My Bloody Valentine... Review: Black Carrot/Nigel Parkin at the Tin Angel, Coventry, Saturday 14th February, 2009...

Rose from my sick bed to go to Coventry – I've missed the Carrot a couple of times recently so thought I should make the effort... The evening started with our usual attempt at getting lost but we managed to find Taylor John's in the end thanks to Murray's electronic homing devices! Walked in paid money and were given a ticket for a glass of wine each – which should have alerted me... Murray suddenly twigged and said: 'We're in the wrong place!' (It turned out that we had wandered into a Valentine's Day Singles event – mucho hilarity). The gig was at the sister joint of Taylor J – the Tin Angel. Luckily the door guy was in a good mood and refunded the money. A brisk route march through a frosty night to the correct venue...

Black Carrot. I confess my allegiance to their cause. But have never seen them with storyteller Nigel Parkin live before ( I reviewed two of the cds he has made with them here...). As the main feature of the Tin Angel Valentine's Day celebration, I wondered how this would work in front of a lively crowd in a fairly cramped venue. Answer: very well... Parkin has a distinctive yet flexible voice that gets inside the material he uses – grand guignol splatters and vamps on Edgar Allan Poe, Kafka and horror films supported by free improvised music. Tonight he offers: a revisionary reading of Dracula, two bites, first and second half (ho ho)...




















But first up – a young busker, whose name I didn't catch, unfortunately. He played accordion and sang in a raw rasp, songs of the streets and beyond, starting with a version of 'London Calling' which was conceptually brilliant. The occasional east european overtones were interesting as well and reminded me of the Roma buskers I saw in London last year – this is going to be a big influence on music here. Plus a nuance or two of chanson/mainland europe's song traditions which broadened his performance further. To me – this is folk music now. Maybe I was sympathetic as an ex-street musician... but I loved this guy, a great opener who went down a storm. Raw, fiery and amusing... The Tin Angel is situated on a corner in downtown old Coventry with two windows that let you observe the streets outside in their gaudy Saturday night finery. That proximity made me fancifully ponder – this guy could have walked straight in off those streets from a pitch to the 'official' space he played in tonight, giving him that extra edge of reality. Yesterday before I wrote this I was cruising the Mudcat site trying to check something and ended up in mounting hilarious fascination at the conversations between some of the guardians of 'folk music' – inaccurate rubbish mostly by ageing tin-eared mediocrities. Not worth even posting a link... the contrast between the doormen to one manifestation of a dying/dead tradition and a sharp intelligent representative of a contemporary one struck me mightily. Hey nonny, dude...
















Black Carrot: for tonight, a three piece, Oliver Betts, Stewart Brackley and Tom Betts providing a subtle wrap for the storytelling of Nigel Parkin. They freely improvise around his narrative lead, bass recorder/keyboard, electric bass and drums in minimal mode. They can blast it out with the best when the occasion demands but emphasize their flexibility here, having worked out how to get a good balance with the voice over their past collaborations, using subtle splashes of colour to accent the movements of the unfolding stories. Two mighty riffs on 'Dracula' from two different character viewpoints that were witty, darkly amusing and also thought provoking without mentally beating you up – a splendidly warped journey into the blood and sexual obsessions of control and subordination, a gloss on Stoker's text that repositions it, turns it at different angles. And fiendishly clever. There is a sharp literary intelligence on display here – as in their other collaborations that spin from Poe to Kafka to now Stoker, an interesting trajectory. Kafka might seem the odd man out – being more obviously 'High Modern.' Yet: these collaborations work so well because their materials are deeply embedded in the wider culture – and the horror/grotesque of much of Kafka - and his feel for the twentieth century zeigeist - dovetails with the weirdness of Poe and this repositioning of Stoker – 'Dracula' is a somewhat rambling book but is a better novel, perhaps, than the guardians of the canon gave it credit for. All this works (apart from the obvious musical skills) because of Parkin's voice: middle class, yes, but avoiding that intrinsic English plumminess/old school actorrr dear heart schtick or the linguistic plague strains of Mockney or Estuary that pass among so many for the demotic. This is intelligent musical theatre... Another counterpoint to this gig was some listening I did over the days before it – random tunings into BBC Radio Four, a channel I never bother with as a rule. Ghastly unfunny and clumsy sitcoms, arrogant newsreaders, voices that struck me as grating – patronising and insecure at the same time. University students who never grew up... Lowbrow stuff by and large... Maybe I missed something... Like all good actors, Parkin avoids this bullshit by the double trick of appearing to be 'himself' and also letting the voices of his characters come through him 'naturally.' I highlight the suspect word deliberately. Much skill and artifice involved and all the more effective for being concealed. To do this in a packed space like the Tin Angel on a Saturday night – and succeed – is perhaps the ultimate test. Of course the choice of source material helps – yes, there are people chattering, laughing and getting pissed, but the overall conception succeeds because people KNOW the background story. “'Dracula,' isn't it...” The Count seems to have escaped from the novel into the wider culture many years ago – via the movies in the main, but also in theatrical adaptions. Almost expected him to be lurking somewhere close... You can dip in and out of the performance without having to follow the contours of the story religiously and still experience the overall power and skill on display. Because there is a loose narrative thread but it is made up from a series of powerful images that the music helps to lift into the room to be easily snatched. In microcosm, this follows the structure of the novel – epistolary, the story told from different viewpoints – in an organic move. Done with style and a great sense of fun – for Valentine's Eve, dark tales of blood and desire... and flies – ah, the flies, Renfield...

Miles Davis... John Coltrane... Perry Robinson... Warne Marsh... Frank Wright... Charlie Haden...

The first classic Mile Davis Quintet, recorded in 1955 when they were starting out, playing a Benny Golson tune, 'Stablemates.' Still finding their way at this point, a fascinating glimpse of what was to come when Davis road-hardened the band into a formidable playing and recording unit. With Philly Joe at the drums, they were always going to swing, yet Miles was evolving a new space to operate in, slowly clearing out the harmonic clutter of hard bop to point in new directions. (A process that was ongoing – arguably he had been on this road since the forties – see 'Birth of the Cool,' etc...).
A smoky theme, sinuously unwinding before Miles enters, open horn. Notice that use of space – most bop trumpeters of this time would have splattered sixteenth notes everywhere. Coltrane next – interesting to be reminded that at this time he was hardly rated as a tenor saxophonist. He edges through his solo, perhaps, rather than taking one of the almighty gallops that he would soon become famous for. The contrasts in the front line was one of the fascinations of this band – conventional wisdom has it that Miles was spare, his sax player much more fulsome, overloading the chords and the bars with torrents of notes. Yet this early in the game, on this track there is not much between them. Mind you, conventional wisdom held that Miles did not have the technique for grandstanding in the trumpet tradition – which was nonsense. A curio, then, snapshot of a new band. This was not their first recording date – a somewhat confusing move from Prestige to Columbia was underway and they had already done a session for the new label. As part of the deal for their release from Prestige, the band was to go into the studio on May 11th 1956 to record a slew of tracks – by which time they were firing on all cylinders... This resulted in the classic albums, 'Cooking,' 'Steaming,' 'Relaxin'.'


More Coltrane – taken from the album 'Cosmic Music,' this is 'Manifestation.' Straight in with howling saxophone, high hollers and sweeping querulous searching – joined by the shrill pipings of Pharoah Sanders on piccolo who takes over as Coltrane drops out. Almost folksy, a pastoral timbre as beneath the new Coltrane group boil the rhythms up – somewhat muddily as the mix is not so good. Alice Coltrane, comes next, having just succeeded to the piano chair after Tyner (and Elvin Jones, the drummer) had left. Swirling and stabbing as Rashied Ali and probably Ray Appleton drive her along. Bass pretty much inaudible. Coltrane returns magisterially to be joined by Sanders, who switches between tenor and piccolo. Coltrane punches at phrases as if spinning the speedbag, jagged shards of melody thrown out – and suddenly: they stop. Another oddity, this was recorded in February 1966 but never released until after Coltrane's death on an album that his wife, Alice, put together, overdubbing some tracks with strings and added organ and vibes to produce 'Cosmic Music.' An interesting snapshot, again, of a new band – although Coltrane had fine-honed his virtuosity by this time, he was still breaking new ground...


'The Call' – a composition by Perry Robinson, first recorded on an ESP date with Henry Grimes back in 1965. A vocalised folkbluesy squawking phrase bending up and answered by resolution. From which materials and rhythmic shapes, Robinson improvises solo on clarinet – mainly high up with the occasional double-blown note hinting at the deeper register before the exploration shifts octaves downwards and breathily sketches itself softly into the distance returning in volume to the theme and some Gershwin-like swooping rises (think 'Rhapsody in Blue') across the instrument's range. A bright morning feel to this – and a timeless journey referencing earlier styles but still resolutely contemporary... An unsung hero...

Warne Marsh received more recognition than Perry Robinson, perhaps, but only in the relative sense – overall, as one of jazz's 'Unsung Cats,' it seems as if he became more acclaimed in recent years after his death:

'There seems to be an increasing interest in the music of the late jazz tenor saxophonist Warne Marsh...' (From here...).

The usual... Marsh was a compadre of Lennie Tristano and was also one of those few who moved on from that initial influence to become a truly great saxophonist. (Along with Lee Konitz from the same generation, who is luckily still with us). Before Tristano, the influence of Lester Young, of course... that lighter, airier tone on the usually more burly tenor. But spun steel... there was always a solid emotional determination linked to the originality of Marsh's melodic conception. This is 'You are too beautiful,' from 1957, from the (annoying titled) album 'Music for Prancing.' (Is he a fucking horse?). A sprightly tempo, Marsh unreels his distinct melodic imagination over polite comping and strong bass. One hears the sound of distant drums – Stan Levey. Red Mitchell takes a fleet solo, followed by Ronnie Ball. Then a round of fours...

Marsh died onstage in 1987, in the middle of 'Out of nowhere,' which has to be ironic... Still, there are worse ways to go, I suspect...

I was re-sorting my cds into some kind of 'order' with a new stacker when I discovered this – Frank Wright's 'Uhura Na Umoja,' recorded in 1970. Wright was one of the band of black musicians who lit out for the European territories in the sixties and seventies – this session was recorded in Paris. No bass, unusually, the redoubtable Bobby Few on piano, Art Taylor on drums and Noah Howard on alto make up the quartet. This is 'Being,' a Howard composition, opening in declamatory fashion, an Ayler-esque fanfare before the alto solos over lurching drums and swirling piano. Wright follows, wilder, more abandoned, something of the yearning tone of Coltrane in his playing, beyond the usually stated influence of Ayler. I always associate Taylor with more hard boppy manoeuvres – here, he sounds like he's enjoying himself, hard-hitting in a freer style. Bobby Few solos – another underrated musician. The band ride out on the theme – the Ayler-esque echoes underpinned not just by Wright's allegiance but the fact that Few had played with Albert – in fact, the tenor player had brought him to New York from their mutual home of Cleveland. There is a gutsy spirit to this track that earths the ontological title and Wright's spiritual yearnings:

“I was put on this planet by the Creator to proclaim the message of the Universal Spirit - to shout it to the people,” (Quoted here...)

Gutbucket and space church – come to think of it, all of these musicians had links to r and b which gives the music a funky edge...

Recorded in a time of ferment – all these musicians had left America for Europe, Few and Wright were to remain. 'Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,' etc, in a memory of the original French Revolution... Few says of their arrival in post-68 Paris:

"We all said 'where can we go' and Frank said 'well, what about Paris?' We said, 'hey, wow, but we don't know anybody or anything,' and Frank said 'well, let's just go.' So we packed our bags and came to Paris...and we were like pioneers. We knew nobody—we didn't know the language or anything—and there was this student revolution that had happened in '68 and it was still going on by the time we came. Four of us were walking down the street and hundreds of police came with gas masks on in the back of us and in front of us were these students burning cars and everything, and we just started running because we got scared. We saw a light on that we thought was a restaurant and ran into this place and this guy closed the door and said 'wow, who are you guys?' and we said we were musicians. He asked if we knew where we were and we said we thought it was a restaurant. He said, 'it is, but downstairs is The Jazz Cave'...the owner said 'would you like to play here next week?'" (From here... ).

I remember something of the ambiance of the time – passing through Paris in 1969 I returned the following year for the first of a series on ongoing sojourns in the city and remember well the edgy craziness – riot police and students fighting it out in confrontations that eventually became ritualised into dark parody. Standing in the Saint Severin, we would watch a band of students engage with the cops – every weekend. It became a spectator sport after a while... As the promise ebbed away... But at least we still have the music – worth more in the long run and more powerful than slogans to this old anarchist's ears...

Somehow this all comes together... This is track 3 from Charlie Haden's Liberation Music Orchestra recorded in April 1969. A suite comprising three Spanish folk songs with new words added during the Spanish Civil War - 'El Quinto Regimiento,' 'Los Cuatros Generales' and 'Viva la Quince Brigada.'. An amazing arrangement by Carla Bley yokes folk music to oompa brass to free jazz, introduced by Sam Brown's spanish guitar – then the band come in, brass led, before Don Cherry solos – some skidding cornet that reaches up a couple of times to notes that are only just hit, re-inforcing the raw militia band atmosphere. The drums of Paul Motian are somewhat clattery in the mix – but nevertheless drive the band and contribute to that ragged feel, just holding it all together. The ensemble swirls around, eventually covering the soloing Cherry – with presumably Mike Mantler behind him. Ebbing away as the guitar returns, shadowed by the leader's growling bass, the flamenco rips fitting in seamlessly as if vindicating the 'spanish tinge.' ('In fact, if you can't manage to put tinges of Spanish in your tunes, you will never be able to get the right seasoning, I call it, for jazz.' Jelly Roll Morton, quoted from here... ). Haden solos, going down deep and sonorous and strong-fingeredly echoing some of the guitar figures. The band return with the second theme, punctuated by some Roswell Rudd trombone snorts that build into a solo over lurching background figures. Unusual for the time, a sample of an original Spanish recording (female voice) acts as a bridge into part three – 'Viva la Quince brigada,' led by Gato Barbieri who slowy builds up to a frenzy as another sample is dropped in – male voice now – and the band sprawl over a free-ish section and the original recording comes back again as an echo bouncing eerily over the intervening years. Effective and almost subliminal. The band take up the theme over two beat drums, ending on a bugle-like declamation. The first time I heard this song was in my teens from an appallingly pious but no doubt well-meaning Joan Baez warble through it. (What did Miles's trumpet teacher say about vibrato?). This is more vibrant, fierce stuff – while retaining an edge of memory that evokes the tragedies and betrayals of the Civil War in Spain.

¡Ay Carmela! ¡Ay Carmela!
que se ha cubierto de gloria,
¡Ay Carmela! ¡Ay Carmela!

Haden in the liner notes says:

'We use, with only slight changes, the original 1930 orchestra and chorus arrangements of "Los Cuatro Generales" and "Viva la Quince Brigada"as they were playing on the soundtrack of the film "Mourir A Madrid"... Parts of these same arrangements from that soundtrack are super-imposed under the improvising...

By synchronicity I was in Spain that year, a month or so after this was recorded in New York and hitch-hiked back from Madrid intending to go to France but by the accidents/magnetic forces of the road ended up in Sitges, near Barcelona, where I spent a happy time playing in a bar and meeting up with a disparate international crew on the beach. By some accident – or following my nose – I had landed in one of the few 'autonomous zones' that existed in those latter years of Franco's rule. Spain I remember as having dark overtones of the Civil War and mucho ongoing repression, the people suspicious – not surprisingly – of young long haired Brit itinerant musicians. But Sitges was zappy, touristy and relatively free of the general heavy manners – a place of fun, light and drunken camaraderie although the Guardia Civil could be relied upon to exercise those long batons on occasion to whop the shit out of anyone stepping too far over the edge... which somehow I managed to avoid, even though moving under the black flag – by luck rather than judgement... Following on from that Wordsworth quote above about the original French Revolution, the next line:

'But to be young was very heaven!'


Miles Davis
Miles Davis (t) John Coltrane (ts) Red Garland (p) Paul Chambers (b) Philly Joe Jones (d)
Stablemates
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John Coltrane
Pharoah Sanders (ts, fl, picc, tamb, per) John Coltrane (ts, bcl, bells, per) Alice Coltrane (p) Jimmy Garrison (b) Rashied Ali (d) Ray Appleton (per)
Manifestation
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Perry Robinson (cl)
The Call
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Warne Marsh
Warne Marsh (ts) Ronnie Ball (p) Red Mitchell (b) Stan Levey (d)
You are too beautiful
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Frank Wright (ts) Noah Howard (as) Bobby Few (p) Arthur Taylor (d)
Being
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Charlie Haden
Perry Robinson (cl) Gato Barbieri (ts, cl) Dewey Redman (as, ts) Don Cherry (ct, Indian wood and bamboo fl) Mike Mantler (t) Roswell Rudd (ts) Bob Northern (fh, hand wood blocks, crow call, bells, military whistle) Sam Brown (g) Carla Bley (p, tam) Charlie Haden (b) Paul Motian (d, perc)
El Quinto Regimiento/Los Cuatros Generales/Viva la Quince Brigada
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Back soon...

Somewhat of a hiatus... things to do interspersed between the usual boring episodes of illness... but I will be back soon...

Booker Little/Booker Ervin... Cecil Taylor... Lee Morgan... John Coltrane

Bookends – Booker Little, with Booker Ervin beside him in the frontline on a 1960 session, originally issued under the leadership of Teddy Charles. Recorded at the Museum of Modern Art, some fiery blowing here. The track: 'Scoochie.' Ushered in by a sharp burst of drums from Eddie Shaughnessy, who drives the band on throughout. Booker Little takes the first solo, twisting a sure-footed elegance into his lines. Ervin leaps in directly just as he finishes, full-throated tenor spurred on by the drummer's interjections. Mal Waldron follows, utilising his trademark phrase-worrying to good effect. Teddy Charles adds splashes of vibes throughout but takes no solo unfortunately...

I always check 'Destination Out' before I post – apart from it being a great jazz blog, on several occasions a weird synchronicity has come into play and a track that I have prepared for upload has already been featured by them in the same week. This particular selection is an example – I sidelined it a couple of years back for that reason. But: just been over there and we are ok and I figure two years is not a clash in the making. So...

There are times during this performance of 'Winged Serpent' when one fears for the piano's health as Cecil Taylor smashes out vast clustered eruptions with the ferocity of a lambeg drummer on an Orange parade in Belfast. This is the pianist leading an 11 piece ensemble mixed between American and European participants – his 'Orchestra of Two Continents,' recorded in 1984. Held together by fragments of melody, the soloists emerge from the boiling maelstrom thrown up by two drummers and the ever-dominant Taylor piano which chases and harries the front line towards a higher glory. Then Cecil solos – a wild violence perpetrated on the piano, as mentioned above. The ensemble assemble again, taking up the minimal theme, before suddenly dropping into a slow fall. Exhilarating...

Lee Morgan in 1957 on a classic Blue Note date – also noted for tenor player George Coleman's debut recording. 'City Lights,' the title track – opening on see-saw bowed bass and horns before moving effortlessly into a kicking hard bop swing. Coleman out the gate first, then Curtis Fuller, a little four square perhaps but his usual pleasing gruffness. Then Morgan, sounding older than his years, superb trumpet. Ray Bryant takes some bluesy lines before Paul Chambers displays his arco technique. Morgan returns to trade with Art Taylor. Shortish solos all round give this track a compressed and pithy texture.

One for Obama... I don't comment on the politics of other countries and, as an ageing anarchist, my experience in life has led me to mistrust all politicians, whatever the angle they come from. But it would be churlish not to wish the U.S.A. well on this deeply historic Inauguration Day. As we sink further into the mire here in the U.K., in the spirit of a wider sense of hope I offer this late track by the mighty John Coltrane. Recorded at Temple University in 1966 (for radio – there is an annoying bit where the commentator comes in), this is 'Naima.' The theme is barely hinted at before the roller-coaster ride begins. Looking at the tracks uploaded here and the collective intelligence, fire and beauty on display - if only politics was as uplifting as music...


Teddy Charles (vibes); Mal Waldron (p); Booker Little (tpt); Booker Ervin (ts); Addison Farmer (b); Eddie Shaughnessy (dr)
Scoochie
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Cecil Taylor
Enrico Rava, Tomasz Stanko (t) Jimmy Lyons (as) Frank Wright, John Tchicai (ts) Gunter Hampel (bs, b-cl) Karen Borca (bss) Cecil Taylor (p) William Parker (b) Raschied Bakr, Andre Martinez (d)
Winged Serpent
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Lee Morgan
Lee Morgan (t) George Coleman (ts) Curtis Fuller (tr) Ray Bryant (p) Paul Chambers (b) Art Taylor (d)
City Lights
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John Coltrane, Pharoah Sanders (ts) Alice Coltrane (p) prob. Sonny Johnson or Jimmy Garrison (b) Rashied Ali dr unknown perc
Naima
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Re-up... Cecil Taylor

I had a request for a re-up: Cecil Taylor. A cheap blog-out - no point re-writing so I can give what I put up at the time (with some minor edits):

'"To play with Cecil Taylor you need the stamina of an athlete and the imagination of a god." (Tony Oxley)

I love this quote... 'Last' from the album 'Nailed,' recorded at the Bechstein Concert Hall, Berlin on 26 September 1990... yes, it's heavy and fiery and wild but – I find this music exhilarating! A concert recording, Parker tussling with Taylor's lines – or the other way round at times, as Barry Guy and Tony Oxley – the Old Firm – grapple to underpin the reeling streams of notes. This is a long track... there are two on the album, the other clocking at about 50 mins: I wasn't sure about posting such a large chunk, but here goes... Any red-blooded collector wants their own solid copy anyway... and once you've been bitten by Cecil and co, it's hard not to resist the lure of their brand of sonic adventuring. This is a long track, yes – but it's full of interest all the way. Commencing with deep piano notes slowly spaced and then a couple of chords as the bass enters, the piano responding with more elaborate lines as Oxley cymbals his way into the opening spaces. A meditative start with busy bass behind the slo-mo piano – unusual and not the usual Cecil fire and brimstone - but not for long! Taylor starts to build up the intensity as a three way dialogue rises, suddenly erupting in splashing chords and the trade-mark lightning fast runs. This is densely packed music, brutal and bouncing at the same time. Music that almost demands an evolutionary response – to rise to a point where it can be truly appreciated on all of its levels. Oxley's customised drum kit sounds totally distinctive, his cymbals sizzle and splash like no one else's. Guy's bass a little buried at times, felt rather than heard. Ten minutes or so in – and Evan Parker joins the throng – the crowd of three expanded by his multiphonic saxophone, a man with the technique and ideas to match Taylor's speed and density of line – linear and vertical simultaneously it seems. This is heavy company but the sax player sounds undaunted. I've seen Evan Parker several times down the years, solo and in different combinations: he always impresses. I feel that he has been so consistently good for so long that he is almost taken for granted, in an odd way. A home-grown genius who vastly expanded the post-Coltrane saxophone: of how many others can we say that they achieved anything near that level of sublimity?

This sort of music throws up different challenges – how do you respond to – or lead - Taylor's cataclysmic style, for one? Go for the spaces in between? (Small and microscopic as they undoubtedly are?) Float across it – as Jimmy Lyons did, whose metalanguage of expanded bebop out of Parker melded so well with his piano playing partner, finely honed down their years of playing together? Or match it note for note - as Parker does here? As glanced at above, coming out of Coltrane, originally, (who only made the one record with Taylor - an interesting but flawed document as the rhythm section, good as they were, just didn't fit) and developing his accurate high-register work that expanded the saxophone range mightily coupled to his circular breathing techniques, Parker here rises brilliantly to the challenge, equal and more to the task. This is relentless music where there is so much going on on all levels. My only criticism is that the bass, as mentioned, is just a bit too far down in the mix – but that was probably a casualty of live recording levels and Guy's presence registers sufficiently for him to share in the glory. Just under twenty minutes in and Parker drops out – the bass can be heard a little better now, fast and loose, stepping up to the challenge. They start to slow down, Taylor muting the pyrotechnics, playing his own brand of acid lyricism, mirroring the quiet beginning as Guy displays his own virtuosity. They slowly wind down - to end on a high singing bass note.

This is an astounding piece of music – but, hey, I'm a fan...'



Cecil Taylor (p) Evan Parker (ss) Barry Guy (b) Tony Oxley (d)
Last
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Re-up: Clusone Trio... plus: King Oliver... Booker Ervin...

Slowly getting back into the field... I promised to re-up this a week or more ago. The Clusone Trio, playing '117th Street.' (7 beyond 110th up into Harlem?). Anyway, no point re-writing, at the time I said:

'The Clusone Trio give the Herbie Nichols tune, '117th Street,' an outing. Always an element of drollery lurking when Bennink is involved – those crazy Dutch, eh? This swings in lightly over crisp old-school drumming as Moore states the theme and take the first solo – a limpid performance that builds through some more complex swirls into earthier smears. Reisjeger picks his cello through his turn before Moore returns for a brief passage then back in to the theme. Bennink throughout is in homage to earlier drummers mode. An odd mix of the old and disguised hints of the new, filtered through a wash of post-modernism, done with some affection... '

Cute...

To keep it rolling... some early stuff. From one of the main sources, King Oliver's Creole Jazz Band playing 'Mandy Lee Blues.' The cutting edge of 1923... In his prime, soon to be overshadowed by his young protégé Louis Armstrong on second cornet and eventually falling from great heights of fame to riduculous obscurity but in the canon as we stand now because of his adventures with muted horn as much for his bandleading abilities - bending the trumpet away from the straight sound to echoes of the human voice and timbral shifts beyond - the line goes forward to such as the mighty Bill Dixon, to pull a name out of the ether... A calm controlled strut, mainly featuring Johnny Dodd's clarinet - but the King comes in later with some wah wah... Classic.

The Book - doing 'Autumn Leaves.' Muted trumpet sax intro - then that big-hearted horn booms in at a firm tempo to take the theme in his usual imperious fashion. More of that clenched trumpet from Richard Williams - drums busy him along nicely. Mr Ervin steps up and boots it up a gear - as he always did. They call(ed) this hard bop but BE had something else going for him that transcended those boring labels. The pegs we hang stuff on because we are lazy in our delineations, perhaps. His tone is somewhere near the keening edge of John Coltrane's but with an earthier dimension - fast blowing and all blues. One of my favourites, anyway... Cath and I have been figuring out a version... Les Feuilles Mortes encore... Nice to play behind a singer again...

Clusone Trio
Michael Moore (as, cl, mel) Ernst Reijseger (cel, el-cel) Han Bennink (d, perc)
117th Street
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King Oliver
King Oliver, Louis Armstrong: (c) Johnny Dodds (cl) Honore Dutray (tr) Lil Hardin (p) Bill Johnson (b, banjo) Baby Dodds (d)
Mandy Lee Blues
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Booker Ervin
Booker Ervin (ts) Richard Williams (t) Horace Parlan (p) George Tucker (b) Danny Richmond (d)
Autumn Leaves
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Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to all... will get back to some serious blogging... soon... (and the guy who wanted the Clusone Trio - will reup asap)...

Merry Christmas...

A merry christmas to all... I've been celebrating with family and friends so no music yet... later, perhaps...

Stop press - Pack Horse Redux...

As hinted at below, the phoenix has risen from the ashes of the now defunct Folk at the Pack. Cath Mackie has ridden in on another train (appalling folk music joke) and started the Loughborough Folk Club at the same venue. Starting on January 9, 2009 and afterwards every second friday of the month. More details as they appear - apparently she will be taking over the Folk at the Pack website after it finally expires, due to the generosity of Mr Marmion. Incidentally, the free cd that was handed out at the last gig will be available for a brief period as a download from this site and I might put a link up here as well. But Christmas approaches...

Review: Pete Morton's Magic Christmas Tree at the Pack Horse, Friday, December 19th 2008... Farewells...

It is in the nature of the game – the wear and tear of organising music venues down the years eventually induces fatigue. Frank Marmion has lasted longer than most, running the Pack Horse Folk club with support from Dave Morton and his wife Joan. As a weekly venture, a brave even foolhardy exercise. From my own experience, a couple of years is about the burn out point – running our Club Sporadic every couple of months was enough stress! Frank's involvement with the club stretches back a good many years, since he arrived in God's Little Acre, up to the point when he took on the mantle of chief organiser when it would have folded otherwise. A sage move – committees seem to work best with established clubs that go for a monthly policy – time to plan and discuss things without the weekly urgency. One person on their own can be much more efficient in their delivery of class music than a mélange of people who often have little wider vision beyond their own narrow purist/ideological patch – let alone the financial nous to get 'bums on seats.' Without which the venture at some predictable point folds anyway. But the time came for Frank to move on – retirement looming, new adventures beckoning, uncertainty over the future of the pub which made future booking policy too much of a gamble – effectively he was not going to be able to run the place in the manner of his choice for much longer.

The Pack was always a quirky, eccentric, scruffy place, scene of much great music down the years – and one of the musicians who has played there since he launched his own career back in the eighties has been Pete Morton, a performer who to my knowledge has always pulled a full house, not just because of the local connection but the plain fact that he is a superb artist. So: fitting that Frank chose to go out in a blaze of glory with Pete's special Magic Christmas Tree roadshow. Accompanied by Chris Parkinson on accordion, the surprise of the night was the other cohort – depping for Roger Wilson, a young – an extremely young – fiddle player called Tom Moore. (Certainly not from the bummer's shore: old Dylan reference/joke). Pete never fails to move me with the breadth of his humanity, passion and sheer sense of fun, always questing, never settling for playing safe. A lesson that many on the folk scene – and beyond – should heed. 'Make it new,' as Ezra said. 'Play what you don't know,' as Miles Davis said. Tonight: we had songs in Chaucerian English – 'Rock around the Clock' and 'Knocking on Heaven's Door' – which make you laugh out loud at the sheer zany chutzpah on display. Later, perhaps, when you consider the other songs in French and Platte Deutsch, you realise how much this man loves language – further evidenced by his moving tribute to the English poet John Clare, 'The Shepherd's Song.' (A song that kills me every time I hear it, as a lover of Clare's poetry.) Which works as a rough paradigm for part of what Pete is about. He somehow manages to pull off the trick of collapsing distance, which brings the past into a temporary contemporary focus. Writing in the 'tradition,' he extends it, rather than allowing himself to be subsumed by it, as so many other writers do. First world war, anybody? This song, about the peasant poet Clare, off to London to be briefly embraced by fashion, later to be dropped and end up in the madhouse, is a provincial's wry comment not just on a historical tragedy but more contemporary manners as well in an over-saturated media age. He also celebrates the humanity of the marginal – the clientele of a city centre pub in 'The Battle of Trafalgar,' family life – 'My Best Friend,' dedicated to his parents, the random encounters of 'Post Office Queue.' Via detours into such areas as Marc Bolan/T Rex, for the glam rockers (!) and some spontaneous Irish dancing and jiving in the audience by Cath M and her children, to close: after a soaring version of 'To be a farmer's boy,' buttressed by some mighty singers in the audience – what else? - 'Another Train,' tonight transformed by the backing of violin and accordion. An anthem of hope which means so much to so many – and if I am being corny here, so be it, hipsters, flipsters and finger-popping daddies...

The other two musicians: young Tom Moore displayed a ridiculous sense of cool for one so young, showing poise and no little elegance in his violin playing both on his solo pieces and as part of the ensemble. Chris Parkinson's mature skills on accordion widened the musical ground further, expanding Pete's performance in a fascinating way, providing underpinning and commentary that gave depth and a different array of colours from the usual guitar accompaniment.

A rambunctious, fun night, then, celebrating the end of this chapter in the Pack story. Glory be to Mr Marmion, especially in his choice of the Pete Morton Christmas extravaganza – a fitting way to go out to a packed house. There has been a club here on and off for over thirty years. But – there's another train, there always is... the stop press news is that it will continue in another form, on the second friday of every month. Some feverish work going on behind the scenes by Cath Mackie to make it happen. But for this incarnation – goodbye.

Davy Graham R.I.P.

Sad news. Davy Graham, one of the pre-eminent genre-crossing guitarists coming off the folk scene (and beyond) in the Sixties, has died after a brief battle with lung cancer. Maybe the pre-eminent guitarist of that generation, alongside Bert Jansch, John Renbourne and Dave Evans... The Les Cousins generation is slowly being whittled away...

Busy doing nothing (for a change)... Engine records...

Hoping to post some music at some point – but I've spent this week just coming down from recent exertions – including a great night at Mr Marmion's joint last friday with Gu4 doing their Xmas(or not – you had to be there to dig the bah humbug routines from half the band) gig – mucho fine harmony singing which hits me hard – a sucker for any vocal music of this calibre. Plus the reunion of Plexus – my cohorts in extremely free improvisation – at a rehearsal room in Leicester where we were intending to try out some quiet stuff. Until we realised that the band in the room next door were going to bleed loud young wannabe rock all over us. So: crank up the amplifiers and fire away. An exhilarating afternoon – hopefully, despite our far-flung geographies we can get out on the road next year. Added to other exertions – this week has been a much needed rest before my patriarchal/dynastic duties are required for Xmas...

But I intend to at least get a big Xmas mix up... tonight just listening to some cd's that have just arrived from the U.S. The first of which has just finished: the 'New Orleans Suite' by the Andrew Lamb Trio – wild and wonderfully heartwarming stuff, in tribute to the city devasted by Hurricane Katrina. Engine is a small label run by Steven Walcott, on the proverbial shoestring but the quality of music is superb. As a soon-to-be co-owner of a small label (January launch hopefully) I empathise with the problems you encounter – although our stuff is totally different, it shares some of the same improvisational ethic and musical commitment and I would love to have a stab at putting out some jazz – later maybe...

Diagonally... My policy on mp3s is quite simple – I put up a batch as and when I feel like it and write – what I feel about them. Fun for me, hopefully some small measure of fun for the folks out there. If you want album downloads – there are plenty of sites that cater for you. Myself – too much hassle and contemporary small labels I would avoid anyway, usually going for older stuff that hopefully does not financially affect musicians in any way by only giving a small snapshot and encouraging the people to buy the original. (Wherever possible). So: go out and buy some of Engine's output, why don't you? Absurdly cheap – and you are supporting the best cause of all. Creativity. In a mad world.

If time permits after Xmas – perhaps more detailed reviews of these cds may follow...

Mark Murphy... Anthony Braxton... Last Exit... Pee Wee Russell...

The recent house move has uncovered many a box of buried stuff – I just discovered this Mark Murphy album 'Midnight Mood,' from which I have selected the last track 'I get along without you very well.' Credit to whomever I downloaded this from as it is not one of my acquisitions. A curio – it was recorded in Europe in 1967, featuring a group underpinned by Kenny Clarke, alongside the co-leader of his big band,the French pianist Francy Boland. With just the trio backing him, Murphy starts over a sparse reiterated piano pedal tone that eventually moves to sketch the harmony. Bass and drums join the piano eventually – now elaborating more. Bittersweet musings from a great jazz singer.

Weirdly enough, I had a dream last night that I was playing a gig as a singer with Frank Sinatra and Count Basie. Francis Albert and myself were out front, chatting to the Count and for some surreal reason I had a big bag of apples in the pocket of my tuxedo which I proceeded to hand out to everyone. Ummm... any interesting interpretations?

I was going to post this some time ago but noticed in time that Destination Out had put it up the same week so didn't want to clash. Then it went into the box and has only just surfaced on the latest rotation... This is 'Track Three' from Anthony Braxton's 1976 album, 'Creative Orchestra Music.'. Starting off as a jaunty march(I kid you not – in Graham Lock's book about Braxton, he is quoted as saying how much he loved and respected John Philip Souza). But nothing is ever as it seems with AB – his music can twist and turn on a penny. Plus the multi-layering which is a great American musical tradition – as if the acoustic spaces are matching the physical scale of the country – a democracy of layers that you see in Charles Ives and onwards - and in Sousa according to Braxton. In my erratic canonical delineation that leads through Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys up to Ornette Coleman. And backwards – to Walt Whitman, piling long line on on top of long line as he tries to cram the whole experience of his country into long scrambles of words:

'Seasons pursuing each other, the plougher ploughs, the mower mows, and the winter-grain falls in the ground;
Off on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by the hole in the frozen surface;
The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes deep with his axe;
Flatboatmen make fast, towards dusk, near the cottonwood or pekan-trees;
Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river, or through those drain’d
by the Tennessee, or through those of the Arkansaw;
Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chattahoochee or Altamahaw;
Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and great-grandsons around them;
In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and trappers after their day’s sport;
The city sleeps, and the country sleeps;
The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time;
The old husband sleeps by his wife, and the young husband sleeps by his wife;
And these one and all tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them;
And such as it is to be of these, more or less, I am. ' (Walt Whitman: 'Leaves of Grass,' lines 309-320).

And onwards...

'Skippy' is one of those mad, skittery fast Monk tunes from his early days. Braxton again, exploring the tradition with a quartet on this track, taken from the 1987 album, 'Six Monk's Compositions.' Taken at a fair lick, Braxton flies over the manic remorseless march of chords. Piano takes a solo, hewing close to theme and structure – a difficult composition to step far out of. Neidlinger holds it all together – Bill Osborne's drums are back in the mix, making themselves known occasionally with a supple rip or two. Sounds like great fun was had – but everyone probably breathed a collective sigh of relief at the end... Monk's muse can often seem like an enormous, enigmatic wall of fortified glass that repels those who hurl themselves blindly at it. These guys find enough windows to enter...

Last Exit were a powerhouse band – electronic free jazz with a punk edge. Or something... The disparate gathering of musicians were Peter Brotzmann, Sonny Sharrock, Bill Laswell and Ronald Shannon Jackson and they played some wild stuff. Here is 'Panzer Bebop,' fittingly marshalled in by martial drums then Jackson spelling out some melodic figures before Sharrock throws jagged shards of electric guitar across the line and Brotzmann comes storming in. The backbeat surfaces, ridden by the guitar as the tenor howls and squeals in the wind. Storm subsiding over a repeated bass drum da dum. Into a swaying boogie... This is what jazz-rock should have been...

Jaunty bouncing piano leads in on 'Lulu's back in town,' followed by Buck Clayton who leads the theme in on muted trumpet, then the leader, Pee Wee Russell, and his more oblique clarinet, each taking 8 bars in turn. Clayton is straight out of Louis, of course, but a man who developed his own style in the various situations he played in – from a stint in Shanghai (!) in the thirties before he joined the mighty Basie Band. And onwards to a career as arranger, composer and bandleader, apart from his trumpet duties. Russell, clarinet player extraordinaire embedded for all those years on Condon's dixieland sessions, here showing his stuff with a tight mainstream band. Pee Wee takes the first solo, some warm and fuzzy low down contrasted with the higher register querularity. Clayton follows, mellow burnished trumpet. Piano next, some eloquent restatements and embellishments. Riding out old school with some drum breaks interspersed. Joyful stuff.



Mark Murphy
Mark Murphy (v) Francy Boland (p) Jimmy Woode (b) Kenny Clarke (d)
I get along without you very well
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Anthony Braxton
Anthony Braxton (as, cl) Seldon Powell (as) Bruce Johnstone (bs) Ronald Bridgewater (ts) Roscoe Mitchell (bass-s) Kenny Wheeler, Cecil Bridgewater, Leo Smith, Jon Faddis (t) George Lewis, Garrett List (tr) Earl McIntyre, Jack Jeffers (b-tr) Jonathan (tuba) Muhal Richard Abrams (p) Dave Holland, (b) Warren Smith (d) Karl Berger (glock) Barry Atschul (sn-d) Frederick Rzewski (b-d) Phillip Wilson ( marching cymbals) Leo Smith (cond)
Piece Three
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Anthony Braxton
Anthony Braxton (as) Mal Waldron (p) Buell Neidlinger (b) Bill Osborne (d)
Skippy
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Last Exit
Peter Brotzmann (ts) Sonny Sharrock (el-g) Bill Laswell (b) Ronald Shannon Jackson (d)
Panzer Bebop
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Pee Wee Russell
Buck Clayton (tp) Pee Wee Russell (cl) Tommy Flanagan (p) Wendell Marshall (b)
Osie Johnson (d)
Lulu's Back in Town
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Absence makes the heart grow fonder (?)

Somewhat light on the mp3 blogging front recently... this will change over the next week, hopefully - I have been tied up on other projects... Soon come...

Review: John Kelly at the Pack Horse, 21st November, 2008

Sometimes the best gigs are the ones you fall over in the dark, unexpected treats... I struggled out Friday night down to the Pack Horse because I had agreed to do the door for Mr Marmion – was feeling tired and a bit rough but did not want to let him down so duly reported for duty. After last weekend's concentrated blast of jazz- from fire musics and back via various ambles into the Asian sub continent – plus the great Roma buskers I heard - somehow folk music was not high on the acoustic agenda. So: it is good to have one's expectations wrenched sideways... To be fair, John Kelly had come with high recommendations from sources I respect, but my mood was not ready for the usual sad wander through the Arc of Loss that I perceive much contemporary English folk music to describe. In the event – the Harmonium Hero conquered all, despatching my misgivings immediately... Possessed of a light, lithe voice, more vocal technique than the average folkie but used expressively, for the benefit of the song, he accompanies on harmonium, backed up with cittern (I think) and guitar. All of which he plays masterfully. This is a man who has thought about his chosen music deep and long I suspect – there is a steely intellectual base to his performance, evidenced in the instrumental backings, (and discretely hidden under a quiet, dryly humourous demeanour) that lets his wonderful voice ride freely over. Use of the harmonium especially means he can match breath to air, as it were, in an organic flow, swaying and bending with the words. This gives the sea songs the movement of waves almost, the long ballads he likes, room for the narrative to flow. His playing on the stringed instruments was equally fluent, displaying technique enough to bend the songs into his use and avoiding the lockstep of orthodox folk clawhammer on his fingerstyle excursions. The material: intriguing... A couple of songs I did not know plus those I know well but haven't heard for a while, 'Polly on the shore,' ' Leazy Lindsay' (he bravely used the 'Lord Ronald McDonald' version and no one tittered!) 'Lakes of Pontchartrain,' 'Lord Gregory.' A nice surprise - 'Captain Kidd,' underpinned by fast, flatpicked cittern which echoed the first time I ever heard it, on a record of the late, wonderful Alex Campbell's back in the early sixties. (Which I found recently on the internet, a warm reminder of a great guy – 'Hell, yeah.'). John has been around, as they say, starting out back in Liverpool way back and retiring from the scene for a few years. Yet in his recent return he displays freshness of vision, rather than retreads of past glories. A rare talent – to be uncompromising musically yet be also accessible. Summed up, perhaps, by his encore: not a belter but a thoughtful meditation on 'The Plains of Waterloo.' A downbeat move – which gripped throughout. A special night... maybe there is something to this folk music lark after all... John gave a performance of grace and subtle power...

A final thought. Mr Marmion told me over lemonade on Saturday afternoon that John had been travelling around the country doing spots in the local clubs in the old pre-internet/MySpace fashion of building a base of support – and had been camping in a van during this endeavour. Which in the weather we are experiencing at the moment shows some steel and dedication. Harmoniums were instruments that were exported to the colonies and beyond in the nineteenth century, because they were not too adversely affected by the climate and were reasonably portable. Missionaries especially would have used them. Fancifully, I see John Kelly as a kind of poetic musical missionary, the long beard giving images of Walt Whitman and the Old Testament in equal measure, taking his music to the heathen. (Walt's beard 'full of butterflies' perhaps, after Lorca... Leviticus 19:27 'Ye shall not round the corners of your heads, neither shalt thou mar the corners of thy beard.'). He converted me back, that's for sure...

Images...

A couple of photos from the weekend... The first was taken in the Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern where there is currently an amazing installation - one of the very few that has ever managed successfully to engage with the size of the place... Dominic Gonzales Foerster's TH.2058

The next two are of a quartet of buskers just down the road - wonderful, driving music. The last, a bit fuzzy, is of another couple of buskers, in the subway leading down to Waterloo station.

Review: Rudresh Mahanthappa Quartet plus Arun Ghosh, Purcell Room, Sunday 16th November, 2008...

To the final night of my attendance... Having spent the afternoon at the Tate I was already knackered so in need of an energy uplift. Which the support band duly gave... Ironically, I was sat next to a lady and her family who informed me that she was Arun Ghosh's aunt and that what we were about to receive we would truly dig. Well – she was right. I wasn't sure I would take to this band – especially after the previous night (and other previous nights down the years re support bands at the LJF). But Arun bounded onstage, an absurdly youthful dude, energy crackling from him – and enthusiasm. Seemingly unabashed by the audience, his patter alone would win him plaudits. Setting off the first number (and all subsequent ones) with a miked up drone box that gave the root note, the band stormed off in fine form. Fronting on clarinet, he displayed a powerful, warm tone and fluid technique. Yet: everything played from the heart. I've never been a fan of Indo-Jazz fusion stuff but his performance made me reconsider some of my prejudices. What further enhanced the performance was the inclusion of Corey Mwamba on vibes who covered a wide range of dynamics from hard mallet hitting to bowed metallic shivers and subtle striking of the keys with his fingertips, splashes of warm rain across a sultry lagoon, fancifully. He was obviously at home in Ghosh's music – where youthful contemporary sass and swagger is tempered by the organic links to Ghosh's Asian roots. One criticism – and a very minor one, because I enjoyed his performance very much – the setting of the drone for each piece was a little formulaic, perhaps. Yet: one has to enter this world with open ears – it partakes of both jazz and Indian musics and the latter's framing devices and cycling figures created - via electric bass, drums and tabla - a large enough space for the solo instruments to move through without constricting the flow. And: this guy is still young. I feel he can open up his unique fusions further yet... certain sections where the trap drums and the tabla emerged from lockstep into freer areas of interplay suggest the potential for that expansion.

In the ongoing sagas of the road and the nightmares encountered thereon, perhaps Rudresh Mahanthappa and his band's story of travel to the gig was not the worst of its kind – just a general reflection on what jazz musicians have to undergo. Apparently they had started from Germany at 5.30 that morning and had not long arrived, after several trains and planes etc. But it makes it more of a triumph to overcome that exhaustion, especially at the end of a tour, and to turn up and play at this level. I don't know his music at all, but I've heard his piano player on record – Vijay Iyer - and he did not disappoint. Again, jazz mixed with Indian influences – structured around various vamps, cycling rhythmic devices and modalities, but across a more complex range than the previous act. More consciously cerebral (and I don't use the word as an insult but as a description), much of his music is based on mathematical properties such as the Fibonacci sequence. Certainly, the use of piano puts the music into a different harmonic space – even though the music would often return to a base tonic, the chromatic flourishes of Vijay Ayer gave a denser feel to the melodic and harmonic interplay. Dan Weiss on drums and François Moutin on acoustic bass made up the quartet, the latter having a few problems with his amplification, an annoyance they dealt with in good humour. A very tight band, led firmly from the front by Mahanthappa's surging alto. In comparison to the support group, it seemed that the leader had added some further levels of complexity to the planting of his Asian cultural roots in the soil of jazz. Bass and drums also worked with more flexibility. I had a flash of Steve Coleman, oddly enough, (although there is a connection – Mahanthappa has worked with him in the past) then Anthony Braxton, who combine similar mixtures of intellectual rigour and free emotional fire. These two are also alto players and composers who, in their unique ways, bring a mélange of wider world culture and theoretical interests to the music. So: brain and heart on display here tonight and a great end to my weekend, an evening where youthful and more seasoned visions combined to pose some interesting questions with regard to the future of the music. Balances shifting?

Review: Peter Brötzmann Trio at the Purcell Room, Saturday, 15th November, 2008

As mentioned in a previous post – some pub band on for support. Then Brötzmann and his young cohorts Marino Pliakas and Michael Wertmüller came roaring out of the gate from the start. This was like going from zero to a hundred in about two seconds! The leader started on alto, spurred on by brave electric bass – reduced to three strings, one snapped by the hard playing, he kept on going until he was able to retreat and change the broken one. Which gave a small indicator of the sheer physicality of this trio – Brötzmann at times struggling a little over the volume generated by the polyrhythmic fury of his drummer, which gave the performance some extra bite. This was exhilarating stuff, from one of the founders of the European free improvisors, an early admirer of Albert Ayler and in his lineage – but someone who carved out his own powerhouse style many years back. I've never seen Brötzmann live before so this was a rare treat. The audience were dragged along in their slipstream almost, the sort of performance that makes fire music so demanding of being experienced live. Brötzmann switched between his horns, two clarinets – one of which looked like a metal Albert - finally ending up on tenor. Each instrument providing a different sonic angle on his muse. Because it wasn't all incendiary – there were interesting moments of contrast where he displayed a more tender side to his playing, which gave some contrast and probably much-needed breathing space. The house loved it: they had come for this and demanded an encore – which was duly given. Brötzmann delivered a nice and somewhat wry speech at the end, thanking the crowd – and gently reminding us that he hasn't been asked over here much. Probably why I've never caught him? A man still on the top of his game, surrounding himself with younger musicians who, despite their obvious reverence ,pushed him all the way. No comfort zones here tonight. One question – again, to the powers that be. Why the pub band? This country is full of musicians who would have been more challenging and served as better foils to the main act. Still, worth the trip just for Herr Brötzmann... Everything I love about 'free jazz' - energy, complexity, emotion, all caught in the moment...

Review: Keith Tippett at the Purcell Room, Friday 14th November, 2008

A rare beauty... Keith Tippett, playing with a string quartet, in a duo with Stan Tracey and in the second half, his wife Julie.

Starters – the mainly written piece for piano and the Elysian Quartet, 'Linuckia.' Tippett joined the other musicians, looking absurdly young and still affecting the muttonchop whiskers which, with his incongruous outfit of smart jacket, ratty blue jeans and watch and chain attached to his waistcoat gave some bizarre rural image of yesteryear. Squire Tippett, perhaps... The piece opened on strident morse code string patterns to be suddenly swept along by a rolling keyboard figure that travelled from top to bottom, a repeated call and response gesture. The quartet were also required to use some extended techniques – plucking, glissando and assorted scrabbling at their instruments as the piano answered and commented in kind. Tippett was using woodblocks and various foreign objects to interfere with his piano sonorities and timbres – devices he used throughout the evening, producing a wide variety of sounds – from blunted, choked back harpsichord to some wild bass figures that sounded at one point as if Meade Lux Lewis had been fed through a sawmill while performing his old boogie woogie. Coming off the 'serious' art music tradition but bent to his own shapes. (Don't you just love that word 'serious' – as if 'jazz' and its related musics are not). Alongside the sharp, disjointed jags he positioned longer melodic lines that reminded me of some bebop legacy. An intriguing start.

Then another Steinway was hauled into place and Stan Tracy, the old guv'nor of the British modern jazz scene – a full head of greying hair swept back flamboyantly, joined Tippett for a fascinating journey. Tracy is not a Brit jazzer I have followed much, to be honest – a lot of his playing back in the old days seemed to be coming a little too much off Monk for me – although his peers have always rated him highly. Tonight, he joined Tippett's sound space in two improvised duets that referenced jazz occasionally but seemed to be moved by more English ambiances, somehow. Hard to place this music which made it more interesting perhaps – the interplay was fascinating as a figure or fragment of melody was picked up and played with in a seamless reel of notes and clusters, occassionally grounded on a march-like succession of chords. Tracey hit out some of his old dissonant harmonies but, placed in this context, they seemed very much of the moment and transcended the obvious jazz lineage. Stan is certainly ageing well and playing with fire and subtlety – and freshness.

The second half was another duo – Keith joined by his wife, Julie. Who famously took a sideways step off the mainstream some time after her hit records with Brain Auger all those years ago. An old story – but I mention it to praise the integrity of someone who felt moved by other forces to dedicate their lives to the remorselessly thankless genre (in dear old Blighty, anyway) of free improvisation. I'm not a fan of vocalists – improv vocalists even less. But I was hauled out of my prejudice by her performance. Standing tall and elegant in front of what looked like a stall at a craft fair – exotic bowls and odd little instruments – she channelled her wide range of voices – from art music pointillistic stabs and intervallic leaps to stranger spaces, occasionally selecting a device for additional delicate sonorities. Accompanied by Tippett's piano, from his surging stormwind basses to filgree strands of sound produced again by objects placed and manipulated within the piano, this was a magical performance that held the audience tight in a warm embrace. A rare beauty was given... The compere at the beginning of the performance mentioned the spiritual aspect of Tippett's improvisatory muse. The journey we had been collectively offered to take surely and subtly demonstrated that premise. ALong with some subtle wit - did I imagine the tinkly music box effect playing the theme from 'The Godfather' at one point?

Walking out into the mild night and across the bridge over the Thames, I stopped to look at the familiar London skyline and a street musician started playing – alto sax, some nice lines that echoed out into the evening, free music, oddly continuing the inspired performance I had just witnessed...

Belated reviews to follow...

Just getting my reviews of the weekend sorted... commencing very soon...