and movement under water. Catching the paradox: freedom and the claustrophobia of being trapped in the body's need for oxygen, the element of danger in navigating under the sea. He held the audience rapt – then brought them in to join in on the last piece which involved singing out lines that echoed across the hall in overlapping waves. Like folk music almost, but more interesting... How this generates its own order is ultimately fascinating and just using the most basic flexible units available – human voices. Superb.

Catch some of his Colour out of Space performance here http://www.youtube.com/user/CliveFencott

I moved forward and found a space by a door.  The crowd was filling the hall now, with more and more pressing in.  Leather jacket off as the heat was rising from the proximity of so many - upon which someone managed to spill beer.  An accident, a jogged arm.  I realised as more people were struggling to get in that this venue must be approaching some danger limit for occupancy. We were waiting for Rainonbashi and Dylan Nyoukis: someone in a blindfold slipped by and crouched briefly as disembodied noises and voices came through the sound system. Setting an eery atmosphere... The figure disappeared into the crowd, tracked by flashes that came from his seemingly randomly taking of digital photographs. An experiment in unease? I decided to go and left for the Conqueror and the boxing. A fascinating and potentially disturbing experience but I don't like crowds when they are jammed so close and figured with some incipient paranoia that it would just take one psychedelic voyager in the crush to flip into bad vibesville and a stampede could have been on.

Not so much seen and heard, then, but most of it satisfyingly hitting the right spots.

For now - before the other reviews go up - collage from Colour out of Space Festival, 2011

Lots of distractions this week but the remaining two reviews will go up by the weekend (honest). But just stumbled over this via Anthony Donovan out of Dylan Nyoukis.  A reminder not so much of all the great stuff I caught but all the good shit I missed...

Review: Colour out of Space Festival, Brighton, Friday night, 11th November, 2011...

I got down to this new main venue for the first evening of 'Colour out of Space,' The Old Market, picked up my ticket and wristband, checked the schedules, had a drink in the bar and realised that: a) I don't really like Peroni and b) I would probably spend more time between acts in the Conqueror just round the corner, a great old-school boozer with a friendly welcome, which I had scoped out on psychogeographic reconnaissance the previous evening.  (Butcombe bitter, yum. Double Jack D – cheap. More yum).

The venue itself, a converted market hall, is high-ceilinged, a larg-ish space with a few chairs scattered which geriatrics/the knackered like myself would eagerly pounce on over the next few days. A bit like that kid's game, except you grab a seat when the music starts... The running order looked as tight as ever with quick turnarounds – everything was going to happen in the one space but rotating from the main stage to a small stage situated near the back, to the side, plus various performances that would take place out in the open, as it were. Gave a bazaar-like quality to the listening experience, wandering round from each set. Tonight this would not be too much of a problem – good crowd but not too oppressive.

First up: the Eisteddfod kicked off with Tobias Kirsten and John Lunds, a sax/drum duo from Copenhagen. Short repeated phrases on baritone sax, hammered out in tandem with the crashing drums. Free jazz meets Steve Reich, if that makes sense – improvised but hurled into repeating patterns that subtly shift, driven along by relentless drums. Lunds switches saxes, moving up to tenor, the lines get longer, freer. An exhilarating start...

Next, Infinite Gaah, Tom Roberts, a Northampton denizen transplanted to Brighton. I missed most of this short segment and came in to see the small side stage surrounded. Didn't have much idea what was going on – seemed like a good time as the crowd were enjoying it. And there was a lot of fun over the three days – Colour out of Space has always provides a large variety of musics but is never too po-faced, unlike, say, Freedom of the City, which has become somewhat, shall we say, ponderous. The young crowd help – this is not a congregation of old gits like myself, sat around scratching their beards in solemn witness, thank fuck. (Although I wasn't the oldest here).

Anthony Donovan and Clive Graham followed, on the main stage. I managed to get a good spot down front, stage left – not that position mattered much in this hall as the sound was superb throughout.  Duo  electronics, sat at the table looking quite serious, they produced an orchestral, busy movement that did not falter. Which is the test of all these improvising artists/bands – to fill the time without noodling and to hold the audience. I know Anthony's work from other areas but this was very impressive. They fitted together well, not getting in each other's way.

Back to the bear pit – getting crowded now. I hovered on the edge of the crowd, got a few glimpses of Aki Onda in action, who has a wonderful sense of the theatric/visual to frame his music. Which comes from manipulating cassette tapes. With minimal resources he produced amazing sounds, warm and organic, etched with harsher sounds further in. Starting in pastoral mode, a cuckoo calling, a bell sounding, tapes looped and crossed. Very calm, meditative, the ritualistic feeling extended when he proceeded to walk round the edge of the crowd, some sitting, some standing, all in rapt attention, a small amplifier with Walkman attached, gently swinging like a censer, wafting sound. Ok, fanciful – but there seemed a spiritual aspect somewhere. Bringing in drones now and sharper fragments of song, things shifted into an edgier area. Nearing the end, he suddenly grabbed hold of a lightbulb which hung down from the ceiling on a wire and swung it in a long looping arc just over the heads of the assembled, some ducking instinctively as it described its swirling movements. Wonder what Elf and Safety would have said. The light spun round giving an eery finish to a superb performance. In a weekend when it was difficult to pick favourites – this came near.

Couple of short observations:

Wreck and Drool and Smack Music 7 – three piece ensemble. In my notebook I scrawled 'Brilliant! A BAND!' Vocalised sounds sprung across electronic movements, the whole being loose in its expansive possibilities and yet tight because of the artists' concentrations.

Lichen starts walking round playing his sax, moving over to electronics and loops that produce LOUD throbbing music. Punchy.

The last act I caught ( I didn't stay right to the end) was a brilliant flourish: Crank Sturgeon and 

id m theftable. A duo who truly tests one's abilities to describe them. Vaudeville on acid? was one scrawled note. They were extremely funny while producing a continuous barrage of intelligent sound, showcased by their intensely wacky visual éclat and their ability to engage the audience – such as crazed, bemused chants repeated over and over by id, echoed back by the crowd in wild call and response mode as Crank used thick cellotape with a contact mike attached to produce a battery of sounds as he ran backwards and forwards across the stage, securing the tape to either side, producing several rows, on which he hung himself at one point, arms akimbo in an almost parody of the Crucifixion. Jesus on a washing line... Later, producing a number of cut-out phalluses which were attached – cocks pegged out in a row. Some smutty interplay with these of course. Bizarre – and hilarious.

Loud, raucous, rude. Loved it. Some weird area where performance art crashes into standup comedy, noise and home made electronics (Crank had a merch stall throughout and was flogging his own custom built contact mikes. Nearly bought one but I've a drawer full already and a boy's gotta economise.  But check out his web page - they look really good).  Crank is a whispy bearded thin prankster, id, big, burly full-bearded with an air of outraged bewilderment at the world.  The chemistry between them is superb.  Of course, I share religious beliefs with Crank – also being an ordained minister. (Available for weddings etc). A side thought: American acts, in the main, always seem to make an effort to engage. A big difference usually between them and the Europeans...

I was tired, run out of steam, left for a brief one in the Conqueror and walked back down the sea-front, which left me even more tired when I got to the hotel! Further than I had figured... 

But a great opening night.

Return to God's Little Acre... Colour out of Space reviews to follow...

Back home in God's Little Acre... oh joy.  Had a stroll round the Artist's Quarter and a slow pint in the Unicorn where I had a look at the usual mess of notes I make at festivals.  This year's Colour out of Space has prompted even more bizarre scrawls/signs/smears in the old moleskine - given that there was a large theme of sound poetry etc perhaps the ghost of Bob Cobbing crept into my hotel when I was akip and vented his inscribed pleasures on those pages from beyond the beyond... (Stranger things have happened - he was certainly invoked a few times over the weekend).  But reviews will follow, honest.  Just to say - a big shout out to Dylan and co for another trailblazer of skronk and wahoo loaded with mucho epiphanies, which is as it should be - and hopefully will be again next year.  They got the vote out in high numbers.   The Old Market a good venue, in tandem with the afternoon stuff at the Sallis Benney.  So much was enjoyed and now being mulled over.  Fucking cold back here as well after such a brilliant few days...
Later...

Jeez, am I hungover...i But a great afternoon of film and music at the sallis binney venue.

fest rolls...

Colour out of space off to great start... limited comments as on phone ... reviews will follow...

Off to Brighton...

Hopefully I am off to Brighton to Colour out of Space tomorrow.  Best fest in the UK, for me...  No doubt reviews will follow...

New Posts on the Book Blog...

A couple of new posts on the book blog - including a review by John Bentham for the Tiger Folk newsletter.

One for Bert...

Bert Jansch is dead and that is both a very sad loss and a great shock as it had seemed that he was up and about again, recovered from his initial problem with lung cancer. There you go... Bert was a big fixture in my younger life, helping me, (after Bob Dylan) convert to an interest in folk/acoustic music and an engagement with the Brit folk scene of the sixties which for a brief few years was actually a cool place to inhabit, mainly because of Bert and his sidekick John Renbourn and a couple of other faces from the Soho scene, centred round Les Cousins in Greek Street but taking in the old Scots Hoose pub at the top of Old Compton Street where I saw him perform some stunning sets with a nonchalant, tousled grace. There were bad nights, apparently. Too much booze and rumours of darker areas, the whole romantic troubadour schtick. But I don't remember seeing any: the occasional wobble but no more. Maybe this is selective, but Bert was probably no more or less of a raker than the rest of us – and we were legion. The music was the main hit: he had, after all, written the late Buck Polly's epitaph after he went down to smack – 'Needle of Death,' hardly a celebration of opiate abuse. But all this was and is irrelevant in the larger sweep of things...

The music. Bill Broonzy is always quoted as a big influence but alongside that, I always wondered if somewhere down the line he had copped an ear to Scrapper Blackwell's percussive acoustic guitar leads from those classic blues tracks with Leroy Carr in the twenties and thirties – that snapping hit on the strings which gave his playing such an edge. Maybe not – maybe he figured it out for himself. But there was a lot of blues – and jazz – in his playing. Listen to the seminal 'Bert and John' where Jansch and John Renbourne blend their guitars into a new style that could go anywhere. Called 'folk baroque' – which always seemed too pretty and limiting to me, but we need our labels, I suppose. Bert was also, in my book, an underrated singer who knew how to place a song over his unique guitar accompaniments, maybe not the most technical of vocalists, but what is technique? It is there to serve the song, and Bert had an intuitive feel for whatever he sang, his slightly gruff delivery giving a vibrato-less edge that cut through to the essence, the emotional weight balanced just right. Never over-emoting, which especially suited his renditions of traditional material, as well as his own material... His voice was a paradox that mirrored his persona – intimate and yet with a certain distance. Down to earth, yet possessing a certain mystique... Returning to his guitar playing, yeah, sure, no doubt he copped some licks from Davy Graham, as who didn't? – but he had rapidly developed his own style and Bert was a much better singer, whose records stand up better as well, in my opinion. Davy, for all his hubristic wonder, lives on in my memory as primarily a live performer, erratically brilliant, with one classic album that he made with Shirley Collins - tellingly, a singer - the rest unfortunately, for me, coming nowhere near capturing his magic on stage. Screw the comparisons anyway. They were both unique, as was and is John Renbourn who came at the music from another angle. Put it all together and you have a style that flows out of the narrow confines of 'folk' into something new and vibrant. A fusion that meant something, as opposed to much of the vacuity performed under that name when jazz met rock (Miles Davis excepted)...

I loved Bert's solo sets and his duets with John R. Memories of nights down Les Cousins mesmerised by the crisscrossing dance they created. But maybe the band Pentangle took the heights of their influences and originalities and expanded them to a different level to create a music that looked back to folk roots without being overtly ridiculous, irrelevant or twee and forwards to the present and future. We all have our prejudices – with regard to 'folk' music plus rhythm section and some amplification, I rate Pentangle very highly as the ones who got it best in the U.K. Fairport, for me, forever lumpy, clumping around like a bunch of cider drunks at a bad barn dance, only redeemed by the sublime Sandy Denny when she was with them. Pentangle were almost emblematic of the Les Cousins cool strain of music that came out of London at that time, jazzy, subtle, blending the guitar styles into the bass and drums to take Bert and John's playing to new exploratory spaces. Although by the time they were coming together, they had moved up the road a bit to the Horseshoe pub on Tottenham Court Road – probably for spatial reasons as much as anything else – bass, drums, guitars and singer would have been a crush down in Les Cousins. And then on to greater glories... But I still cherish the fading memories of that scruffy old crucible of the new on Greek Street where I first was enchanted by Bert.

And Pentangle came back recently, if only for a brief shot, now that one of the points on the star has disappeared, not as nostalgia but a vital force still, if the reviews are to be believed. Coupled to Bert's resurgent profile, maybe there is some small consolation in the thought that he died at the top his game, after several years of refound fame and recognition. Maybe.

Colour out of Space Returns...

Can't really afford it - but now the book has been published, I feel that I should treat myself.  And my favourite festival over the last few years has been the Brighton bash: 'Colour out of Space.'  Last year it did not happen due to various reasons and there was deep sadness in my autumn.  The previous couple of years - see reviews for 2008 here, here and here/2009 here, here and here - I'd gone down to Brighton for stimulating, exciting, weekends with loads of musics that I really like and some I encountered for the first time at a well run extravaganza, great sound good, great organisation, in a cool location.  This year apparently the festival will split between the Sallis Benney theatre (afternoons) and the Old Market, Hove (evenings).  Full details out later this week, apparently and you can get an early bird inclusive weekend ticket for a mere £25 (link on festival web site - I'm getting lazy).  Been a hermit recently for various reasons so I looking forward to having my ears/brain/eyes stretched. 

Here we go (at last!)... 'Don Partridge and Company' just published...

Finally we got there... 'Don Partridge and Company' has just been published and is available online from my storefront on Lulu/RawMusics HERE... Links also on the book blog HERE...

Available in either paperback hard copy or digital download pdf.

And here's the guv'nor - The Earl of Mustard -  in action, 1968 

Almost there... and a couple of vids on the blog...

The proof of the book has printed and is on its way - once I've checked it, I'll do another, just to make sure everything is ok - then we should be able to go ahead and publish on 27th September. In the meantime, another teaser on the book blog, here... A couple of rare movie clips about the Albert Hall Buskers' Concert of 1969...

New Publication Date...

I've had a problem with some of the embedded photo image files in the master document for the book 'Don Partridge and Company' so I've put the publication date back a couple of weeks while it gets sorted. I spent yesterday re-embedding the images and creating a new master document which has gone back to the on line publisher. Assuming no more problems, I still want to run a few test copies through before publishing, just to double check. New publication date (fingers crossed!): Tuesday 27th September.

Calum Duell...

A buzz going round the extended families tonight - just been sent a vid of Calum Duell, my daughter's young (well, not so young anymore) brother, who is turning out to be an accomplished musician already.
He has a YouTube vid up:





A lot of poise in one so young...

New posts on Don Partridge and Company blog.

A couple of clips of buskers, taken from the film 'The London that Nobody Knows,' have been posted on the Don Partridge and Company blog - plus details of the upcoming publication. Due to go on Wednesday 14th September...

Free downloads at The Lows and the Highs...

Murray Ward of The Lows and the Highs sends this info - grab yourself a bargain!

We've now sold out (or have very limited stock) of a number of our early releases.

You can now download them for free:

HI/LO001 - The (plexus) Collective - Warner/Ward: The Alephs
HI/LO002 - dj_spleenbaby - Gone with the Wind vs. The Last Starfighter
HI/LO003 - The (plexus) Collective - Warner/Ward: Axiom of Choice
HI/LO004 - The (plexus) Collective -Ward: Ekstasis
HI/LO005 - The (plexus) Collective - Warner/Ward/Teledu: Differend
HI/LO006 - The (plexus) Collective - Warner/Ward/Teledu: A Hopeless Task
HI/LO007 - The Failed NASA Experiment - First Frost
HI/LO008 - The Failed NASA Experiment - Ap Helion EP
HI/LO009 - The Failed NASA Experiment - Ohrwurm

Visit The Lows and the Highs... and follow the links to the albums on the Catalogue page...

Stinking Badger...

Then there was Stinking Badger... Dave Teledu, A-Bander and co-member of Plexus with myself and Murray Ward, has a solo album out under this moniker on The Lows and the Highs.  Sonic explorations from north of where I am... Soiling Charge...

Some news: Lustfaust... Bitte Nicht Biegen...

 My head has been down these last couple of weeks. Under the radar, as it were...
With the book pretty much finished and almost ready to launch, I've been recharging the batteries. Reading a lot - and one book I just finished, William Gibson's latest, 'Zero History,' made me think of Lustfaust, James Shovlin's conceptual project from a couple of years ago. Then I remembered that one of the people involved with Mr Shovlin, Murray Ward, had just made some material available over on 'The Lows and the Highs,' for whom I sporadically record. Bitte Nicht Biegen. Meant to post this at the time but forgot... As there were only three of the handmade packages, these might have gone, but Murray has also released everything as digital downloads etc. ' One of the great art works of the last fifty years,' as Guido Van Baelen, one of the surviving members of Lustfaust, said in the Berlin Club Ausland one late night last year. (It was very noisy so I think that's what he said).

Lustfaust could have been managed by Hubertus Bigend, Gibson's enigmatic genius...

More teasers from Don Partridge and Company...

Just got the proof copy back and it's looking good so far. There is a new post on the book blog here with a photo from Leicester Square in 1968 and three short extracts...

Poems Twenty Eleven by Rod Warner - now available...

Alongside the book 'Don Partridge and Company' which I have been working on with Pat Keene (and the late Don Partridge up to his untimely death last year) I managed to publish a book of poetry.  'Poems Twenty Eleven,' now available from my Lulu/Rawmusics publish on demand outlet.  Which is here...

Byron Coley reviews: kptmichigan/black stepdad split... from The Wire...

Murrays Ward's label The Lows and the Highs (for which I record the odd album or two) getting more publicity out there.  Byron Coley has some good words for KPTMichigan and Black Stepdad split above in July's Wire... Note: this is a  co-release by The Lows and the Highs and MirrorWorldMusic.

The Lows and the Highs... new releases...

Two new ones from Murray Ward's fine label -

Yajé

Go here...


And one from my alter ego: DJ Whitedog

Go here...

New post on Don Partridge and Company...

A busy summer - there is a new post with some extracts from the book on the Don Partridge and Company blog here...

News from The Lows and the Highs later...

Almost there... Don Partridge and Company will be published in September...

Edging towards the end now - Don Partridge and Company by Don Partridge, Pat Keene and Rod Warner will be published in the first week of September, if all goes well.  I've launched a blog to act as a trailer for the book and that will have publishing details etc when the time comes - here...
The interlocking stories of three young street musicians, ranging from Bohemian Paris in the early 1960's to London - and beyond.  One of them became famous...

Review: Charles Gayle/Bobby Few Quartet at the Cafe Oto, London, Wednesday, June 1st, 2011...

A rum night... I got to the Cafe Oto and found a really good seat, couple of rows back from the stage, fairly central and sat in pleasant anticipation with a pint of the Oto's worthy but foul lager in front of me and somewhere to put it, for a change – the house was busy but did not get as full as it was the last time Gayle was here in January. I had wondered about the line-up: Bobby Few, legendary piano player, cohort of Albert Ayler, Steve Lacy, among others, expatriate musician in Europe for many years, coupled to the king of fire-jazz, the mighty Charles Gayle, my favourite musician of the last couple of years – who does not usually work with a pianist, as far as I know. The bass and drummer, in fact, are members of Bobby Few's current quintet lineup, so Gayle would be the odd man out. Scene set for some interesting accommodations...

First set: some high register trinkle tinkle from Few, then they hit the most conventional jazz groove I have heard for a while, drummer Ichiro Onoe keeping it steady, as Gayle pitched into an abrupt, blocky melody. Few's piano started to rise up, a water image appropriate as burly cycling ripples ebbed and flowed, broken by the occasional smashing chord – which seemed to nark Gayle, who visibly winced a couple of times. In fact, the first set was almost a Bobby Few extravaganza – as Gayle seemed to give up trying to find a way in after a while and left the stage area. Bassist Harry Swift, positioned next to Few, followed him gamely and they fell into freer rhythms when Gayle returned – briefly, as he still seemed unhappy and after a smashing, rattling drum solo from Onoe who was as adept at slipping into freer time as he was in more conventional four four, left again, this time not to return as they took it out as a trio. Maybe some of this had been preplanned to give the headliners adequate exposure? Who knows... Few is obviously a major pianist – yet I didn't quite engage with him on the night. Perhaps I am too much of a Gayle partisan and was influenced by what appeared to be his discomfort...

Second set: If they had started off originally back in the tradition, here, they were firmly on contemporary ground. More abstract sonically, Gayle using his breath to lightly brush at the back of the notes, foregrounding their production, as Few used the inside of his piano to good effect, laying some keyboard sonorities to match Gayle's excursions. Bass and drums equally at home in this world of sound texture – but I haven't seen Gayle go so far in this mode before, which was fascinating. They were playing as a band now, it seemed, the sax coming onto the notes more, abrupt phrases being stretched and toyed with as he started to take it onwards in some delirious flows of notes that went from high register – where he has immaculate control – to deep, dark burrowings – again slightly unusual for a man who often plays in the middle and higher registers and frequently doubles on alto. Tonight was all tenor – and a powerful statement, at that. Some of the passages here were amongst the best I have heard him play, heart-wrenching vocalised streams that went way beyond the conception of mere 'notes.' As the set progressed he crouched over his instrument, turning his back to the piano and bass, playing straight at the drummer who held his line smartly. Whether this was to block Few out of his ears – who knows? He left the stage again for the trio to take over, much of it piano backed by bass – Harry Swift, eyes closed with concentration a couple of times as he reached for the notes to support Few. The pianist has expressed his knowledge and love of classical music and his florid rolling rhapsodising displays this, disrupted by suddenly, abruptly lashing a crunching chord/cluster across the flow, like a boulder tossed into a stream. Few used hand signals to bring in the other two in accurate unison for these accents and I enjoyed this trio section more than in the previous set, the music seemed more focused. Gayle returned and they went out on a rocking blues, somewhat surprisingly, although it was fascinating to hear his take on a conventional form, oblique runs that stretched and tugged at the twelve bar structure. But the blues (and spirituals – secular balanced with sacred) are never far from the 'feeling' of his music.

I thought the gig was over so hurried off for a piss before I went in search of the 38 bus back to Travelodgeville and returned to discover Gayle at the piano, doing a solo encore – brilliantly. Fragments of stride piano came through here and there, cross-cut to long rolling runs that almost evoked Art Tatum. Some don't rate him as a pianist – but I like his style and find that I follow his logic well enough – tonight, it was as if something had to be proved. I don't know if there really was needle between the two headliners, but maybe this was some kind of a statement. Another criticism of his keyboard playing is that he doesn't leave a lot of space, which is unfair – you could say the same about Tatum, for example - but I have heard him play very simply and delicately when the material dictated, spirituals and folk material, for example. Tonight it was two-fisted take-no-prisoners time – a tour de force, pretty much, knocking on the door of a couple of standards in passing – 'Willow weep for me' and 'Body and Soul' I caught – which he referred to melodically but freely, not binding himself to the overall chordal structures. Free jazz, I guess they call it, of which there is currently no finer practitioner in my opinion. He was superb...

An odd gig, then – it would have been very interesting if they were booked on for another night, to see how these different approaches played out over another couple of sets. Maybe...


Here's a vid of the Bobby Few Trio from last year...

 And one of Charles Gayle, taken at his last Cafe Oto gig in January...

Charles Gayle/Bobby Few...

Back from London yesterday and exhausted - but review of Charles Gayle/Bobby Few gig at the Cafe Oto almost written - for a change! An extraordinary night in many ways... I'm off out with the family today to explore the wonderful sunshine etc - but should get it up by tomorrow...

Charles Gayle...

After the excuses of the last post - onwards! Off to town tomorrow to see Charles Gayle, probably my favourite musician of the moment - at the Cafe Oto, of course. The band, with Bobby Few et al, looks fascinating and I'm really looking forward to seeing how he plays with a piano in the lineup

Onwards...

I didn't put up the rest of my review from the Freedom of the City fest... usually I would have attended for a couple of days or more solid - this year just a scattering, due to other commitments. When I read back what I originally intended to post about the 'Feral Choir,' I thought: well, these I do not dig, to the point that I find them hilarious and for all the wrong reasons (maybe...). Some of the other stuff I caught was... o.k. - but I was tired when I got there that last night and left before the end. Exhaustion is not the best state to be in when listening to music, of whatever genre. Reviewing afterwards - well, it would have come out as very negative, when that would not have been my intention. I vigorously support the endeavours of all who are committed to the experimental musics I love, know what a battle it is to get finance and resources only too well - so I figured on this occasion, my critical faculties might not have been too finely tuned. I still find the concept of the 'Feral Choir' (whooo - we're scary) hilarious, and will mention the fact - but I don't want to take the piss in an unbalanced way that would reflect on the work of too many people I respect. Not that anyone or any organisation is above criticism - far from it, many dangers in living in a bubble - but the pluses of this year - new venue which may well turn out to be a good move for the future, the artists I caught who blew me away - and one who surprised me greatly, causing me to rethink old attitudes - and the plain fact that in hard times we need to pull together, made me think: not this time round. Most of what I got to I thoroughly enjoyed and look forward to next year...

Freedom of the City Festival, Cecil Sharp House, London, May 1st, (Day Two), 2011

For several reasons I was unable to get to a large chunk of the Freedom of the City festival this year, so my overall impressions are somewhat fragmentary, maybe even more so because of the delay in posting them. But I caught some fascinating music, as ever, thought the new venue, the improbable Cecil Sharp House, worked very well, and was pissed off that I missed a couple of acts through arriving late on Sunday. Usually I immerse myself for at least two days, trying to catch as much as I can until exhaustion takes over – but this time round it was more a couple of hits, one quicker than the other.

Finally arriving at CSH – having gone the wrong way off Delancey Street, for some cognitive dissonant reason – got my tickets, realised I had just missed Agusto Fernandez, annoyingly, so went into the bowels of the joint to get a drink at the Cafe Oto-run bar. CSH at first sight has the look of a decaying Edwardian girls school but when I finally surfaced to go into the main venue room it was light and airy, (albeit with a very springy floor - as a dancing aid, apparently, but prone to mucho creaking for the unwary!) the acoustics proved to be good and there was a fair crowd ready to go with Toma Gouband. If you said to someone outside these musics that you had arrived, sat down ready to roll and a guy placed himself in front of an upturned bass drum plus a couple of cymbals/hi hats, and started his performance by breaking a load of rubble onto the drum – well, answers on the back of a beer mat to the Eagles Nest, God's Little Acre. But: this was, for me, the highlight of the sets I managed to catch. Gouband proceeded to use small broken stones to set up dry, clicking rhythms that seemed to move in some kind of ritualistic cycle, bringing them together, using them separately on his drum/cymbal surfaces, his feet playing pedals, one linked to a log/pipe? of some description to produce an insistent ticking. In his own words:

     "In solo I use stones collected here and there and I try to play with multispeed, independent voices, numbers and their links arranged circularly. The circle is multi-directional [multisens in the original French - my approximate translation] and, depending on perspective and attractions from inside and outside, becomes line, triangle, square, star, face. Numbers, as symbols of quantities and proportions created by the different speed, are a strong inspiration to play, to find the energy sub-rising, the continuity, the trance. "

He slowly built up a unique sonic area for the duration of his performance, one that made natural sounds seem exotic, minimal in his use of materials/instruments, yet creating much complexity. An interrogation of the acoustic properties of natural elements – stones – that was also a celebration. If you wanted to get really cute, you could surmise that he was channelling older energies, rituals, sacred geometries even, given his remarks above. The next section involved mucho frottaging of stone slabs – on each other, on cymbal and drum head. A fleeting image of corn being ground? The fanciful thoughts abounded – yet this was truly a magical performance, taking the audience to a very unusual and unique space. Back to the two stones for another section and finishing by producing a bundle of tree branches with which he proceeded to whip and brush his kit. I kid you not... But brilliant, the rustling, whispering sonorities conjuring up everything from wind in the trees to jazz brushes on drums.  A remarkable bridge built between something very primal and the sophisticated framing of experimental festival space, musics and cultural assumptions situated at this home of UK folk musics and dance.  Cecil Sharp House aligned to May Day and free improvisation – if he had suddenly brought out a maypole I would not have been surprised... Something going on here... 


Evan Parker/Matt Wright/Heledd Francis/Agusto Fernandez/Tomo Gouband/John Russell/Lawrence Casserley/Adam Linson:

Starting quiet, hesitantly almost – Evan P had invited the guests of the afternoon to join his advertised trio (Wright and Francis added to himself) in an impromptu gesture, so, suddenly, an expanded line-up. Two Apple Macs – not sure that another one made much difference. Laptop electronics at these gigs seem, well, restrained, never really partaking of the thrust of performance, more added colorations round the edges. Heledd Francis's bass flute was minimal but blended beautifully with Evan's soprano, the man himself in restrained mood. To unleash the long rolling flights of circular breathed lines in the wrong place would be overwhelming, but he always has his mastery under control in group situations. As their set progressed he did move from short figures to that trademark looping linearity which shifted the dynamic of the performance onto a slightly more urgent plane – but gently suggesting rather than bombastically pointing. John Russell had his head bent sharply forward over his guitar in a pose of utmost concentration and he was using a couple of pedals this year, one I assumed was for volume? Didn't seem to make a lot of difference – unfortunately his playing was semi-audible. Disconcerting to see him picking rapidly away with his left hand holding positions way up the neck, a couple of inches from his right hand. The resultant notes would have been very high-pitched and sharp – but you could hardly hear them. 'Not a strum was heard, nor a funeral note...' to misquote Charles Wolfe.  Russell is a true original, someone who took a slightly different course to the once dominant late Derek Bailey – yet every year I go to this festival he is not miked up enough. Maybe his choice? Dunno, but for a me a shame. Again. Apart from my annual quibble - a subtle and intriguing chamber improv performance, very restrained apart from a couple of surges. Such an ensemble like this did well to keep out of each others way while producing dense music, but I think the acoustics would have allowed them more room if they had wanted to rip it up. Rivetting, all the same and much enjoyed.

Grab some Russell solo here to really hear what he is capable off -

More later...

Reviews... Don Partridge book coming soon...

Back from London. A couple of excellent exhibitions and some good music at the Freedom of the City festival, which I only bounced across this year, unfortunately, rather than the usual full immersion. A couple of reviews to follow - then into the last lap with our book: 'Don Partridge and Company...' which Pat and I hope to publish very soon... watch this space etc...

Freedom of the City Festival, Cecil Sharp House, London, 30 April-2 May, 2011...

It's that time of the year again... for the Freedom of the City festival. Only going down for a couple of days though, not the whole shebang. Off tomorrow early... bizarrely, this year the fest is being held at Cecil Sharp House. Hey nonny... Reviews will no doubt follow.

Review: Travis Reuter: 'Rotational Templates'...

Travis Reuter (guitar, electronics)

Jeremy Viner (sax)
Bobby Avey (fender rhodes)
Chris Tordini (bass)
Jason Nazary (drums)

Available from New Focus Recordings.

On his debut album, 'Rotational Templates,' released by New Focus Recordings, guitarist Travis Reuter explicitly sets out to use techniques from modern classical music in his compositions for jazz quintet. The accompanying blurb states that he 'draws heavily on influences from the music of composers Elliott Carter, Brian Ferneyhough, and Jason Eckardt.' So: a brave and hazardous endeavour: this is an approach that has been tried many times, grafting classical to jazz and the history of the music, from Paul Whiteman onwards, contains, perhaps, many more failures than successes. Attempts to utilise formal devices and instrumentations from the straight music world all too often resulted in an uncool stiffness that impeded the rhythmic/melodic flows of the jazz to produce an often bloodless hybrid that was very much less than the sum of its parts. Whisper the name: 'Thirdstream.' So how does Reuter's album fare, against this backdrop?
Very well, actually. There is a skittery, jump-cutting intensity to the music that partakes of contemporary classical but the overall rhythmic field is expansive enough to enfold and make it flow. A small group helps, giving plenty of space and - perhaps younger musicians are not fazed by moving between genres these days? Reuter – classically trained but with an evidently superb jazz guitar technique would seem to prove that point. This is thoughtful, intelligent music, not afraid to foreground its techniques and influences, yet with enough grit and groove to lift it way beyond what could have been a stodgy mess. The distortions of electric guitar and Fender Rhodes give a rocky, funky edge, coupled with a sparing use of added electronics and a mix that moves instruments and sounds around more than would be usually found on a straightahead jazz record. If Thirdstream as was is Scylla, then Charybdis in this context would surely be: fusion/prog rock. Fusion being an attempt to make jazz more rocky and prog – well, trying to make rock more respectable and 'complicated.' That yearning for 'respectability' is what poisoned the musical oceans in times gone by. Much of the success of this album resides in the avoidance of past mistakes - the keyboard/guitar interactions hark back to Miles Davis at his electric best rather than the blandness that followed his pioneering after 'Bitches Brew.'. Reuter and his crew negotiate safe passage through this particular Strait of Messina...

SNAPSHOTS:

First track: 'Vacancy at 29,' bass leading in to be joined by flurries from Jeremy Viner's tenor saxophone and electronic colourations back in the mix. The sax builds as slow processional Fender Rhodes chording (Bobby Avey) combines with noise granularities. Jittery music, held together by the sturdy bass of Chris Tordini as the sax stretches out into more declamatory mode. Guitar takes over to solo in a tumble of notes, building up a head of steam, veering into a distorted rocky sound world as the keyboard chases. Then: a sudden end. And all the tracks finish in the same abrupt way, as if emphasising that there will be be no rambling, that concision is all at this session. The endings, then, emblematic of the whole, where composed material is balanced by improvisation under tight rein.

'Residency at 20 (Part One) starts with slow chording guitar in almost traditional jazz timbre then sax joins to spell out the melody, accents doubled and hammered into place by Jason Nazari's drums – which are slightly back in the mix, perhaps they would have benefited from a more up front posture? But one assumes that the placement is deliberate. Much thought has gone into the production, after all – as witnessed by the next section when the guitar goes into ghostly quasi-dubstep mode drifting out of the immediate sound space into an echoing background before returning up front to spin out some fast lines alternated with crunching chords. Another ensemble passage then more distorted guitar as the drums slowly edge forward. Again, a sudden stop.

'Singular Arrays.' A hint of sprightly Dolphyesque angularity in the melody. Guitar briefly solos before joining the sax for unison statements. Keyboard and bass repeat a phrase as the drums come through. Keyboard solos, coming off a wobbling figure, cranked up distortion, intersected by sax reiterating that phrase again. Keyboard in freer style over sparse bass and fidgeting drums that drive it along briefly. Guitar next up, some longer linear development that really start to go just before the again abrupt end.

One uses comparisons again – 'Flux Derivatives' opens on unison guitar and sax that distantly evokes Pat Metheny and Ornette's collaboration for these ears. Again, an interesting use of space - sax, guitar and spare, clipped drums, the keyboard does not arrive straight away then floats wafty chords, bass coming in last. The next section: warm sax laced with cymbals and various rhythmic shifts, Viner slowly burning to a climax propelled by cutting drums – followed by elegaic Fender Rhodes that suddenly jumps a couple of emotional notches. Guitar bubbles in, whiplash lines balanced by splayed chords. Reuter stepping out here. Viner returns very briefly, riding a note – then – you guessed it, sudden stop.

The last track: 'Residency at 20 (Part Two).' Opened by tenor over another stop/start bass riff, the top line proceeds to flow over busy drums, adding keyboards along the way – then a brief ensemble section as the bass riff continues. Third section: free-floating keyboards and some biting guitar as the drums bustle and push, keyboard taking it up alone. Sax and guitar back in unison, all dropping for the bass to essay a few solo bars then all together in a swirling finale. Then: that sudden stop.


'Jazz' just having gone through the gates of the twenty first century and approaching, perhaps, its centennial has covered so much ground during those preceding years. To riff off the Good Book: there are many mansions in the house, but no overall 'Father' in residence/ownership to guide/dominate in this age of suspicion/hostility towards metanarratives. The dynamic between improvisation and composition provokes many different solutions, as it always has, but the possibilities have multiplied drastically. But some things carry through. The key to all jazz, arguably, is rhythm, primarily the drums and their role in giving shape and space – and improvisational opportunity. (Jimmy Giuffre's early free jazz attempts got round this by dropping the drummer, which proves the point, perhaps). The avant garde evolved in the sixties once drummers worked out various strategies to expand their rhythms, offering more dimensions and expanded pulses that opened new doors. With such a wider field of rhythm available, perhaps it is easier now to produce music such as this, which has intellect and energy in balanced doses. Also: much of contemporary art music is not so far away from areas that have developed in the free improvisational worlds - often in practice their sound worlds mesh. Reuter's stated influences here - Fernyhough and Carter, Erckhardt - have all in their own ways rejected or moved on from the earlier ideology of strict twelve tone serialism which was usually a straitjacket when applied to jazz - and beyond, arguably. Their rhythmic/harmonic complexity is maybe not such a distance to travel now (think Cecil Taylor) - Fernyhough's extensive use of the tuplet would be a bridge maybe to the overlaid rhythms and syncopations that jazz has always bounced off. Well, OK, maybe I am stretching here? But: what is exciting on this album is that those areas of previous contention/misalignment, the formal compositional devices – tone rows, counterpoint, intricately notated shifting rhythms etc – are encompassed by this wider sense of expanded rhythm so that the charts are not stodgy, nor the improvisations impeded – everything sounds right and in place. And sounds fresh. 'Rotational Templates' is that rarity, a novel conception that works. The discipline of five relatively short tracks also gives a feeling that less is more. Nothing meanders, all pulled up suddenly in what seems a trademark ending which seems to say: that's it, enough has been said at this point. Reuter obviously has much confidence in his overall vision and did not feel it necessary to over-egg the pudding on his first outing. The no-doubt hand-picked ensemble helps - the ideas of individuals are there but they are bound into the greater whole of the band. My one beef? I would have liked a little more stretching out, perhaps, but that's a minor quibble. I suspect that live shows would have more room for soloing expansion – and this is a band I would love to see... A very surefooted debut from Reuter then. We await the next chapter...

Travis Reuter is interviewed here at JazzWrap...