Thursday, December 19, 2013

Paul Bedal, Tim Daisy, & Charlie Kirchen @ Myopic Books, 12/9/2013


Here’s a theory/some information for you to disregard completely[i]: For better or worse, whether standard operating procedure or totally idiosyncratic to my personal process, when I go to see live music and know that I’ll want to (or have to…) write it up later, it’s pretty basic what I do during the gig. I sit there, watch and listen, and occasionally jot down little notes or ideas that the music stirs into my head. Generally I’ll have at least 2-3 ideas or observations that come for each tune. Here’s the catch: these thoughts about the music can behave like a dream upon waking: if they’re not captured while I’m having them, or very soon thereafter, they dissipate quickly with next to no chance of retrieval. Gone like a train. Like the music, certain thoughts and ideas about the connections of things can be very “in the moment.” Of course, not all my observations end up being so interesting, clever, or illuminating. But I’ll generally get enough down to allow myself a good jumpstart on writing something.

So what’s all this bullshit about writing process, ideas, thoughts behaving like dreams, yada yada yada have to do with Paul Bedal, Tim Daisy and Charlie Kirchen? In a way, nothing I guess. But maybe this: I wrote nothing down as I was checking out this trio’s three-tune set. Why? Because all that “writing process” crap I tried to explain involves a certain level/style of thinking. The music these guys were making was wayyyyyyyyy too good for me to interrupt my enjoyment of it by forcibly turning my thought process away from the music to trying to capture and transform my thoughts in the moment to describe that music. Fuck that. Often the music can be really great but there are enough breaks that I can get my thoughts/ideas on paper without much interruption in the enjoyment. But this trio was too good and too consistent. Thinking would’ve gotten too much in the way.                    

The music was all freely improvised and in some key ways outside most folks’ listening comfort zone (pulse/no-pulse, lack of standard melody, structurally loose, etc…). But the fact that the group’s instrumentation was basically that of the most recognized and oft used jazz trio - piano, bass, and drums - and that, for the most part, the instruments stayed relatively close to their regularly scheduled timbres, gave it something of a built-in accessibility. This accessibility in no way should be seen as detracting from the creativity and depth of the improvisations. Apparently you can eat your cake and have it too. Bedal’s warm and inviting electric piano tone was at the heart of making this music immediately digestible while remaining adventurous to anyone within earshot. Kirchen and Daisy followed suit in their ability to combine the eating of things with the having of them. But no, they didn’t drop any musical references to tunes from the band Cake. Though that woulda been fine by me - I love me some Cake…       

This trio made a killer, classic rhythm section; with Bedal functioning as icing on the rhythmic cake (what’s up with all the cake?). Daisy and Kirchen came off as something of a rhythm section within a rhythm; and Daisy seemed to be a rhythm section within a rhythm section within the rhythm section. Daisy’s barrage of non-stop ideas and techniques in no way interrupted what ended up being an unbroken flow through each of the three pieces played in this endlessly enjoyable set. The ideas built on one another like findings through scientific method. And even when Daisy is playing free, there seem to be hidden rhythms present, which one can only feel and never count; like secrets which can only be told through the subconscious. Kirchen regularly seemed privy to the inner workings of Daisy’s secret method (maybe I should’ve called it his secret Cake recipe?). In addition to Kirchen’s clear and intricate bass lines, his focus and attention to his fellow players was empathetic and razor sharp: See his entrance with Daisy after the drummer’s short introductory solo on Piece 2 below. It may seem like it was outta nowhere on a dime, but he was simply paying close attention to his band mate, then trusting and acting on his own musical instincts; which can be harder than it sounds.     

Particularly impressive is that the current premise of the ongoing Myopic Books Experimental Music Series is “no bands;” 1st time encounters only, please. Yes, this was Bedal, Daisy, and Kirchen’s first time playing together and their music was completely improvised. But there are other groups who completely (or near completely) improvise their music that play together for years, yet don’t come off as cohesive and fluid as this first time meeting. It was like making a perfect Flourless Chocolate Cake on your first try, and eating it too…



[i] From Philip Seymour Hoffman as the great Lester Bangs in Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous.


Thursday, December 12, 2013

Paul Mitchell Trio @ Myopic Books, 11/25/2013


“That is not what I expected,” remarked a previous Myopic Books music series participant after the set ended. I had the same reaction. Saxophonist Danny Kamins, guitarist Alex Cohen and drummer Ryan Packard called their trio Paul Mitchell. Yep – Paul Mitchell. You know, that hair products guy. Maybe it’s a coincidence. Or maybe not: That name seems more suited to an ironic punk band than an improvised/creative free jazz group. And much of Paul Mitchell’s vibe came closer to late 60s period, pure psychedelic freak-out “rock” jams than most relatively developed free jazz; though I sensed the intent was to be seen as closer to the latter. Pure musical freak-outs are always welcome in my book (well, almost always), so that’s not necessarily either good or bad. Unexpected is all.

The beginning of Paul Mitchell’s last piece felt a bit more like they were following the music instead of leading or forcing (not that that always has to be the goal…). It’s, of course, always originating in the players. But sometimes players are aware, sensitive, and practiced enough to create a feeling of near total organicness; an illusion of “channeling.” This illusion was not so present here. Still, I salute Paul Mitchell. Any person/group that has the stones to name their band after an icon of hair care/styling products deserves some props.

What they may have lacked in technique or subtlety, Paul Mitchell made up for in enthusiasm and energy – in spades; Particularly drummer Ryan Packard. In a Celebrity Drummer Deathmatch, Packard would easily TKO Muppet drummer Animal early in the first round; or any other drummer for that matter. Well… maybe not Keith Moon.

But whether or not pure energy and enthusiasm make up for a perceived lack of technique, cohesiveness, or subtlety will depend on the individual. And even then, the listener’s perception in this regard may vary depending upon that individual’s particular mood on that particular evening. Endless variables. But I’ll leave that type of “music appreciation and ideation as effected by subjects’ mood variants, coupled with personal background/history analysis” research to the pharmaceutical industry; or maybe some starry-eyed, hippie wannabe psychology grad student. Maybe Big Pharma – based on extensively documented, scientific journal confirmed, double-blind 3-yearlong studies - will eventually market a new line of drugs that will allow the “patient” to better enjoy and “understand” musical styles heretofore beyond their ability to appreciate. I can see it now: It will be found that stimulation of the blah blah enzyme in the blah blah portion of the anterior blah blah section of the posterior lobe will be discovered to trigger its synaptic serotonin bridge, which has been found to become nominally active whenever a subject listens to more than 3 minutes of late period Coltrane. Relatedly, pharmaceutical researchers will discover that their newly synthesized chemical compound, Stylopraxanol, has been shown to be effective in triggering the posterior lobe’s synaptic serotonin bridge function (now referred to as the “Coltrane Bridge”) in 50.1% of the study’s subjects. Stylopraxanol and its variants will be marketed toward specific stylistic demographics, heightening the user’s pleasure while concurrently broadening his/her “musical cultural affinity”: A black pill for blues/jazz, a white pill for heavy metal/bubblegum pop, a brown pill for Indian/Middle Eastern musics, etc… The possibilities are limitless. I smell fat year-end bonuses and lawsuits! Congress will pass legislation banning the marketing of Bristol-Myers Squibb’s Hip-Hop/Rap pill for “public security” reasons. This legislation will be buoyed by Tipper Gore’s independent study group’s findings showing that the marketing of such a pill could increase the level of political/social unrest by 3%; upping the trace amount of true revolutionary impulse throughout the population to an “unhealthy” level. Historically, FDA regulations will be narrowly written and strictly enforced on this issue. Additionally, these new regulations will make the Debbie Boone pill (clear gel in its meds script form) a required ingredient in all breakfast cereals in its undetectable form, and will appear on the side of the box listed with the other ingredients as “artificial and natural flavors.”


Thursday, November 28, 2013

Hearts & Minds @ Uncanned Music Over/Out Series, Bar DeVille: 11/19/2013


Apparently the band name Hearts & Minds is not necessarily a reference to the Oscar winning Vietnam War documentary. And I forgot to ask the group members (bass clarinetist Jason Stein, keyboardist Paul Giallorenzo, and drummer Frank Rosaly) what their name might be referencing. A safe, if somewhat reductionist, guess might be that it refers loosely to the combination of freely improvised periods (“heart?”) vs. the written/composed sections (“mind?”) that make up the group’s repertoire. Considering their general intensity and occasional ferocity, the group could almost as appropriately be named Blood & Guts. Almost…

Giallorenzo and Stein wrote all the tunes played last Tuesday (11/19). As challenging and inaccessible as the band’s improvisations can get, the written material tends toward the groovy. Quirky (catchy even) melodies that approach time and space in a playful way are written into relatively compact forms. The more challenging, ornate stuff comes through the band’s improvisations. Although it often might seem like the groove is thrown out with the bathwater, it’s often still there amidst the chaos; obliquely implied, deeply camouflaged – an undetected gravitational pull keeping the planet just within orbit. As a comparison, my best shot would be Medeski, Martin, & Wood meets The Clusone Trio meets John Zorn's Masada. And just like the three aforementioned groups, Hearts & Minds never comes close to strictly derivative.

Bass clarinet, relatively unusual to see at gigs, is one of my favorite sounds. So I was near ecstatic to hear Stein play it all night. That deep and rich reedy buzz is one of the most distinctive in all instrumentdom. Yeah, that’s right: instrumentdom. But from what I heard on this night, Stein is a very textural, searching player concerned more with non-traditional techniques and energy than the expected traditional sounds from the clarinet. Benny Goodman he is not - and thankfully so. Stein’s long split tones can evoke Tuvan throat singers guttural trance states. There were also occasional clarinet versions of what approached Coltrane’s “sheets of sound” where flurries of notes, honks and overtones mixed together flying off the instrument into the cool backroom air. In a trio who’s instrumentation might lead one to assume that the clarinetist would be ever the melodist, Stein broke with convention. He just said no. He is the Nancy Reagan of clarinetists. What?

While the “weight,” or roll, of all three musicians was equal to the music, keyboardist Giallorenzo seemed to play a somewhat more supportive character on Tuesday; but in the way a bassist’s role is felt as supportive in most traditional jazz contexts, when it is often, in fact, more important than it is perceived to be by the listener/audience. Also adding to this “supportive” nature was the subtle tonal palette of his instruments. Warm, deep toned left hand bass lines from Giallorenzo’s Moog formed the initial drive and pulse for much of the music. And his other keyboard (Wurlitzer/Rhodes type sounds from…?) produced mainly smooth, warm tones as well; never anything too bright and often functioning more as a colorist. Nevertheless, his function in the collective improvisations was deceptively strong and his more subtle tone in this context played an effective balance to the other two more brightly attacked contributions.

Hearts and Minds’s drummer is the wild card – the “unstable molecule” (yes, Chicago music scene pun/reference intended): Yet a paradoxically controlled, selective and intended instability; that swinging, driving clatter coming from all directions, often with no discernable starting point; this undefined, non-localized, deconstructionist/reconstructionist force moving ever forward searching for more, more. What is this force called? Yeah, it’s Rosaly. At times, there’s so much happening in his drumming that you sense an oncoming system overload; yet it never arrives. Some fitting, idiosyncratic musical balance is always achieved. It just works itself out. Like in some of Cecil Taylor’s solo piano work when it’s hard to believe all that music is coming from one person. But it is. 

Rosaly is occasionally like a dancer following after the cues from his body. His drums happen to be there and function as extensions of his limbs and movements. Part of what creates this dance is his searching through his trove of instruments, in media res, for the right sound at the right moment. Occasionally he used two sticks in one hand; a technique I had never seen used on a drum kit before - only on vibes or marimba. It reminded me of when I was a line cook and a chef taught me to use two knives in one hand for prep. I could chop twice as much. It was a very smart, simple solution: Two knives, more food. Two sticks, more sound. Rosaly is simply smart. He just gets more done that way. But it’s a unique technique that undoubtedly took a good deal of practice before being able to incorporate into performance. Cool stuff… 

As creative, reactive, and free as Rosaly’s playing can get, he can also lay down a groove that lifts the room and simply makes the space feel good. But more than half of the evening’s music was quite “outside.” His approach in these more unpredictable contexts often seems to create an abstracted shadow of a concrete object. Or he can seem to be using a sort of Completion Principal or “Beat” style “cut-up” poetry technique: like writing sentences/paragraphs, then taking out randm words or ltters. Lke   ths mayb  o     lie his. Bt ith     msic   and with ore  textcon than this   ampleex is gving.

It’s not unusual for groups who play free to move back and forth between pulse/groove and rubato/free. The trick is making those moves feel organic or somehow “right.” Hearts and Mind’s transitions from one to the other is crazy seamless and borders on telepathic. Some of their more extended, free-ish sections were like intentional studies in awkward. When these collectively awkward sections gradually worked their way back to a groove, it was like watching, in slow motion reverse, a car speeding down the highway getting into an accident where it flips and rolls and rolls and flips for a long stretch. Like a slow motion falling up. Together, when they’re really getting to it, Hearts and Minds are conjurers. It’s semi-scripted magic.

Excerpts:

Monday, November 18, 2013

Charles Rumback, Nick Mazzarella, Tomeka Reid, & Jeff Swanson: Uncanned Music Over/Out Series @ Bar DeVille, Nov, 12th, 2013


Nov. 12th, 2013: The first real cold snap of the fall/winter season in town… and Bar Deville’s heat goes out. The great 2013 Bar DeVille chillout! The musicians – Charles Rumback, Nick Mazzarella, Tomeka Reid, and Jeff Swanson - weathered the conditions with hats, candles, and other assorted extended, extra-musical warming techniques. As in the previous week, before the live music an appropriate vibe was set for the space from the DJ booth on stage. This Tuesday it was Joe Darling, one of the organizers of the series, spinning the swinging, spiritual big band sounds of Detroit Jazz Composers LTD and other relatively under the radar jazz vinyl.

The band’s first piece set the general tone and trajectory: a warm, slow-ish rubato, floating guitar/sax unison melody lines over sparse and abstract modern harmonies, cymbal washes and mallet rolls, and a contemplatively searching 5-6 minutes of composed material before the 1st solo of the night. I was immediately reminded of some of my very favorite music: Paul Motian Trio/Electric Bebop Band, Chris Cheek, Bill McHenry. It was like being transported to the Village Vanguard for the evening. Most of the music in the first set was written by drummer (and bandleader for the evening) Rumback. His melodies and forms combine more modern techniques with the occasional folksy, almost hymn-like simplicity. And his playing combines staccato attacks with relaxed round flourishes. He’s one of those drummers who creates warm, yet quite ornate and reactive backdrops for soloists to play over in which virtually anything played against them sounds “right.”

Altoist Mazzarella, the only member of the quartet to brave the cool, unheated indoor evening without a hat for warmth, was perhaps the chief interpreter of the tunes’ melodies and forms. Quicksilver in his phrasing and overall approach, his command of the instrument and the language apparently has no weak spots. In the 2nd tune of the 2nd set, he really began pushing/straining against the harmony and structure of the tune. Mazzarella’s stretching in and out of the piece’s harmony and form somehow illuminated the tune; as if outlining it with some musical version of creating a photographic negative. Or as placing a deep red next to a deep blue somehow makes both colors pop more through the contrast.

Guitarist Jeff Swanson and cellist Tomeka Reid created a modern, mini string section. Occasionally locking in together to play unison lines, they formed a muscular bond. Reid mainly projected a warm, punchy sound from the cello, occasionally bowing and creating firm ground for the tunes. In one part of a particularly creative and fiery solo, she seemed to throw off a barrage of bowed artificial harmonics combining in the air simultaneously conjuring a sort of small, string/bow-induced electrical storm cutting through and hovering over the tune. Exciting stuff. Swanson stood out on his own composition, not least due to the writing itself. His sense of harmony (consonant and dissonant) and pensively mindful right hand picking technique on the same tune was another highlight of the set.

At times, the group would ride the cusp between playing the form and playing free. But there was always some anchor disallowing such a disengagement: time/pulse, harmony, etc…  You could feel the strain but there was never a complete break away. And as Bob Avakian or Sunsara Taylor might say, “You cannot break all the chains, except one.” But playing totally free was not the intent here, nor should it have been. The chains in this group’s music do not shackle, but form an unbroken circle.

Here are some excerpts from the night's music:

Friday, November 15, 2013

Brian Labycz & Colin Peters @ Myopic Books Experimental Music Series: Nov. 11th, 2013


A few days ago I showed a co-worker some of my footage from a previous Myopic Books Experimental Music Series performance. His reaction, which undoubtedly would’ve been the same for this week’s Labycz/Peters performance, is exactly how I imagine the uninitiated majority’s initial response to this sort of performance: “What’s going on? Have they started yet? Wait… I don’t understand. Is this music?”

Plumbing the depths of improvised music’s subconscious this week were organizer Brian Labycz on his modular synthesizer and Colin Peters on assorted electronics and Casio. Peters’s small sized Casio keyboard, beautifully childlike old school sounds and all, was used to create some very simple intervals and harmonies that looped and looped. These were used as backdrop landscapes for his countless effected and distorted sounds/noises (pedals, mics, & drum machine in tow…) and Labycz’s occasional busy outbursts, but mainly cool modular synthesizer contemplations through most of their continuous hour-long set. It made for an effective dualism of man and machine; sometimes coming off as more man vs. machine - at times feeling like an extended struggle. While listening, I recalled Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, imagining that this music was a lost section of the film’s original score used for the scene where supercomputer Hal 9000 is dismantled by Dave: “Just what do you think you’re doing, Dave? Dave, stop. Stop, will you? Stop, Dave. Will you stop, Dave?” All the sputtering, whirring clatter of the ramping ups and winding downs of Hal’s “mind” coming to an end. The piece reached a sort of apotheosis of horrors and meditations about three quarters through the hour; then trailed off somewhat by rote.

While sonically the most unconventional Monday night I’ve attended so far, to my ear there was still a detectable conversation occurring. Though, truth be told, sometimes it’s hard to know whether the logic of the conversation is internal to the performance or an intellectual construct from without. In any case, this show wouldn’t disappoint anyone in search of aural adventure and weirdness, or some kind of post-art, meta-performance anti-art.

That being said, this type of sound/noise construction is, of course, not at all unprecedented. Even in the Pop music world, relatively extreme experimentation with what are mainly considered to be “non-musical” sounds/forms have been dealt with on occasion: consider Pink Floyd’s “Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict” or The Beatles’ (John Lennon’s?) “Revolution 9” for instance. However, if we’re to believe much of the written and aural history, Floyd and Lennon were on some pretty heavy acid. The trip at Myopic was different. Sure, it was a “long strange trip.” But from what I could glean, Labycz and Peters simply seem to love all manner of sounds and a strong cup of coffee.

   

Friday, November 8, 2013

Justin Walter @ Bar DeVille; Uncanned Music Series


Justin Walter at Bar DeVille last Tuesday, November 5th, 2013: Awesome! Two thumbs up! 4 ½ stars! Fresh Tomato! And I will share more deep thoughts on his music/performance shortly. But first things first: I don’t get out much. Not for the last… ohhhhh… 15 years or so. For a few years after college I still had what people would call “a life.” Since then, I seem to have settled into what I’ll generously refer to as my nerdy/stay-at-home period. IE: I don’t get around much anymore; pretty much never. This, of course, includes bars. So when I walked into Bar DeVille this past Tuesday to continue my new search for good music to experience in Chicago, I feared that I would feel awkward. Out of place. Old and in the way… So I walked in through the front door of the joint and what happens? The dude sitting at the end of the bar nearest the entrance looks me over and says, “ID please.” Cue the sun.

Ok… I’m not saying the guy actually thought I was under age. It’s 27 years past my bedtime for cryin’ out loud and I’m sure he knew the score. But he played it straight when he easily could’ve let me walk by knowing that I was safely “of age.” This simple act of being carded put me immediately at ease, had me laughing out loud, and made me feel like I was in the right place at the right time doing the right thing. And for that, Bar DeVille is currently my favorite bar of all-time. But maybe I should just get out more.    

More importantly, seeing and hearing Justin Walter’s performance was like watching worlds collide; a thoughtful and combustible synergy of old school and new school; analog boy in a digital world; Graham Bell meets the iPhone. Walter is a kind of composite DJ/trumpeter where there’s a seemingly organic mix between 1) being an actual instrumentalist in the traditional sense: playing an instrument yourself and generating melodies and sounds live through that instrument; and 2) using computers/machines to trigger and mix pre-recorded sounds, tunes, beats, loops, etc… (which is, of course, now an art unto itself…). There’s a balance in his music where these two elements have become equal partners; a marriage of Machine and Man.

Walter’s main axe is the Electronic Valve Instrument. It’s a handheld synthesizer developed in the 1970s that has three valve triggers like a trumpet and some sort of round pitch controller at its “bell.” If it’s to be compared to the sound of a brass instrument, it was closer to the richer, more suffusive sound of the French horn. In Walter’s hands, it mostly emitted warm, round tones bringing to my mind some of the purer tones from, say, the classic Moog synthesizer or some Weather Report period Joe Zawinul. Treated occasionally with a light distortion or gain, it also had a slight crunchy edge when the vibe was needed.

Set up as a backdrop to play improvisations against, Walter’s 1st loop of the evening was an extended, repeating I-IV landscape. A meditative, monastic never-ending plagal cadence, this space was set up for Walter to explore and ruminate over. Like virtually all the pieces, it was simple and in the pocket harmonically, but conceptually rich and soulfully performed. Awash in deep electronic bass tones and synthy, punchy electronic sounds, Walter’s deliberate, creative and mindful delivery made for some of the most inviting music in this writer’s recent memory. That room on that night was the place to be. Often (always?) rather cinematic or theatrical, Walter consistently conjured moody, languorous landscapes in the listener’s mind, all tending toward a subdued and darker low-range end of the spectrum: music to accompany an underwater, nighttime planetarium show.

From electro afro-pop grooves, to static ambient soundscapes, there’s no shortage of hybrid terms one could come up with to describe Walter’s music: Ambient EDM; Minimalist chill out improv; Creative New Age. Aphex Twin as an improvising, instrumentalist loop artist. Occasionally, there were so many sounds/loops happening that it was difficult to decipher what Walter was doing in real time, and the music would subtly blur into some type of gorgeous, post-ambient, improvised noisescape.  

Performing on a slightly risen floor from behind a table where most of his electronics and assorted devices (multiple stompbox-like devices, tablet/iPad looking thingies, multiple flashing lights and screens w/ cryptic programs, etc…) were shielded from view, Walter, often wearing headphones to mix himself in media res, appeared as some sort of half-exposed, musician Wizard of Oz. It reminded me of how the great Steve Morse once described why people enjoy watching guitar players. He explained that people innately want to know how things work; how things are done. When people watch a guitarist, they can see the fingers pressing down on the strings. They can physically see when a string is bent or when a finger creates vibrato and it’s easy to associate what you’re seeing with the sound you’re hearing. It just makes sense. And I agree with Morse. But Walter is fascinating to watch for just the opposite reason. At Bar DeVille, he was like The Wizard partially behind the scrim. Half the time you had no idea how he was making everything work. And if you’re willing to let go, the mystery of his production only adds to the beauty.

Some excerpts from the performance: 



"Dream Weaving" from Walter's Lullabies & Nightmares, out on kranky.

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

More from the Myopic Books Experimental Music Series: Josh Berman, Brian Labycz, & Julian Kirshner - Oct. 28th, 2013


Q: You wanna play a little more?
Q: …One piece or two?
A: Whatever (inaudible) wanna do.

Similar to last week’s excellent set at Myopic Books’ Experimental Music Series (see below), this week’s trio set a course for the unknown. Josh Berman (cornet), Brian Labycz (modular synthesizer), & Julian Kirshner (percussion) dove headfirst into uncharted, improvised waters searching for sound and music. The film freak in me sees this performance practice as music’s counterpart to Darryl Zero’s (Bill Pullman in Zero Effect) philosophy on private investigation: “A few words on looking for things: When you go looking for something specific, your chances of finding it are very bad. Because of all the things in the world, you’re only looking for one of them. When you go looking for anything at all, your chances of finding it are very good. Because of all the things in the world, you’re sure to find some of them.”  

The trio was certainly a collective, but to this observer Berman felt, for most of the set, somewhat “out front.” Maybe this is partially due to the nature of the particular combination of instruments; or maybe it just happened to be the dynamic this particular night. There can be reasons (sometimes undetectable to the outside observer), but in situations like these this intermittent hierarchy is simply a default of chance. Maybe, intrinsically, there’s a different dynamic to a trio than within a duo (last week’s duo seeming a bit more balanced). Is it harder to keep three things in balance than it is two? Not that an equal balance is always, or should necessarily be, a goal. On the contrary, drama is often found in the tipping of balances; The way certain things open up in film and the theater when three characters create a triangle; like Anton Chekhov’s The Three Sisters or Woody Allen’s Hannah and Her Sisters.

From fits and starts to more fluid sections, the musicians made nearly no pretense to old school conventions. Berman, employing a wide range of tone and technique, occasionally referenced more traditional phrases or spurts of bebop-tinged licks. But the majority of the music making headed directly into the non-idiomatic deep end. Berman’s horn careened from full, round-toned majesty to complete arrhythmic/atonal growling and popping; often creating an effect that sounded like wind scraping against itself.     

The music moved back and forth from events that sounded more “chaotic” to moments that made more collective “sense.” Density, speed, color, energy, volume, and texture seem to be the concerns of this music – as opposed to more traditional components like harmony, rhythm, or form. However, harmony, rhythm and form contain within them elements of these other concerns and can be used to contribute to the building of these other landscapes. It’s as if this music (or these musicians) is stripping away extraneous elements in trying to get at the most elemental aspects of music; or even to a more elemental idea outside of music through musical means. A kind of meta-music.

Labycz’s modular synthesizer was a revelation to this writer/listener. I’d heard the term but had never seen anyone perform on one. To look at, it recalls an old school telephone switchboard. The sounds Labycz coaxed out of it through his Roland keyboard amp ranged from traditional synth sounds a la Moog, to all manner of electronic blips and gurgles. I expected to see a keyboard behind his synth’s case when I peeked at it after the set, but the trigger mechanism was a kind of smallish, elongated rod with a solid plastic strip running its length one presses to activate (see end of video below to get a better idea). Possibly akin to a fretless neck versus fretted. One could feel the restraint Labycz employed from the occasional volume audibly being repressed from his Roland amp. For most of the set he seemed to intentionally play a more supportive, underscoring role within the trio. Reacting in a supportive manner in this fully open context is not an easy task. Labycz created large, unique canvases for the group to play against. Seeing Labycz’s instrument after the set, I immediately knew asking questions about its hows/whats would be fruitless unless I had more time to process and probe his answers. But it seemed he enjoys talking about this instrument. The amazing duality of his modular synth is that it’s so electronically complex while having the capacity to produce a sound that is so pure.

Completing the trio is drummer Kirshner. Similarly to Labycz, he also seemed to focus mainly on creating platforms for others to leap from or to be supported by during this set. Kirshner created a particularly effective sonic backdrop by placing cymbals/gongs on his low tom and whirling them about on its surface with a mallet. This created a rather full and unusual effect to be placed under and against other sounds.             

Sets of music like Berman/Labycz/Kirshner’s, and the previous week’s Jackson and Fandino, have me looking forward to many more nights of intriguing, experimental music at Myopic Books. This evening’s music was so engrossing I almost forgot I was missing the beginning of Game 5 of the World Series… :)



Watch an excerpt from the first set:

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Keefe Jackson & Daniel Fandino @ Myopic Books, 10/21/2013



Q: One set or two?
A: No preference.

This brief Q&A between Keefe Jackson and Daniel Fandino, just a moment before they started their set last Monday evening, could serve as an analogy to the openness and immediacy of the creative improvised music community. As situations and questions arise, preferences and solutions become apparent; then choices are made in the moment. If this sounds musically vague or evasive, it’s only because these words are separate from the actual event. At Myopic Books, Jackson and Fandino made very concrete choices to the specific musical questions and circumstances they were dealing with that evening.           

Many creative musicians are concerned with extending (and personalizing) the capabilities of their particular instruments beyond the traditional uses. This often comes in the form of electronic manipulation of the sounds they produce, or by simply coming at the instrument in a radically, physically different way. This practice is sometimes referred to as “extended techniques.” Both Jackson and Fandino made extensive use of extended techniques at Myopic; raking a mouthpiece cap over the keywork of the bass clarinet, using an inner thigh or sneaker as a mute for the horn, bouncing the guitar facedown on your leg, placing objects through the strings of the guitar to produce new tones a la John Cage-like prepared piano, etc etc etc… For the inexperienced or the purist, these types of manipulations can seem absurd or showy. But for the more open-minded, or those who have spent decades becoming overly familiar with and accustomed to traditional approaches, any attempt to find a new way can feel refreshing and worthwhile. Jackson and Fandino’s set was nothing if not refreshing and worthwhile.

The forty-minute set at Myopic Books, consisting of five separate pieces, was entirely improvised and consisted of a relatively even mix of the extended techniques previously mentioned and more traditional sounds from the instruments (tenor saxophone, bass clarinet, electric guitar). However, all traditional rhythms and forms were near uniformly eschewed. Forms were dictated by the close communication between the two players and consistently flowed back and forth between louder dense/dissonant interplay, and more delicate, harmonically consonant events. Fandino’s chordal approach reveals a deep understanding of modern harmony and the mechanics of the guitar. His occasional, and intentional, use of the lower register of the guitar to create cloudy and obscured harmonic effects was particularly intriguing. And Jackson’s melodic responses to these unusual and harmonically idiosyncratic choices swiftly illuminated them, expanding their conception. Like a droplet of water hitting a crinkled up straw wrapper.

Throughout the improvised set, many moments in the music seemed composed. For me, this is always the most exciting thing to witness in a purely improvised setting. These moments might not always be the most musically intricate or original, but when players are listening and reacting deeply enough that they can, in a sense, see the future together, setting a map in medias res to arrive together on time, I can’t help but feel energized. Often, these moments feel not part of any planning, or maybe an unconscious planning. The players out of the blue have a similar trajectory; then on a dime simply… arrive. Always a good feeling - simply arriving.  

Throughout the set, it felt as though Jackson and Fandino kept getting closer and closer to a mutual intention. Both players have obviously been influenced and inspired by avant-garde players of the past few decades, as well as having internalized more traditional capabilities. Fandino brought to mind a cross between Derek Bailey and Ben Monder. Imagine Monder adhering to no convention, or Bailey adhering to some. Fandino’s classical right hand fingering technique being briefly employed, in a musical situation in which it is not usually found, also brought to mind some of Monder’s playing.

Some of Jackson’s earlier recordings (Just Like This, Ready Everyday…) reveal a different side to the one presented at Myopic Books; one which is more compositionally oriented. Those recordings show an interest, and keen ability, in playing within somewhat more traditional forms, rhythms and harmonies; albeit still far removed from anything considered mainstream to the wider music world. Jackson is obviously something of a stylistic polymath and was concentrating more on his strictly experimental playing at Myopic.

It’s always a pleasure knowing there are players out there who are willing and able to go the extra mile. Jackson and Fandino, and the other players involved in Myopic Books’ Improvised/Experimental Music Series, are a goldmine.


        

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Exploding Star Orchestra @ Chicago Cultural Center, October 18th, 6:30PM: Leader/Trumpeter Rob Mazurek, flutist Nicole Mitchell, guitarist Jeff Parker, saxophonist/clarinetist Matt Bauder, pianist Angelica Sanchez, bassist Matthew Lux, drummer John Herndon, and vocalist Damon Locks.



Rare is the artistic outfit that can title their pieces “63 Moons of Jupiter” and “Galactic Parables,” only to compose and perform them with such finesse, vision, and abandon as to make those same titles seem tame and unimaginative in comparison to their sonic realization. The Exploding Star Orchestra (ESO) is such an outfit. “Moons” and “Parables,” the latter being a U.S. premiere performance, were linked together for an epic hour and forty minute-long suite at the Chicago Cultural Center last night.

Is the ESO a “jazz orchestra?” I’d say sure, definitely. But most folks likely associate that term with groups like the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra, Maria Schneider’s Orchestra, or even old dance bands like Benny Goodman. The ESO is an entirely different beast, closer in spirit and sound to Sun Ra than Duke Ellington. Founded by Rob Mazurek in 2005, this group (and Mazurek himself) is one of the most idiosyncratic, progressive, and creatively satisfying acts currently playing. As close as I can figure it, their aesthetic is a mix of Sun Ra, Charles Mingus, and a generalized 60s-70s post Coleman energy music. But to my mind, Mingus would be the closest point of reference in terms of overall concept (if not in sound), even though he had some choice words for the avant-garde on occasion. Like Mingus, Mazurek and the ESO use long form compositions to weave back and forth between intricately written sections and collective improvisations. And as Mingus directed his groups, cueing them from section to section, Mazurek does the same; whether it’s with a simple head nod to start a line, a conductor’s wave to signal the entire band into a new section, or walking across the stage to begin some background lines with another band member. And as Mingus’s early study of European classical music seeped into his music, Mazurek and the ESO seem to have a connection to this “legit” world as well; While the music contains plenty of strong jazz rhythms and gestures, many of the harmonies/lines and forms stray far away from the regular jazz tropes, forming a world apart. As a last similarity to Mingus, the ESO is also incorporating spoken word into their long forms: a near extreme rarity in jazz. 

From the first downbeat, the “Moons/Parables” suite was dense, angular, and swirling. However, even with the music being harmonically dissonant at times and often rhythmically slippery, the players tone and feel give even the novice listener something to hold onto. As concerned as Mazurek is with composition/form/aesthetics/etc…, he still knows that the most important thing in his playing is the instrument’s sound. Depending on the his intent, his horn can sound bright, suffusive, electronically treated, acoustic, etc… And his intuition is honed to a special level. He’s acquired the knack to lead and follow simultaneously; an especially valuable trait in modern creative improvisation. This trait is related to his seeming ability to be wholly original when reacting to his surroundings, and to seem to be reacting to his surroundings when creating something out of thin air. Or as Steve Winwood once described Hendrix, “He’s grooving on a whole other plane.”

Maybe the most unusual, or unexpected, aspect of the performance was the incorporation of spoken word from the ever-in-motion vocalist Damon Locks (he danced near continuously on stage when not speaking into his mic). At key section changes, Locks would enter with tales of “galactic parable #72,” or an interesting riff on Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier (if I heard it right). At times, Locks words were treated electronically and manipulated to become another part of the collective improv with other band members. It gave the performance a certain “theatricality” most music performances don’t have and Locks got it just right.

Everyone on the stage was essential, but other standouts were the inimitable Chicago rhythm section of Matthew Lux and John Herndon. The last time I was lucky enough to see them perform together live was back in 2000 in Phoenix, AZ with the brilliant post-rock band Isotope 217. So solid and so loose. They sounded perfect back then and yet they still have come so far. Herndon particularly lifted the band with his propulsive energy. The drummer got the least amount of rest in last night’s situation and he was putting it out heavy for about 100 minute straight. That’s a workout. Flutist Nicole Mitchell and guitarist Jeff Parker were the other two standout soloists and front line melodists. Both switch back and forth between sharper attacks and more mellow tones from their instruments depending on the context, and both are intent listeners when improvising, always reacting. Parker, to me, is a particularly interesting and original player. In his soloing, he often seems to have a hard-won, intentionally hesitant feel. It’s different from laying behind the beat. It comes off as a kind of innocence; a kind of perfected groping. It’s a kind of Thelonious Monk “ugly beauty.” Parker’s playing is a beautiful thing.

Mazurek and the ESO issue big challenges to themselves, and they challenge their audiences as well. Pushing boundaries in art can be a slippery slope. But the ESO, Rob Mazurek, and many other musicians here in Chicago are pushing with a purpose. They’re not pushing to pose. And if this all sounds too impossibly hip, or sophisticated, or… something, I still imagine (hope?) that Mazurek and company have a similar attitude toward their art/audience that Bill Murray’s character in Tootsie has. How does one describe that attitude? Well, there’s no describing Bill Murray. It is what it is.

     

Monday, October 7, 2013

Marisa Anderson in-store performance @ Reckless Records


She’s been referred to as “brilliant” (Pitchfork), with similar praises coming from other respected outlets like Time Out London and Wire Magazine. I don’t have enough exposure to her music to heap more superlatives onto the fire, but I can say I was very happy to be one of the few in attendance at her Reckless Records (N. Broadway branch) in-store performance this past Friday. Marisa Anderson gave off a genuine vibe of love and attachment to her guitar, the music she brings out of it, and its attendant musical history; mainly early 20th century American country/gospel and blues guitar styles, and to a somewhat lesser extent some current blues-rock music in terms of tone.

Imagine a slightly more studied Jack White if he played solo and all instrumental. Some of Anderson’s playing also reminded me of a lesser-known, old-school country/gospel/blues influenced contemporary: Scott H. Biram. But while Biram plays up the image of the fuck-it, loose cannon blues renegade screamer, Anderson’s presence and personality at this in-store performance was a bit soft-spoken; somewhat shy even. However, her low key, in-between song banter played the foil to her guitar playing which often had quite an edge - distorted, sharp, bluesy, loud-ish, occasionally sloppy and out of tune, and undoubtedly intentionally so. Speak softly and carry a big guitar. But just as often her playing matched her inward looking, pensive vibe. This was particularly so on her piece named after the place her father's family is from, “Koufax,” and her medley of gospel tunes. Her somewhat brief references to the classic “I’ll Fly Away” were particularly moving, respectful, and authentic – whatever “authentic” may mean in a musical context. “Authentic is as authentic does,” Gump might observe.

Reckless Records’ hosts (killer record store!) and Anderson herself were way friendly and had no qualms with me shooting some video of the performance. She followed her in-store performance later that evening with an opening set at the venerable club The Hideout. I hope to be “reporting” from there quite a bit. Take a look/listen to some excerpts of Anderson from the N. Broadway, Chicago record store below. Excellent guitar playing: