It’s been said that 80 percent of life is just showing up. A
couple months ago I showed up at an improvising duo performance by bassist
Jason Roebke and drummer John Niekrasz - and I was lucky I did. I’d been aware
of Roebke’s Chicago presence through his associations with some other players,
but wasn’t too familiar with his output or playing. However, I enjoyed Roebke’s
performance so much in the improvised duo setting that I took to the Internet
later that night to see what else I should check out. I discovered that he’d
just released a recording as the leader of a Chicago octet titled High/Red/Center (Delmark Records, 2014).
I went out and got it. And so should you.
As opposed to the altogether appropriate Ellington and
Mingus influences referenced in the recording’s liner notes (Art Lange), my first
run-through impressions in terms of reference on H/R/C were more of Julius Hemphill, Sam Rivers (his big band…), or Eric
Dolphy. Even the brash spirit of David Murray’s 80s octet I was fortunate to
see back in the day at Union College in Schenectady, NY came to mind. Specifically,
a single fleeting and mysterious harmony under Keefe Jackson’s tenor toward the
title track’s end, and a few other moments from the same track reminded me of
Hemphill’s “Leora” and “At Harmony” from his recording Big Band. In fact, both “Leora” and “At Harmony” would feel right
at home on H/R/C. But it goes without
saying that with this lineup of Chicago’s finest on H/R/C, the music is confidently its own breed.
Though H/R/C is not
a commercial record by any stretch of the imagination, it is firmly an
idiomatic, modern jazz record: capital “J.” It’s not a straight-ahead,
head/solos/head over changes outing a la, say, Horace Silver. But all the tunes
(save one: “Slow”) are either essentially rooted in swing or are relatively
straightforward ballads. There are surprises and free-ish sections incorporated
that wouldn’t regularly be found on most major label releases (thank you
Delmark!). And the harmonies and forms are a bit more ornate, oblique, and
idiosyncratic than on most jazz records. But Coltrane’s Interstellar Space it’s not: “Ballin’s” occasionally overt bop
gestures; the title track’s mostly driving swing and walking bass; “Dirt
Cheap’s” slinky old-school slow blues riffing; “No Passengers” gives us more
quirky bop-like lines for melody; “Double Check’s” relatively straight ahead
melody with the occasional left of center/oddball counter line or accent, etc…
This all adds up to something like the ultimate “gateway” record. For someone
whose palate is accustomed to only digesting straight ahead jazz, this
recording could smoothly move him or her along into more adventurous territory.
The three ballads serve as features for their melodists:
“Ten Nights” features trombonist Jeb Bishop, while “Shadow” features alto
saxophonist Greg Ward’s inspired playing as some miracle Johnny Hodges meets
Charlie Parker lovechild born through a post-modern birth canal. The set closer
and slightly less traditional, amorphous modern ballad “Birthday” features a
warm and searching, yet in-the-pocket turn from cornetist Josh Berman. “Shadow”
is the most Ellington-like sounding piece on H/R/C and it’s not just because of the Hodges reference. Roebke’s carefully
orchestrated background harmonies strike me as particularly Ellingtonian:
richly textured, highly personalized by each band members’ individuality, balanced,
and harmonically specific chords employing the occasional nasty “blue note” giving
the sonorities a brief, dissonant buzz. It’s a highlight amidst a set of
nothing but winners.
Another highlight, “Blues,” displays Roebke’s charm and
cunning as a conceptualist. Nearly the first three minutes of this piece are a
free-ish, pulse-less, formless mass slowly accumulating a vague shape as the
horn section begins to play non-idiomatic, oddly non-descript and cascading simple
lines. Then, with no warning, drummer Mike Reed and Roebke hit on a dime and
suddenly driving swing is propelling what was a second ago static and floating.
It’s a stunning effect performed with intensity: adding a wholly unexpected
element to a situation which completely alters the perception of the original previous
element, even though you haven’t changed the original element: just its
context. Like in a film when key information is withheld until late in the game,
changing the meanings of earlier actions or behaviors of certain characters. Or,
even revisionist history. When new information or documents are revealed, the
past is seen in a different light. “Blues” plays like some kind of advanced
game of musical memory.
Also in “Blues,” the melody (or lack thereof) seems to serve
a different function than traditional melody. Its lines seem intended to create
an atmosphere for a second atmosphere to be laid against it. And the effect of
suddenly placing these two against one another is the goal as opposed to having
some sort of memorable or hummable tune over a standard chord progression. This
reminds of something Brad Mehldau said in an interview about not buying into
the status quo jazz concept of melody always needing to be the most important
thing in music: clichéd phrases like “Melody is Boss.” Why? Why not harmony?
Why not [fill in blank]?
“Slow” is the holdout: the lone staunchly non-jazz,
relatively non-idiomatic piece on H/R/C.
There’s something loosely reminiscent of Isotope 217 about this piece; minus
the electricity. It’s an indescribably Chicagoan mysterioso mix: creative/collective
improvisation, melodies that are almost folk-like in their simplicity, and an
accumulating undercurrent of lush, romantic free-floating dread. If Mingus had
lived longer and embraced more so-called “avant-garde” ideas, he’d surely have
created music like “Slow.” There are other sections and themes on H/R/C which land somewhere between art
song, jazz and creative improvisation. They hover in the shadows and defy our
attempts to label. Like apparitions not of this world, they’re impervious to
traditional categorization or descriptive devices, but at the same time can
seem oddly familiar. The “style” is hidden in plain sight; like some sort of
melodic déjà vu. Finding a way to describe this music in writing can be elusive
– like trying to describe color to the blind. Or, God forbid, trying to force a
narrow definition onto the concept of “swing.” The thing about this music’s
(and this scene more broadly) subversion of accepted attitudes and processes is
that, to a certain extent, it also subtly subverts the ability to write about
it. This is both fantastic and frustrating.
What some may cite as lack of polish or discipline in
writing and improvisation on H/R/C (the
same misdirected criticisms have be aimed at many great artists in the past),
is actually an intended immediacy and grit resulting from a certain style of
process. This is a reflection of the scene’s intense commitment to the
embracing of both individualism and the collective. Being open, and prepared,
for both allows for what many refer to as “magic.” This characteristic is
related to the scene’s embracing of both free improvisation and composed
material. The concept of being truly open to both the improvised and the
written, as well as recognizing the necessity of both the individualistic and
the collective, lives well beyond the boundaries of music or art. It recalls American
journalist, socialist, and progressive activist John Reed’s Russian Revolution
era concepts of Party loyalty, individualism, revolution, and dissent as
portrayed in the key scene from Warren Beatty’s Reds. In the quoted exchange below, Reed is discussing Communist
Party procedure and principles with Grigory Zinoviev, chairman of the Communist
International (pardon the relatively
extended quote):
Zinoviev: “I took the
liberty of altering a phrase or two [of your speech].”
Reed: “Yes, well, I
don’t allow people to take those liberties with what I write.”
Zinoviev: “Aren’t you
propagandist enough to utilize what moves people most?”
Reed: “I’m
propagandist enough to utilize the truth.”
Zinoviev: “And who
defines this truth? You or the Party? Is your life dedicated to speaking for
yourself or…”
Reed: “You don’t talk
about what my life is dedicated to.”
Zinoviev: “Your life?
You haven’t resolved what your life is dedicated to. You see yourself as an
artist and at the same time a revolutionary. As a lover to your wife, but also
the spokesperson for the American Party.”
Reed: “Zinoviev, if
you don’t think a man can be an individual and be true to the collective, or
speak for his own country and the International at the same time, or love his
wife and still be faithful to the revolution, then you don’t have a self to
give… When you separate a man from what he loves the most what you do is purge
what’s unique in him, and when you purge what’s unique in him, you purge
dissent… And when you purge dissent, you kill the revolution. Revolution is
dissent. You don’t rewrite what I write!”
If music is the revolution, then the band is the Party and
the individual players are the dissenters. Political and related revolutionary
characteristics and ideas can be realized through music and can be used as
powerful creative tools and inspiration. But at the same time, just because
these ideas or characteristics may be used in one form or another within the
music doesn’t make the resulting music actually “political” or “revolutionary”
in the political sense. Starry-eyed and overly romantic aficionados and artists
alike can confuse the two. Like calling Pink Floyd’s “Money” a jazz tune
because it has a saxophone solo. Or mistaking a photo for the actual object it
represents.
Composer/leader Roebke and each of the players in the octet have
all contributed to an exceptional recording. H/R/C may not necessarily be representative of a Chicago Sound
(whether one even exists is debatable…), but maybe more a Chicago Scene aesthetic,
or ethic. What allows a scene to sustain (let alone begin) for so long and to
so consistently stay ahead of the curve? I don’t know. And honestly, I’m not
certain I care so much. Scientific
American in joint collaboration with Psychology
Today and Downbeat Magazine could
conduct some 5 yearlong, tightly controlled, methodically planned and researched
study to determine the source of such longevity. And maybe they’d come up with
some sort of “logical” explanation that shows how everything works; like the
explanations many put forth to either prove or disprove the existence of God. But
in the end, what sustains a truly creative, forward thinking music scene is
likely the same elusively unnamable thing that makes the music itself beautiful
and powerful. What is this thing called love?
Tracks: High/Red/Center; Slow; Blues; Candy Time; Dirt
Cheap; No Passengers; Double Check; Ten Nights; Ballin’; Shadow; Birthday
(Delmark Records; 2014)
Greg Ward – alto saxophone
Keefe Jackson – tenor saxophone
Jason Stein – bass clarinet
Josh Berman – cornet
Jeb Bishop – trombone
Jason Adasiewicz – vibraphone
Jason Roebke – bass
Purchase here: H/R/C at Delmark Records
Or here: H/R/C at iTunes
