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
Charles Gayle is one of my favourite sax players so it was a deep pleasure to get back down to the Cafe Oto and see him again, this time with a trio comprising Christopher Dean Sullivan and Michael T.A. Thompson. An expectant buzz as the time progressed towards 9 pm – the Oto by now jammed to the doors. Luckily I had managed to get a seat, front right positioning, so, with a pint of their dubious lager on the table, was ready to go. Charles Gayle joined the others, looking pretty much the same as the last time I saw him a couple of years back, black jacket and black trousers, an intense look on his face as he started playing. Using the tenor saxophone this time round, instead of the plastic alto he was sporting on previous occasions. One thinks of him as a tenor player, because that's what he is known for on his recordings, but Gayle stated in an interview (here...) that when he was busking on the streets of New York for many years, he preferred the lighter horn, using the tenor more for gigs. It seems to reflect in his playing as well – for such a tough and wild player, he has a fairly light tone and his exemplary technique means that even when he goes up into the extreme registers of his instrument, his articulation does not drop. In the first set, he played mainly within the middle to high areas, on average, later in the night going down deeper more frequently. Possibly this is also clever pacing: Gayle, while lean and fit, is not a young man and the tenor is a demanding instrument.
He started with a simple sparse melodic line floated over busy drums – the bass somewhat obscured from where I was sitting, unfortunately. A slightly desultory beginning, as if feeling their collective way. But they locked together eventually and produced free jazz of the highest order. Gayle fired off rapid strings of notes and played with his usual fervour but there is a more melodic edge to his music that has developed over the last few years, in evidence tonight and underscored, perhaps, by the occasional drops into beboppy time, when the drummer would swing in to two and four on the hihat. Interestingly, Thompson played these small segments of more conventional rhythm and then each time disrupted – or rather, expanded them rapidly. As if briefly lifting a veil to reveal the body beneath. Time travel, what? With Gayle's occasional use of plaintive folky melody, the continuations of the tradition were very evident here. Christopher Dean Sullivan had a couple of spots where his bass came to the fore – evidencing a very crisp player, clean articulations and plenty of technique – his first solo culminated on some rising chordal figures. The drums overbalanced the sound slightly, because apart from a small bass amp, they were not using amplification, and occasionally Gayle was struggling to get over the pounding rhythms. Yet this gave it more of a live feel, back to basics almost. And he is obviously the director of the flow – controlling with occasional abrupt barked comments or with a glance, moving from front of stage back to stand next to the drummer sometimes, as if to hear better or to prompt when needed.
Nearer the end of the first set, Gayle switched to piano which gave the bass more of a chance to come through because of its position further away rather than any drop in volume – there were points where he hammered the hell out of the keyboard, in between scampering runs and sudden placed single notes or clusters that hung in the air as he cocked an ear to consider their sonorities. This concern with sound made me think of Thelonious Monk and you could tease out the similarities, also perhaps a glance or two at Cecil Taylor in the ferocity of the powerhouse keyboard rhythmic bangings. Yet Gayle has his own style, when you are familiar with his piano playing, as free as his saxophone playing yet just as rooted in the past. Simple hymn-like tunes offset the denser chromaticism and it all felt just – right.
The second set began with busier tenor lines and the trio proceeded to grip the night in the assured hold of their collective skills and experience. Let us say: they rocked the place, whether by tenderness, occasional sly wit or the complex dazzle as lines were interrogated and dissected at the speed of fleet, fiery imagination and bravado, one section hauling back to folk-like melody and broader vibrato to evoke the ghost of Albert Ayler and bring a lot of smiles of delight and recognition up and down the rows near me that I could see. Maybe he was playing an actual Ayler tune? My knowledge of them blurs somewhat these days apart from the more famous – note to self: time to get the Revenant set out again perhaps and return to one of the great sources. He disappeared for a while to let bass and drums take over then returned to the piano sporting a rather dashing hat which gave a nod to Monk, perhaps, doubled with what sounded at one point like 'Epistrophy.' Again a display of density and light, hard hitting, percussive and also graceful – literally perhaps when he took it out on a beautiful, slow lilt shot through with gospel. Speaking finally to the audience, the poker face and thousand-yard stare disappeared as he introduced the bassist and drummer in humorous fashion, displaying a self-deprecating wit. The first time I saw him a couple of years back I noticed this change between off-stage and on, the severe concentration when playing offset by a smiling demeanour when the music stopped.
The encore signalled this again – saying that he had no idea what they would do, he returned to the piano and at one point waved his hands theatrically above the keys, gave them a quizzical wide-eyed look and shouted something about not knowing what he was playing. Ha ha – the essence of free jazz... and perhaps something of the joker coming out. (Remember 'Streets' the clown? Check his comments about this persona in the interview linked above).
In a very crowded room what was noticeable was that there was no chatter – this trio held the audience throughout. One of the reasons I like coming to this joint – intimate surroundings, informal yet not over-reverent, populated by a mixed audience, age and sex, rather than a preponderance of grizzled veterans (like myself) nodding into their beards. Only drag tonight was – it would have been impossible to squeeze out of my seat quietly to get a drink during the long sets so no extra lubrication was available. But I can live with that – as can my burgeoning flesh.
Another flier of a gig down the Oto – which has got to be (for me) the best venue around these last couple of years for a range of exploratory musics. Makes me think about moving back to the metropolis...
I found this vid of Sullivan and Thompson which shows off their skills...
and one of Charles Gayle at the piano - in his 'Streets' costume...
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...
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...
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...
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...
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... )
Off to London in the morning for a couple of days - Cafe Oto tomorrow for another go round - this time, the mighty Joe McPhee in fast company: Chris Corsano, John Edwards and Paul Dunmall. It doesn't get a lot better than this... review no doubt to follow...
At least it wasn't raining... but another grey day when I arrived in London with any idea of getting down to see the Arshile Gorky exhibition given up when I got out of St Pancras.
Got to the Cafe Oto in good time – I had mentally earmarked my position on the bench by the back wall so wanted to get through the doors early enough to grab it. Mission accomplished. Another crowded night for the first leg of New Yorker Matthew Shipp's three day tenure here, tonight supported by the mighty John Edwards, Mark Sanders and one of my all-time favourite horn players, Paul Dunmall.
Shipp starts, leading off slowly down low and the band come in. Dunmall plays a repeated short motif that I'd heard while they were doing a soundcheck and it pops up throughout the sets. At first Edwards' bass was struggling in the mix due to the deep thunder of Shipp's monster chords tangling up the sonic levels between the two instruments. You could feel the bass more than hear it. Mark Sanders was ticking along lightly, occasional flurries and sudden timbral rips coming through, a drummer who plays as much with expanded sonorities as well as rhythm. The bass became clearer as the bottom levels settled down – adjustment on the p.a.? Or just the band feeling their way through, perhaps? Shipp is a two-fisted player, introducing a reiterated thumping march-like series of chords that became another anchor for this set, echoed by the bass in places. The quartet divided up into occasional duos, or Dunmall dropping out for the piano, bass and drums, sections that occasionally evoked earlier modern jazz conventions with comping left hand and right hand spinning oblique melodies. As the set progressed Sanders became louder, more assertive, probably realising that the lower register hammerings of the piano needed more rhythmic stridency to balance up. Shipp was playing tough stuff, lightened up with occasional quieter flourishes. As the bass and drums balanced up, Edwards really started to drive it along – taking a short solo at one point that demonstrated all his skills – arco crossed with up-the- neck pizzicato one hand pinches and flurries, slaps to the instrument's bodywork, a dazzling display. As ever.
Dunmall inserted small chunks of melody into the fray, spinning into more elongated lines when the spirit moved, mainly within the standard tenor range, with some throaty lower register honks and blats.
An intriguing set, this first night, it was fascinating to witness these four musicians finding their places in the available spaces – or creating fresh areas to explore. The piano, of course, adds a verticality that had to be coped with. High energy stuff, nevertheless...
Second half. Shipp inside the piano, plucking bell- like tones for bass and the drummer to respond to. A game these guys know well – answered and echoed, Sanders moving to smaller instruments – brass bowls struck with mallets and cymbal manipulations. Creating a totally different sound environment from the first set which was intelligent planning. Dunmall stood benignly to the side for a while until he joined them with a breathy single repeated note, varying the timbre to fit the mood being evoked. Almost imperceptibly they moved back into band mode and 'free jazz.' Again, passages between the piano, bass and drums that approached a conventional 'jazz' swing – nothing as blatant as bebop and beyond cymbal ker-ching ker-ching and finger snaps on the off beats but a fluid rhythmic movement. Getting towards the end, they started to roar, Dunmall finding his feet on these thorny paths with some hard blowing negotiations. Ending on storms of applause. Rightly so. An intriguing night and I wish I could have gone to the next two to see how this all developed. Shipp did not play much solo piano which was a shame, perhaps, but obviously he had decided this was a communal effort. His piano, however, dominated the ensemble, powerful sonorities rising from hammered-out chords, never afraid of grabbing a chunk of clusters and banging them out repeatedly with great ferocity or using the ominous descending march-like progression which occurred several times and this vertical density dictated to a greater extent which way the music would move. Edwards and Sanders – and Dunmall perhaps to a fractionally lesser extent – rose to the challenges offered. I'm starting to fall in love with the Cafe Oto...
En passant... Matthew Shipp is noted for the variety of his collaborations, not just inside the 'jazz' continuum but beyond... Mapsadaisical has a good review here of his Saturday night performance with J Spaceman, John Coxon and Steve Noble...
I went to London for a couple of days last week in search of much-needed r and r. Already had a ticket for the Peter Brötzmann gig at the Cafe Oto and was looking forward to hearing him again. Arrived somewhat exhausted and had to have a rest before I went out in search of Dalston and the venue – by which time the rain was lashing down. An unpropitious start... I arrived a little too early and was reduced to huddling in a door outside the club where I met a young guy who had driven down from Manchester for the gig – a big Brötzmann fan who also truly dug Albert Ayler so we struck up a conversation, occasionally peering into the Oto where the band were having a quick run through and the staff laying out the room for the evening. By the time the doors opened there was a sizable bedraggled mob outside... Brötz remarked, rather wrily, at the end of his London Jazz Festival gig in 2008 (review here) that he didn't get invited to London very often. Looking at the horde who turned up on a foul night, hopefully this will change in the future. I managed to get in fairly quickly and grab my position for the night – a table against the wall facing the bandstand with easy access to the bar and the toilets, old hand that I am... This was my first time at the Oto and it's a good room, a blocky L shape with the bar in the L. Nothing fancy and who needs it – I had a seat, very quickly a drink to warm me up and was ready for the shindig as the place got more and more crowded.
Herr Brötzmann came out to play a solo set first off – starting on alto then moving onto what I assume was the taragato. Straight away, what struck me was the throaty power he generated up close. I've seen him in concert at the crap South Bank in a larger space (as mentioned above) but here you are never far from the bandstand. The conversation outside had generated the reminder of Milford Graves talking about Albert A, that he could blow the house down with his formidable sound and Peter Brötzmann reminded me here of his lineage. (The late Ayler's vibrato could have matched Joshua's trumpet section at the battle of Jericho in the shaking-down-the-walls scenario, one suspects). The lungpower, no doubt built up from playing tenor all these years, added to a lot of lower range playing made the alto sound more like his once-main horn at times, although he played all over its range and balanced the deeper moments with plenty of screeching through the registers to rip out some high flying squalls. Yet it wasn't all granularity – he has a melodic, quieter side that contrasts with the sturm und drang he is noted for. Fast tough-blown scrabbles were balanced by long, yearning notes, giving a folk-ish sound, a touch of Eastern Europe perhaps, opening up some different spaces. More so on the taragato which is an instrument that originated in Hungary. He also engaged in some interesting distortions on this horn, doing a curious rubbing/strangling motion across the top keys while his other hand fingered more conventionally lower down that produced some interesting sonics. Whether it is the years taking their toll – although he looks remarkably sturdy and a level of fitness is a prerequisite for playing wind instruments – or just a musical tactic, his lines are choppier than I remember, the melodies breaking quicker, statement and comment more delineated by this into shorter units.
The second set was freejazz blowout time – with a rhythm team of Tony Marsh and John on bass, what else? Edwards and his drum partner set a fierce pace, from the off, the bass thrummed, pummelled and slapped to provide a massive sound. Joined by Roland Ramanan on trumpet, Brötzmann commenced on tenor before switching his horns around, alto, taragato, clarinet. Wild and heady stuff, everyone looked as if they were enjoying themselves, the heat of the moment at one point bearing down on Edward's bass – he broke a string early in, but kept on going. A man who plays as much bass as he does, losing a string hardly counted, annoying though it must have been. Maybe Brotzman sends out a vibe – I remember the same thing happened at the Purcell Room when his electric bass player, Marino Pliakas, snapped a string! Unusual occurrence on either instrument, I would have thought... Ramanan was an exemplary partner, stabbing and probing, commenting on the sax action and unleashing occasional forays of longer lines when the spaces emerged for his solos. By and large staying within the usual range on his horn. There was a sense of good-natured rivalry, the locals taking no prisoners, but Brötzmann is still a world class player, capable of riding any storm and replying in kind - and more. Yet although the overall vibe was wild and abandoned, there were occasional moments of calm where he brought out his more lyrical side – these brief episodes pointed up all the more by the surrounding fire.
My first visit to Oto – and I left wondering why it had taken me so long... accident, really. But I enjoyed both the music and the venue, impressed by a London audience who, on a crowded, standing room only night, listened throughout with rapt attention. Who says that free jazz can't communicate? They loved it all and applauded heartily. I'm already booked in for Matthew Shipp and the Arkestra... can't wait.
