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... )

Almost there...

At last - almost finished the (incredibly) belated review of last week's Joe McPhee/Chris Corsano first night... upping it soon...

Joe McPhee and co...

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...

Review: Matthew Shipp with John Edwards/Paul Dunmall/Mark Sanders at Cafe Oto, Friday February 12th, 2010...

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...

Back...

Back from London... a mighty gig at the Cafe Oto on Friday night - the first leg of the three - Matthew Shipp on fine piano pounding form, buttressed by John Edmunds, Mark Sanders and Paul Dunmall. Review to follow at some point - deciphering the Scrawls, as it were... sometime after early doors, one suspects. It's one of those days...

See below...

Forgot to mention below - there is a good review of the Brötzmann residency's
third night here...

Review: Peter Brötzmann with Tony Marsh, John Edwards, Roland Ramanan at the Cafe Oto, London, Thursday 28th January, 2010...

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.

Soon...

Everything is belated at the moment - but I hope to finally get some kind of a review of Peter Brotzmann's first night at the Cafe Oto up asap...

We get requests... re-ups...

I had a request for some re-ups from the other week so here they are... Original post is here...

Evan Parker
Evan Parker (ts) Barry Guy (b) Paul Lytton (d)
Geometry
Download

Buy


Gene Ammons/Richard Groove Holmes
Gene Ammons (ts) Richard Holmes (org) Gene Edwards (g) Leroy Henderson (d)
Exactly like you
Download

Buy

Ornette Coleman
Ornette Coleman (as, tp, vln) David Izenzon (b) Charles Moffett (d)
Clergyman's Dream
Download

Buy

Jimmy Giuffre
Jimmy Guiffre (cl) Bob Brookmeyer (v-tr) Jim Hall (g)
Blue Monk
Download

Buy

Review... Future of Folk Concert at the Grand Union Club, Barrow, Monday, January 25th, 2010

Down to the Soar Bridge Inn on Monday 25th January for their young folk musicians feature, compered by Tom Kitching and Gren Bartley who also closed the show. Back in the day... many folk clubs used to be like this, a mixture of ages, old and new musics, a mélange that worked – and drew a large audience... One of my beefs with the current scene is that there is too often a preponderance of older people, playing and audience, a demographic factor that bodes ill for the future, tempered perhaps by the fact that the audiences are still around but are fragmented,  go to different venues – acoustic sessions etc. Overall, there are plenty of young musicians using 'folk' either as a mainstream or a springboard to experimentation, yet you don't always see this in the average 'folk' club. Tonight was some proof indeed that the heart is still beating in the old body. House sold out and Bill Wilkes looked a happy man as we were treated to a sample of the moment. Starting with Andy Parr who seemed absurdly young but managed the opening spot with quiet panache – he kept his nerves in check on what must have been a daunting evening. Andy plays concertina, flute, whistle and sings in a high plaintive voice. His instrumental skills passed the test – a couple of fluffs here and there not detracting from his energy and skill. For me, his singing was the highlight of the set – I don't engage with instrumental folk music in the same way so freely declare my bias – but his choice of song was interesting and intelligently placed for this crowd who have firepower to spare in the choruses but know when to rein back and not overwhelm – as tonight. The Graham Miles song 'Snows of Winter' was given a sensitive reading buttressed by the assembled voices and the surprise for me – 'Wild Mountain Thyme.' A song that I remember hearing by the McPeake Family in the mid-sixties when, as a young jazz buff, I first became acquainted with folk music, which became one of those anthems that got sang to death. Yet: tonight given a totally fresh reading. Parr's voice was especially poignant here I thought and gave a marvellous link backwards for many here tonight in a natural rather than schmalzy manner.

Like I said, instrumental folk music is not my cup of meat but the duo next up played a vibrant, bouncing set, fluency coming from their paired melodeons that demonstrated an empathy beyond just knowing the notes – apparently they have played together for a good few years and this comes over in their music. Great stuff from Claire Haliday and Lauren Kluge and a nice contrast to keep the night rolling. Could almost convert me into moseying along to a ceilidh...

The advertised band apparently had to drop out late but Gren had a dep handy – Jess Morgan, from Norwich. A singer-songwriter, thrown into a folky audience – she said self-deprecatingly 'My link to folk music is a bit tenuous' – but she made out ok and they are not a shut-down puritan audience here, in the main. Interesting mixture of fragility and strength, songs spun out from her life experience with an emotional edge that carried them along well. I thought she was great – a lucky accident that provided another dimension to the theme of the night.

Lucy Ward up to the plate. I saw her a couple of months ago at this venue and was bowled over by her energy and confidence. Very up-front – 'Ay up, you all right.' Derby neat, me duck - her accent gives a natural channel to the 'tradition' without the usual linguistic contortions. (Inverted commas used to indicate the uneasy and disputed ground that word alludes to). Lucy is very much a force of nature with an abundance of sheer good-natured energy. Like all the musicians here tonight, she has a sharp intelligence and is obviously destined for a succesful career in music - or beyond. A wide range on display – 'The Fairy Boy' and Alex Glasgow's fierce 'Close the coalhouse door,' the raw Lal Waterson song 'Red Wine and Promises,' her own compositions – from the bawdy poignance of 'The Canny Lad' to the sensitivity of 'Adelphi' and contemporary relevance of ''A Life backwards.' Lucy also gave a tribute to the late Kate McGarrigle with 'Heart like a Wheel' which hit a strong emotional chord. Going out by inviting the mighty GU4 to join her on an impromptu 'House of the Rising Sun,' which was a coup de théâtre – and another resurrected war-horse with some new breath pumped into it.

Gren and Tom – I declare my interest, knowing both these gentlemen somewhat and having reviewed them often before. As they have been building their careers – as a duo and in their separate endeavours – every time I have dropped in on various points along the road I have been impressed with the speed of the learning. New material assimilated, stage personas solidifying, technique allied to emotion, energy and commitment of course – but also the plain fact that they are diamond geezers. So I'm a star-fucker – shoot me... Onto the music. A paradigmatic start: 'Green Bed' was an old English song that travelled to the US, which justifies the backbeat on two and four. Gren and Tom have evolved a fascinating and varied repertoire that incorporates English, American material - and beyond - plus self-penned songs and tunes that flows seamlessly as guitar and banjo are swopped round.  Veering more towards the U.S. tonight with a wild version of the 'Levi Jefferson Rag,' Tom's rampaging fiddle daring Gren's fingerpicking to keep up – which it did. Followed by the old Gus Cannon song 'Walk Right In' with Gren switching to banjo.  Then a sensitive reading of Blind Willie Johnson's 'You're going to need somebody on your bond.'  They vary their sets with solo spots that showcase the variety of their interests.  Tom first tonight with a dazzling rendition of a tune the name of which I didn't catch.  Apologies to Mr Kitching... Slap ma ears... Tonight an added bonus – an old friend, Big Dave, back from his travels and invited by Gren to join him in a song they used to perform a while back during university days – a raucous version of 'Barratt's Privateers.'  Tom returned for Gren's own 'Fly Fly.'  After which, a swing back into the tradition with 'Old Sir Simon the King' - helter skelter words to a jogging rhythm.  Then the moving 'No More Auction Block' which is a brave song to attempt but they have worked out how to do a sympathetic rendition without being self-conscious about the subject matter - slavery.  'The Jolly Wagoner' was given a brisk run, the old cart bouncing on syncopation and hoe-down, as it were. 
The evening went out on  another old favourite of yesteryear, with all the musicians present invited up to play along on 'Long John.' Another link in the chain... the ghosts of skiffle evoked via the shadow of 'Long Lost John etc...

The balance they achieve between the traditions is interesting - there's a strong American influence rhythmically and an obvious debt to the blues but avoiding obvious clichés - you don't hear many bent/blue notes for example, as if the African-American streams are filtered back across the English tradition to eliminate any obvious 'blackface' renditions.

So: a great night - and one that perhaps bodes well for the future...

Back from London...

Back from London with everything backed up... the review of Monday's gig hopefully will go up today... dunno about Peter Brotzmann at the Oto thursday - a brilliant evening... Trip finished off nicely with visit to the Turner and the Masters exhibition at the Tate Britain- amazing selection of paintings here... reserve judgement on Chris Ofili...

Future of Folk concert...

Great gig last night over in in Barrow - the 'Future of Folk' concert at the Soar Bridge Inn. Photos and possibly review to follow - off to London on Thursday for a couple of days - Peter Brotzmann ticket booked for the Cafe Oto that night...

We get requests... Cecil Taylor/Evan Parker/Barry Guy/Tony Oxley... re-up

I had a request for this from Wayfaerer (who is a contributor to an interesting blog here) and actually found it quicker than I thought I would do... after another move a few months ago I've still got boxes stacked up and unsorted but the gods guided my hand swiftly... so, this is a quartet, Cecil Taylor, Evan Parker, Barry Guy and Tony Oxley, playing 'Last.' Recorded in Berlin on September 26th, 1990, I wrote at length about this track here in 2006 so... that's it...


Cecil Taylor Quartet
Cecil Taylor (p) Evan Parker (ss, ts) Barry Guy (b) Tony Oxley (d)
Last
Download
Buy

Three times three... Evan Parker... Jimmy Giuffre... Ornette Coleman... plus Gene Ammons and Richard 'Groove' Holmes...

A belated happy new year to everyone... and three trios plus an organ and tenor combo to greet 2010...

Evan Parker Trio and 'Geometry.' Starts off busy, fragments of saxophone and bass running round each other as the drums lay out a broad sweep underneath to carry them. Dropping back to solo drums, intricate use of space and silence, a sparseness that builds back into more layered and complicated rhythms then eases again into pointillist dabs of sound at the high end of the range, spliced with sudden runs into the lower sax register. Parker coming from small pieces of sound to build a knottier line, disrupted by sudden register leaps, his trademark illusion of playing several lines at once. Fast clattering from Lytton, cymbals occasionally lashing through like sabres, who falls out to leave Parker strafed by Guy's prodding and speedy pattering. Sometimes hard to distinguish who is playing what in an area where rhythm, melody and sound disrupt conventional boundaries. Going to the end on some throaty blowing and quick-walking bass, Lytton sure-footedly booting it along. Three as one, post-Euclidean definitely...

Another trio... Jimmy Giuffre with Bob Brookmeyer and Jim Hall, their version of 'Blue Monk, from 1958 and the album 'Western Suite.' Jumping across time and genres, shadowing the 'archetypal' nature of the original, they come in on an easy swing propelled by Hall's guitar in a chugging straight four that echoes the likes of Freddy Green. This timeless feel reinforced by Guiffre on clarinet, blending with the trombone as a two thirds approximation of the classic New Orleans front line. Giuffre solos first, chalameau register with the odd piping move into higher registers, occasional trombone shadowing. Brookmeyer solos after the leader, in turn swathed in Giuffre's woody obbligatos. Hall chordally thunks out a couple of choruses with ghostly support from trombone and clarinet before spreading out melodically but staying within basic bluesy parameters. A masterly minimal and original look at one of Monk's greatest tunes that takes it back to its roots without being preciously retro. This trio manage to create a large airy space to move through – while generating a full sound that belies the numbers. Hall is the backbone for this strategy – his deep moving notes offer the illusion of a bass while his chord work fills out the middle. Giuffre dropped the drums in his ground-breaking trios of the fifties, probably because his own visions of freedom in jazz would have been shackled by most conventional modern jazz drummers of the time... I always see a link between him and Ornette Coleman, not least their Texan connection...

... which leads to: Ornette and his 1965 trio on tour in Europe, recorded at the Tivolis Koncertsal, Copenhagen, Denmark, November 30, 1965. One of my favourite lineups, Izenzon on bass and Charles Moffett on drums to support the leader, on fine form that year. This is 'Clergyman's Dream,' one of those odd yet memorable Coleman tunes, combining a brief slow slurred section with a sprightly answering. Ornette takes an exhilarating solo, bluesy combined with unfettered freedoms - themselves grounded in the logics of the blues? Izenzon plays fairly solid four throughout then moves outwards in his own solo – fast runs and pauses that indicate his thought processes, subtly backed by faintly hissing cymbals. Moffett up next for a swinging section that combines those old jazz virtues with a new linearity and melodic sense, new in the sense that although his antecedents – Max Roach and Kenny Clarke to name two who explored the extended rhythmic melodic possibilities given by bop but one could go further back to Warren 'Baby' Dodds for the sake of inclusion – had done similar, they were still playing in the main across set chorus structures. Moffett has the wide open spaces in front of him to explore... and does. Ornette returns and the track goes into some intriguing stretching and contracting as the rhythm breaks up. Back into the theme for the last minute of so ending on a rapid run through. Cue applause and rightly so...

Going out on some Gene Ammons and Richard 'Groove' Holmes from a live recording at the Black Orchid Lounge in Chicago in 1961... I've mentioned before when putting up a couple of tracks from the album that I bought this when I was a teenager and have that obsessive fondness for it still, remembering how it was when young, with little money and no great range of stuff to buy anyway in the jazz racks of the local shops, so that each album became a small treasure. This is a joyful bounce through 'Exactly like you,' 'meat and potatoes' jazz I called it before, the classic organ and tenor combo. Swinging, soulful, social music – yet with some bite to it, due to the skills involved. Ammons solo combines big-hearted r and b rawness with some hurtling bebop flurries later in, Holmes ice cool organ, like the joys of a menthol cigarette in more innocent days. Some trading between the constituents at the end to keep the crowd happy – the applause sounds as if they succeeded. The whimsical thought just occurred to me that Groove Holmes sounds like a hip building company specialising in real estate for bohemians...

Evan Parker
Evan Parker (ts) Barry Guy (b) Paul Lytton (d)
Geometry
Download

Buy

Jimmy Giuffre
Jimmy Guiffre (cl) Bob Brookmeyer (v-tr) Jim Hall (g)
Blue Monk
Download

Buy

Ornette Coleman (as, tp, vln) David Izenzon (b) Charles Moffett (d)
Clergyman's Dream
Download


Buy

Ammons/Holmes
Gene Ammons (ts) Richard Holmes (org) Gene Edwards (g) Leroy Henderson (d)
Exactly like you
Download

Buy

Christmas Greetings... and some music... Howling Wolf... Paul Butterfield... Steve Lacy...John Zorn... Funkadelic... Thelonious Monk... Lennie Tristano...

Seasons greetings to all. It's been a while... but I've decided that there might be some life in the mp3 free download and obscure chat formula still - maybe a concentrated look at a track or two could still be interesting in this age of mass album downloads - well, before they shut us all down, or try to... I live in the hope that the Internet can resist the fools and thieves - i.e. politicians - and their attempts at policing the Anarchosphere...

To the music: here comes the Taildragger – the mighty Howling Wolf performing 'Shake for me.' Taken from a live recording from the American Folk Blues Festival on tour in 1964.  Guessing at the lineup, Hubert Sumlin contributes some stinging sharp guitar, comping and single note lines that lock nicely with Sunnyland Slim's piano.  Classic Chicago blues...

Some rocky white blues edging into r and b/soul stylings with the addition of the horn section – Paul Butterfield and his band at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967. Playing 'Driftin' Blues,' I'm guessing this is the same lineup that recorded 'Resurrection of Pigboy Crabshaw,' so Keith Johnson on trumpet leading it in before the vocal takes it up, shadowed by Elvin Bishop's guitar. Butterfield takes a harp solo, three eloquent choruses that build nicely. Video of the performance here

Steve Lacy with bass and drums playing 'Blue Jay' from his album 'The Holy La,' recorded in France in 1998. Despite all his years playing, there was always an early morning fresh jump out of bed feel to his work.

John Zorn in 1998. From the album 'Downtown Lullaby,' this is '228 West Broadway.' Bit of a curiosity, interesting in the sense that the musicians: Zorn plus Wayne Horvitz, keyboards, Elliott Sharp, guitar and Bobby Previte on drums freely improvised the material in the studio and then added the titles – all New York addresses that refer, I think, to loft spaces where they have played. Oddly eastern feel to it - Elliott Sharp's electric guitar weaving in and out of Zorn's alto over minimal drums that build into a backbeat that stops just under four minutes in as Horvitz drops in some sprinkles of keyboard, reforming again after half a minute, adding some cymbal splash. Starting to get more interestingly tangled together, Previte mixing up the rhythm, keyboard dropping in some chordal crashes. Ebbing away and down as Zorn plays with a fragment of melody, tossing it around gently. Out on faint scuffling drums and a dying guitar note.

Mr Clinton from 1974. 'Alice in my fantasies,' from 'Standing on the verge of getting it on.' I first got into George C when I bought a copy of Parliament's 'Chocolate City' in a Dublin cut-out bin, circa 1976(? - That was a heavy Black Bushmills year). Not sure how the new prez will work out after a decidedly jumpy start, but let's be charitable in hard times: 'You're the capital, C.C.' This is a wild ride which cuts through a few genre barriers, rock colliding with funk in a heavy guitar-laced track, some weirdo vocal giving way to the mighty 'Smedley Smorganoff,' the criminally unsung Eddie Hazell blasting out some fierce wah wah, fading out somewhat abruptly. A bit of fun...

Monk, the first album he made for Columbia – 'Monk's Dream' – and take one of 'Bye-ya.' Another album which is important to me – I bought this when I was living with my first wife in some glorious boho dump in London – our first 'apartment.' Used to play this on a portable record player... it was my birthday present from her that year. Frankie Dunlop's drums open by spelling out the rhythm of the theme, when the band come in they accentuate Monk's compositionary vision - a seamless mix of rhythm, melody and harmony. Charlie Rouse takes a jaunty solo, followed by Monk in expansive mood, prodding and flowing in equal order, jumping off a riff to roll down on his patented whole note runs. A solo that amply demonstrates how he respects his improvisational start points. But everything on a good Monk track (which was most of them) always comes together - not always on first listen if you don't understand his vocabulary but there is always a supreme musical intelligence at work. Tunes are never just vehicles for blowing - over the years that I have been listening to his work, since that mind-blowing performance in 'Jazz on a Summer's Day' which opened my very young ears further to the possibilities of modern jazz and beyond, I have never bought into the myths that he was some kind of mad primitive. Monk was an exotic character, which is part of his appeal, but the vision behind the music and the man should be acknowledged more. It looks as if the new biography may go some way to rectify some of the idiocies - can't wait to grab a copy in the New Year. Apparently Bill Evans thought that Monk's singular vision was due to not being exposed to Western classical music, some kind of idiot savant... which demonstrates my point. Yes he was, Bill...

Another pianist/visionary who suffered at the hands of critical myopia - ironic, given his own disability - was Lennie Tristano. While Monk had at least a good measure of success in his life and is still acclaimed critically, Tristano was never as highly regarded - yet he was one of the great pillars of modern jazz with a unique take on linearity and melody. Here he leads a powerhouse lineup - Warne Marsh and Lee Konitz on saxophones, Billy Bauer on guitar, Arnold Frishkin, bass and Denzil Best on drums. One of those corny titles: 'Sax of a kind' - ha ha - which disguises a fleet and intricate theme. Bauer solos first, fluently - he was a fine bebop guitar player - followed seamlessly by Tristano, over to Konitz then Marsh, a brief trade between the saxes then into the theme before you realise it. One flowing whole, no joins - fascinating, how Tristano taught his methods of improvisation to pupils who remained of his school while developing their own distinct approaches.

Back soon...

Howling Wolf
with possibly Sunnyland Slim (p) Hubert Sumlin (g) Willie Dixon (b) Clifton James (d)
Shake for me
Download

Buy

Paul Butterfield
Paul Butterfield(v,hca)
with possibly Elvin Bishop (g)David Sanborn (as) Brother Gene Dinwiddie (ts) Keith Johnson (t) Mark Naftalin (keys) Bugsy Maugh (b) Phillip Wilson (d)
Driftin' Blues
Download

Buy

Steve Lacy
Steve Lacy (ss) Jean-Jacques Avenel (b) John Betsch (d)
Blue Jay
Download

Buy

John Zorn
John Zorn (as) Wayne Horvitz (keys) Elliott Sharp (g) Bobby Previte
228 West Broadway
Download

Buy

George Clinton/Funkadelic
Spaced Viking; Keyboards & Vocals: Bernard (Bernie) Worrell
Tenor Vocals, Congas and Suave Personality: Calvin Simon
A Prototype Werewolf; Berserker Octave Vocals: Clarence 'Fuzzy' Haskins
World's Only Black Leprechaun; Bass & Vocals: Cordell 'Boogie' Mosson
Maggoteer Lead/Solo Guitar & Vocals: Eddie 'Smedley Smorganoff' Hazel
Rhythm/Lead Guitar, Doowop Vocals, Sinister Grin: Gary Shider
Supreme Maggot Minister of Funkadelia; Vocals, Maniac Froth and Spit;
Behaviour Illegal In Several States: George Clinton
Percussion & Vocals; Equipped with stereo armpits: Ramon 'Tiki' Fulwood
Rhythm/Lead Guitar; polyester soul-powered token white devil: Ron Bykowski
Registered and Licensced Genie; Vocals: 'Shady' Grady Thomas
Subterranean Bass Vocals, Supercool and Stinky Fingers: Ray (Stingray) Davis
Alice in my fantasies
Download

Buy

Thelonious Monk
Thelonious Monk (p) Charlie Rouse (ts) John Ore (b) Frankie Dunlop (d)
Bye-ya take one
Download


Buy

Lennie Tristano
Lee Konitz (as) Warne Marsh (ts) Lennie Tristano (p) Billy Bauer (g) Arnold Fishkin (b) Denzil Best (d)
Sax of a kind
Download


Buy

Review: Anni Fentiman/Dave Webber/Brian Peters: The Road to Mandalay... Monday, 23d November, 2009...

Monday night: over to the Grand Union now that the rain has eased... an unusual gig, Anni Fenterman, Dave Webber and Brian Peters coming together for their take on Kipling's 'Barrack Room Ballads' and beyond via the settings of the late Pete Bellamy. Supported by the usual high level of singing from the floor and two veterans of the scene, Tim Garland and Geoff Halford, a veteran's veteran perhaps but still a deep power in his lungs and heart that belie his years.

A slightly different format for a folk gig and one that worked very well – contextual readings in between the songs to situate them in their time and to subtly point out the continuing relevance of the way that the 'brutal licentious soldiery' are still treated. Check out 'Tommy,' for example...

'For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot.'

(As if to demonstrate the continuing relevance of Kipling, I have seen this poem quoted extensively over the last couple of years – for obvious reasons).

Kipling was(is?) deeply unfashionable for years for a variety of reasons, locked out of the canon until some brave souls – and Bellamy was in the van – dug deeper than the cliches engendered by sadarse literary departments. Slowly the ripples went out and I can remember hearing many of the songs delivered tonight down the years, one here, one there as tastes slowly changed. Although – I see that Neil Gaiman was attacked recently when he disclosed his love of Kipling's work. The usual claptrap – 'fascist apologist for Empire' – by the usual thought fascists who have a limited conception of free speech and even less understanding of a man like Kipling and his time. See here... As Paris Nat Schaffer would have said: 'xxxxing schnorrers.' But enough of my diatribing...

The robust rhythms of the 'Ballads' lend themselves to musical settings and Bellamy's skill adds another dimension to them. Brian Peters mentioned the speculations that Kipling was writing with folk and music hall tunes in his mind and it's a reasonable bet – although I would wager more on the music hall side, not that it matters. Kipling had the rare gift of getting inside his subjects and channelling their hard, rough, often boring and frequently dangerous lifes. Capturing the elusive joys of hard drinking – and the consequences - in 'Cells:'

'I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a button-stick:
I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a little sick,
But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard: I've made the cinders fly,
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink
and blacking the Corporal's eye.'

Or the harsh punishment that befell 'Danny Deever' for murdering one of his NCO's – a vivid portrayal of a military execution.

'They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round,
They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground;
An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' hound
O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin!'

This is hardball stuff, hardly glib hoorahs for imperialism, but a raw delineation of what a heavy load the Empire rested on the backs of the common soldiers. As brought out further in the biting ironies of 'The Widow's Party,' which balances the broader political narratives: 'We broke...goed' with the price paid by the anonymous dead and wounded of the Widow's (Queen Victoria) army: 'And the river's...flowed.'

'What was the end of all the show,
Johnnie, Johnnie?
Ask my Colonel, for I don't know,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
We broke a King and we built a road --
A court-house stands where the reg'ment goed.
And the river's clean where the raw blood flowed
When the Widow give the party.'

Loving a soldier was/is a risky venture... In 'Soldier, Soldier' the returning survivor gives sharp comfort to his comrade's sweetheart:

'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead,
An' you'd best go look for a new love,'

and

'The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men beside 'im
An' you'd best go look for a new love.'

A bullet in the head and tossed into a mass grave far away. Kipling catches the incongruities, the contradictions of a soldier's life, the savage reality of battle or the diseases that can be equally fatal, alongside the pride in being part of something bigger, the Victorian army and beyond, perhaps to the aspirations of Empire - however flawed that imperial endeavour seems with the benefit of hindsight. It's not one-sided, which gives his work such power, he's not trying to second-guess his subjects.

Kipling was proud of the Empire, in which he was but a man of his time. But he sounded a warning against petty jingoism and hubris in 'Recessional' which is often forgotten, again that point well-driven home tonight that empires also fall:

'Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet.
Lest we forget—lest we forget!'

Worse was to come when the imperial certainties of Victorian England were broken on the battlefields of the Great War. Using his army connections he helped his son, Jack, to enlist even though he was under age. He died at the Battle of Loos in 1915, which devasted his father:

'Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?”
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind —
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!'

Yet there was also adventure to be had, exotic warm places to visit, remembered fondly through the brute reality of leaving the army for drab poverty-stricken existence back home, wistfully captured in the last song, somehow fittingly 'Mandalay:'

'I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;'

contrasted with

'Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;'

Encored by 'Follow me 'Ome' which also served as a tribute to Johnny Collins, who died not so long ago, sadly missed by all present, describing the interpersonal bonds that hold an army together, which we non-combatants can only get a small glimpse of, the comradeship made all the more precarious when sudden death intervenes:

'There was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot,
Nor any o' the Guns I knew;
An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an' died,
Which is just what the best men do.'

A lot of quoting above – but I think that with the thickened layers of poetry set to music and a controversially misunderstood author, some textual setting is necessary to give a flavour of the richness on display. Fairly spartan backings from concertina and violin, the performance rested on the readings interlinking and binding the songs into a satifying continuum, done skillfully but informally. A small room like the Soar Bridge enforces intimacy anyway and with the formidable battery of singers in the audience to join in on the choruses you are up close and personal all the time here.

This intimacy also carried you along with the narrative, pulled you into an essentially alien world which is both exhilarating and disturbing. The crowd respond to the bugles and drums as it were, which can be uncomfortable if one analyses it. Not a glorification of war – hardly that – yet a small glimpse of the seductions of 'glory?' Maybe that is what Peter Bellamy saw initially, that folk music allied to a degree of theatre could still provide a relevant message to move people – certainly brought out tonight when Brian Peters read out a couple of contemporary parodies of 'Tommy' from serving soldiers in Baghdad a while back. Links inserted in an ongoing chain of resonance, given the disgraceful treatment of the contemporary army both abroad – ill-equipped and stuck in dubious conflict – and at home. Oddly, there was probably more consensus during Kipling's time for the wider aims of Victorian foreign adventures than exists now for our current entanglements/wars. But the world was a different place then... Yet: tonight's performance was not a museum piece, like much folk music has become, whatever the intention... there was an emotional edge that is often lacking in trying to connect to past experiences of a gone world, spanning quiet pathos, raw rowdy humour, vivid and often brutal description and something else - a surging power that came through especially at the end, that locked musicians and audience into a bizarre collective experience where one could almost feel a big marching drum beating somewhere.

'Oh, 'ark to the big drum callin',
Follow me -- follow me 'ome!'

As Bellamy said, in reply to the critics of his day: 'Rudyard Kipling made exceedingly good songs.' Tonight done great justice to by Webber, Fentiman and Peters, three stellar talents who subjugated their individual techniques to produce an ensemble performance of great subtlety, power and beauty...

Weather... Folk Music... Kipling...

Had to go to Leicester for throat supplies - run out of valves (don't ask)... got wet going and coming back so not really in the humour to go out again this evening and re-enter the god-damned November weather - but glad I made it to the owld Soar Bridge Inn and Bill W's monday bash - this time up, Dave Webber/Anni Fenterman/Brian Peters doing their Kipling show - via the late Peter Bellamy's arrangements etc.  Stirring stuff - more to follow tomorrow... don't think I've ever been to a bad gig at the Grand Union... no links/exhausted... if in doubt, Google...

New Magazine... Recognition...

Another project I have been involved with... co-editing the online/print mag Recognition with my compadre in Berlin, Mr Dominic Coutts... follow the link for details of free download of first issue... There is also a print version available from RawMusics...  Mixed bag of stuff - a long essay on Malcolm Lowry in his centenary year, photos from Palestinian refugee camps, poetry, fiction in German and English, a couple of reviews...
And we are looking for submissions for the next issue to be published May 2010...

Mervyn Gould,,, RIP...

When I was at the Brighton Colour out of Space festival recently (see below - too tired to post more links!), I received a phone call to inform me that my dear friend Mervyn Gould had died from a heart attack a couple of days before, linked apparently to his diabetes problems.  I had only spoken to him on the Tuesday that week and taken a rain check (a phrase he would have hated! - 'An Americanism, dear boy!') on meeting him the next day because I was busy.  We agreed to convene on my return to the manor... this was not to be... Up until today I have not felt up to the task of writing about such a larger than life, irascible yet lovable, loyal, smart, wonderfully idiosyncratic person... But his passing needs a humble marker or two - at the least... Today, his friends came together for his funeral in Loughborough, vicar in attendance - as would be appropriate for Merv - yet oddly no hymns - and three wonderful eulogies were delivered that sketched out the variety, the depth and breadth of the man, his working life in theatre, academe (his years in the department he dubbed 'Stress and Trauma' - English and Drama -  Tee Hee - situated on the university campus of God's Little Acre), his energetic involvement with the Mercia Film Society.  Further - what stood out was the affection that people had for him...  Earlier, I had a phone call from a mutual friend who could not attend the funeral due to geography and work - he sent me an email which I was supposed to read out to the assembled... Due to the circumstances of the wake this proved to be impossible - people scattered across bars and no focal point - Merv would have loved the confusion: Fair Week in Loughborough, a Beer Festival on the premises, although the landlord kindly gave us precious space on an insanely crowded day - and Friday the 13th, for the superstitious.  (Include me in, to reverse Samuel Goldwyn - the succession of stupid accidents/fuckups earlier today is beyond mere statistics).  But Simon's comments deserve a wider audience - they convey the essence of our friend far better than I can achieve.  So here they are:

Simon Black

For those who know me, my profound apologies for not being here in person, since family commitments make it impossible for me to get away from Cardiff for this sad day. It was with great regret that I heard about the passing away of Mervyn Stockbridge Gould. A great leading light of the theatrical scene has gone out for good and remains forever dark. Of course, if he were here, he would be telling me off for using the word ‘light’. “It’s a lamp or a lantern, you stupid boy” would be the cry, for which misdemeanour I would almost certainly have to pay the price of the next round.I had the delightful experience of learning the technical workings of the stage under Mervyn’s tutelage at the Department of Anguish and Trauma at Loughborough University in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s. I also have it on good authority that it was Mervyn himself who coined the very term, which is still in use today. I also believe he is responsible for the term ‘shabby-genteel’.

There were a couple of us who steered clear of the bitchiness and backstabbing that came with actual performance of drama and tended to take on all the technical and back stage work on a regular basis.  Mervyn was always delighted when a student came forward in this way, since it freed his time up and gave him an opportunity to check on the flow levels of the hand pumps at the ESB bar.

Incidentally the ESB building at the University did have a small technical and lighting capability, which fell under Mervyn’s due care and diligence. It was on just such a mercy errand for a ‘special bulb’ with Mervyn that I discovered the ESB was the only bar on campus which still served beer from old fashioned jug handled glasses. These special bulbs required much diligent care and attention.

After university, I spent several years working as a stage lighting technician for a number of theatres including Nottingham Playhouse (which Mervyn lauded) and for a number of touring rock bands (which Mervyn derided as “new –fangled skiffle”). I would not have done this were it not for his support and guidance, and the all important three-fold rule of theatrical timing:

"Never forget, Black, that there are three vitally important times in this business: Opening Time; Closing Time and with appropriate brevity in-between ‘Show Time.’"

Mervyn remains forever in our memory – a light house in a sea of mediocrities, and one who sadly must remain bright only in our memories. Please raise your special bulbs to the last and finest example of the old school.

Kind Regards

Simon Black

Well - closing time appoaches and the parting glass... One of the sadder ironies that I was made aware of earlier tonight was that Mervyn had just paid off the mortgage on Gould Towers at Blackbrook Court recently and would have had consequently enjoyed a reasonable measure of financial security in his property investment. He would have had a good few bob in his pocket... if he had been spared - which was a gag we had between us, old battered bohos that we were. In a year that is marked by much personal loss, I leave it to Simon's eloquence above and the last stanza of Yeats's 'In memory of Major Robert Gregory' below which expresses my feelings better than I can, sat here high up in the beatnik hovel reclension of the poet's tower, looking at the foul weather outside, storm and rain rattling the windows, surrounded by my ghosts, calling up my dead:


I had thought, seeing how bitter is that wind
that shakes the shutter, to have brought to mind
All those that manhood tried, or childhood loved,
Or boyish intellect approved,
With some appropriate commentary on each;
Until imagination brought
A fitter welcome; but a thought
Of that late death took all my heart for speech.

Review: Colour out of Space Festival, Brighton, Sunday 1st November, 2009...

The last day. John Wiese and Karen Constance first up in the hall – big sound from the start: noisepower electronics at their dandiest. Full-blooded – the auralspace crammed with events, crushing smears of sound interspersed with what were either samples of quickcutting short wave radio fragments or done live - looped. On the outer edges of the mix scattershot punctuations, pops and sharp rips, like electro rimshots. A deep storm of bass rising steadily to sail it on with some higher tones held to give almost melody. Again – a set that uses the available time allotment to the full, content producing form just so. Boding well for the rest of the night, a very good start and mood setter.

 So: Hector's House for refreshment then back to position myself for Audrey Chen, whom I have heard a lot about so was prepared to get a good spot up close. Not to be disappointed – her performance was one of the high spots of the weekend. Cello, voice and some minimal electronics, this was more the acoustic side of improvising, nakedly so in such a crammed space. She came across as very poised, sure of her ground. Using what looked like a chopstick jammed in to the cello strings, flicking it to produce a clunky ostinato as she vocalised through a wide range of sonics, pure tones mixed with more distorted granularities from throat and lip movements. Apart from her orthodox musical training at the Peabody Conservatory in her home town of Baltimore, as Chinese-American, I wondered if her technique was enlarged further by the other half of her cultural background, the Chinese family of languages using a higher vertical range of sounds than English/American and subtle tonal shifts. With the bow, she utilised all the surfaces of her instrument beyond the strings, a vigorous rubbing that produced more extensions of sound. She also introduced two connected rubber/plastic balls – maybe a toy? - to scrape on the back of her miked-up cello to give further extension/possibilities – in fact, one could say that it is surprising how much variety such a basic set-up can produce. This was a sublime performance that held the tightly-packed audience for its duration, coming to final ground on a vocal shift nearer to the western orthodox, perhaps a slight hint of jazz/blues in the held notes?

Compelling and, for all the expertise and control, deeply and rawly emotional...

Joseph Hammer sat at the back of the hall in front of his Apple Mac and other equipment, his left hand swathed in a white glove (which I assume was not some homage to Michael Jackson but needed to handle the tape spooling through the recorder he was manipulating), as his right focused on his laptop. He produced short snippets from various recorded sources one assumed, a voice here, a drum beat there, a shard of guitar, looped, processed and slowly moving to build a complicated piece, layers moving in and out, the minimal nature of the individual fragments and their slight duration when thrown together giving a complex carnival of sound that echoed earlier pioneers like Steve Reich. This approach tonight just made it to the end of the set without palling – the repetitions on the edge of needing more development. High wire – but great stuff...

Sten Hansen I had seen wandering around the festival over the weekend favouring a walking stick but tonight he gamely walked out on stage, with some obvious difficulty. A historical figure, self-taught as a composer, active in the electro-acoustic scene and beyond since the early sixties, a pioneer who is 'one of the forerunners in the field of multi-media art.' He spoke amusingly as he explained and cued off various works that exploded words and fired them all over the joint, speeding, slowing, spinning the recorded voice wildly and joyously through the space of the hall. There is a selection of his work available on Ubu .

Coming from the more academic side of experimental music, but his work never seemed dry or dessicated as much of that genre can be. A lot of fun among the intelligence here...

Which leads neatly to the last act of the festival and the night. Ju Suk Reet Meete and Oblivia, both members of Smegma, the wildly innovative Portland grouping and the wild eclecticism that fuels that worthy band is on display tonight. With a vengeance... one clumsily wrestles with words trying to tease out the mash of genre streams on display here... Oblivia (AKA Rock and Roll Jackie) resplendent in blue wig gave out on 'found sounds through modified and weighted turntables,' while Ju Suk did his stuff on cornet, some kind of lap guitar and a rig of sound processing equipment. They played against a stunning visual back drop, close-up images from nature – a bubbling tar pit/hot spring, barnacles on rocks by the sea – and a barrage of abstract and surreal juxtopositions giving an amazing density. Added to the music, you had a complete show that went the distance without flagging. Oblivia turntabling a variety of musics – at one point hillbilly guitar and violin hee-hawed through – as Ju Ju Suk alternated free jazz spluttering lines on his horn with slide guitar figures that evoked the blues, country and rock and roll. Hard to describe how all this fitted together but it did – maybe an object lesson in how Keat's 'Negative Capability' - 'I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact and reason' meets Ornette's harmolodics, where disparate lines create enough space to both accept incongruities and resolve them on other levels. Mind-blowing, as we used to say and a fitting end to another great festival here.

The next instalment...

... of the festival review will be tomorrow.  Notes deciphered (more or less) and written up but overwhelmed with exhaustion.  In the morning hopefully...