DarkTreeRecords

Composer-pianist Tapscott was stoking the L.A. fires of the African diaspora so high in the 1970s that, according to Steven Isoardi’s comprehensive notes, his tapes got incinerated the day after a recording session, and many of his Arkestra were rendered homeless when their communal house burned down. But fate didn’t prevent Tapscott from documenting a vital 1976 studio performance of his large ensemble showcasing many young musicians and ambitious works by Tapscott, Guido Sinclair and Fuasi Abdul-Khaliq. Passionate solos, strong rhythms and healing vibes abound, and thanks to engineer Wayne Peet’s miraculous restoration, you can really feel the heat.

Rare dans les productions récentes, trop même si l’on excepte sa participation au disque de Pascal Niggenkemper, c’est une fête que de retrouver Sylvain Kassap dans un très joli numéro de duettiste avec le contrebassiste Benjamin Duboc. Funambule, le mot est bien choisi, il correspond aux deux artistes et à la capacité de se suspendre à plusieurs mètres au-dessus du précipice. C’est le principe de la musique improvisée, et nous sommes face à des acrobates en la matière. Se plonger dans « Le Ventre de Socrate », c’est s’en convaincre : la contrebasse de Duboc saute de claque en claque sur le bois comme autant d’entrechats. Le fil tremble, il ne cède pas. La clarinette basse se faufile, fait fi d’une certaine dramaturgie induite par l’archet de la contrebasse et se révèle d’une grande agilité.

Il y a entre les deux une confiance commune, naturelle, c’est la raison d’être de ces duos lancés à l’aventure. Pas de recherche de vitesse, de course, de tangage. Au contraire, la concorde domine, coûte que coûte. Dans « La Métamorphose de la poussière », remarquable et court exercice de déambulation en tapinois où Duboc, fil d’Ariane de ce disque, emmène Kassap aux confins du souffle, il n’y a pas de volonté d’être périlleux ou de mettre en danger. Le fil et le balancier, à la rigueur la roue d’un monocycle qui file… Mais le résultat est davantage brillant que clinique. Tout coule de source, et nous sommes avec eux à l’aplomb de l’horizon. Sans risque de chute.

C’est sur Dark Tree que paraît le Funambule . Naturellement, est-on tenté de dire. Depuis longtemps le label est fidèle à Benjamin Duboc, et ce disque enregistré au Comptoir de Fontenay-sous-Bois au tout début de l’année 2019 est tout entier sur son terrain, fût-il dans les nuages. Rangé sous une citation de Jean Genet en guise de pochette, Le Funambulea la légèreté d’une paillette d’or, mais n’en n’a en aucun cas la futilité ; à peine en saisit-on une certaine fugacité, dans le babil soudain du contrebassiste sur « Vers le Bleu ». Mais tout ceci n’est qu’un des ingrédients de la belle poésie qui se dégage et laisse l’auditeur rêveur. C’est le but affiché des numéros d’acrobates de ces deux improvisateurs.

Ces murmures, ces susurrements qui ne semblent vouloir se séparer, ce sont bien ceux de la clarinette de Sylvain Kassap et de de la contrebasse de Benjamin Duboc. Les voici maintenant prenant le large et nouant un dialogue serré dans lequel s’annonce la turbulence.
Voici donc, ici, deux têtes chercheuses en pleine synergie, en flagrant délit d’écoute et d’échanges profonds. Ce chant des graves dans toute sa discrétion enivre, grise. Dans cette intimité partagée, par eux, par nous, une contrebasse grouillante et polyphonique palpite de trésors toujours suspendus-étirés puis trouve sur son chemin une clarinette aux douces modulations, façonnant la mélodie en plans rapprochés ou en visions panoramiques. Sans préméditation et avec leurs seules sensibilités (ajoutons maîtrise, talent, énergie), Kassap et Duboc, transpirent l’évidence d’un dialogue hautement fraternel.

Le pianiste-compositeur-arrangeur Horace Tapscott (1934-1999) reste sans doute l’un des musiciens afro-américains les moins connus et/donc les plus mésestimés par les amateurs français. Aussi, l’édition de ce disque offre une occasion unique et nécessaire de se (re)mettre à l’écoute de cet immense bonhomme. Publié par le petit mais précieux label français Dark Tree (nom d’une composition de Tapscott), il comprend cinq plages extraites d’un concert donné à Los Angeles en 1998, quelques mois avant la mort du pianiste. Pour cette occasion, celui-ci avait réunit son Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra (neuf musiciens) dont la création remonte à 1961, et son Great Voice of UGMAA (Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension), chœur mixte d’une dizaine de chanteurs sous la direction de Dwight Trible (voir son CD “Horace”, Éléphant EL 2213, sorti chez Frémeaux en 2001). À travers les compositions, puissantes et d’une somptueuse simplicité, volontiers répétitives, insistantes et incantatoires, l’auditeur est entraîné dans un rythme, rythme qui n’est que le vecteur d’un monde , une Afrique revisitée par l’Amérique noire (pour faire simple), la plage au titre éponyme ayant de forts accents gospel. L’orchestre comprend trois contrebassistes et trois percussionnistes, ce qui accentue la gravité et la profondeur de la musique, sur lesquels s’appuient deux solistes aussi peu connus qu’ils sont bons, le saxophoniste Michael Session et le tromboniste Phil Ranelin, tandis que s’élancent avec force et conviction les voix magnifiques.
Un disque qui vous prend au plus profond de vous-même du début à la fin. Et un témoignage irréfutable d’une Grande Musique Noire trop oubliée de nos jours « Why Don’t You Listen ? »

For en del år siden kunne man nesten ikke besøke en fransk jazzfestival uten å få med seg en konsert med klarinettisten Sylvain Kassap. Litt sjeldnere var det at man fikk muligheten til å høre bassisten Benjamin Duboc, Men nå er de sammen på duoplaten «Le Funambule», som betyr et rep hvor trapesartister opptrer i, over eller under.

Og det er et godt navn på en plate med denne musikken. En klarinett eller bassklarinett i fri flyt over en «lekende» og eksperimenterende bass, hvor klarinetten svinger seg i halsbrekkende bevegelser langt oppe under taket med stor fare for at katastrofen skal inntreffe og man står i fare for å falle ned og knuses, mens bassen utfordrer på bakkenivå.

Det er to svært frittgående musikere vi møter i denne duoen. Kassap kjenner vi blant annet fra innspillinger med François Corneloup, med ARS Nova, Didier Petit med flere, mens Benjamin Duboc har spilt med bandet En Corps (med trommeslageren Edward Perraud og pianisten Eve Risser), Nicole Mitchell, med bandet The Turbind!, med blant andre Harrison Bankhead, Hamid Drake, Jean-Luc Cappozzo og William Parker og en rekke andre franske prosjekter.

Og sammen lager de en helt særegen musikk. Duboc er den mest eksperimenterende av de to, særlig ved sin bruk av lydeffekter på bassen, mens Kassap synes klarinetten og bassklarinetten har gode nok lyder i utgangspunktet til å lage spennende musikk. Og spennende blir det når de to møtes. Kombinasjonen klarinett/bass skaper en slags kammermusikalsk stemning, som jeg synes kommer spesielt godt fram i siste delen av åpningssporet «vers le bleu», hvor man nesten får en oppdatert versjon av Jimmy Guiffre.

Og gjennom alle de fem sporene skaper de en form for jazzmusikk man ikke hører så ofte her oppe i nord. Og samtidig med at det er originalt, er det noe svært typisk fransk over det som nesten ikke er til å ta feil av.

Jeg vet ikke hvor mye av musikken som er avtalt på forhånd, men det spiller ikke så stor rolle. De kommuniserer godt, så det er tydelig at de har en felles forståelse for hvor de vil med musikken. Begge musikerne er dyktige på hvert sitt instrument, og idérikdommen er stor hos begge.

En plate man raskt blir glad i, hvis man har sans for frittgående klarinetter og bass, fra to utmerkede musikere som vet hva man gjør når man skal spille fritt sammen, og «leke» i trapesene.

Label français, Dark Tree se spécialise dans des albums inédits de John Carter, Bobby Bradford ou  Horace Tapscott et des nouvelles productions de l’actualité de la scène française. Deux albums des trios Sens Radiants  (Daunik Lazro, B.Duboc et Didier Lasserre) et En Corps (Eve Risser, Duboc et Edward Perraud), Julien Desprez avec Mette Rasmussen ou Tournesol, … . Ce duo de Sylvain Kassap avec l’omniprésent Benjamin Duboc (cfr catalogue Dark Tree) révèle toute la musicalité de ce clarinettiste qui incarne autant le sens de la forme que de belles qualités d’improvisateur sensible et qui se sert de sa profonde connaissance musicale pour nourrir ses improvisations. Suivi à la trace par le jeu discret et aérien de son partenaire, il décante l’esprit et les traces du blues en ouverture (vers le bleu 16 :34). Benjamin Duboc cultive le sens du rythme même quand celui-ci est à peine marqué. Une fois l’ambiance installée lors de cet agréable  concert au Comptoir de Fontenay sous Bois, les échanges improvisés se précisent et l’imagination est sollicitée pour trouver des figures, des sons, des réactions instantanées que le morceau soit court (c’est narcisse qui danse 03 :32), ou beaucoup plus long (le ventre de socrate 19 :50). La clarinette basse grasseye, puis pépie et se lance franchement dans le registre aigu ou déboule en entraînant les graves en tranchant l’air avec les notes hautes qui mordent ou roucoulent, alors que le contrebassiste flotte dans le registre sombre, clair obscur faisant gronder doucement le bois de l’âme. Une musique à la fois franche et délicate. Benjamin Duboc  prend son temps avant de suggérer une idée aussitôt régurgitée dans le grésillement de l’anche. L’archet frôle la corde et c’est sa vibration qui se révèle à nous comme un gros insecte qui s’élève dans le soir tombant. Favorisant une construction lente, les duettistes vident le sac de l’instant, aspirent lentement le suc de la fleur avant d’asticoter le bec à coups de langue et de faire rebondir l’archet. Une histoire se raconte et on écoute les détails de la péripétie en se convaincant que le plus intense, le dénouement tragique est à venir au terme des dix neuf minutes qui égrènent lentement les timbres, les sons, la dynamique d’un jeu alangui. Sa marche ralentit jusqu’ au moment où pointe une mélodie fugace et les morsures du temps pour concentrer notre imagination d’auditeur dans un au-delà impalpable, inconnu. La musique de l’instant qui fuit. C’est beau. Le reste a le mérite d’ajouter du mystère. Une émotion sincère dans un registre polymodal / folklore imaginaire de bon aloi. Faites en cadeau à ceux que « notre » musique déroute, la musique de Kassap et Duboc est une belle porte d’entrée.

Voici, en 1998, avec son Pan-Afrikan Peoples Arkestra, une heureuse surprise : le dernier concert d’un Américain rétif au show-business. Actif dans la zone de Los Angeles, militant, leader d’orchestres, pianiste-compositeur, le démiurge a créé plusieurs associations au sein de la communauté noire pour transmettre le savoir et la tradition de son peuple. L’esprit souffle. Dans le genre habité, libertaire, un cadeau titanesque pour la tête.

 

This previously unreleased concert recording by the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra of pianist-composer-bandleader Horace Tapscott and a chorus under the direction of vocalist Dwight Trible is a wonderful example of how Tapscott channeled the political and cultural aspirations of a community into music of deep beauty and lasting value.

The CD opens with a big band version of “aiee! The Phantom,” a Tapscott original propelled by a vamp that spurs Michael Sessions into a melodic tenor solo delivered with an intense, wailing tone. Tapscott’s solo is a model of how he used space and phrasing to invite his bandmates into the creative process. The rhythm-heavy ensemble, relaxed but unrelenting, pelts away at Tapscott as he tells a beautifully constructed story at the keyboard. Singer Dwight Trible lights up Ellington’s “Caravan” with a freely interpreted rendition of the melody and lyrics and an incandescent scat solo. He’s one of the really great jazz singers of our time but makes his arresting music in the paradoxical world of the community artist: he’s a master and an individualist, but rarely gets widespread credit because courting the media is not part of his agenda. The full 11-voice chorus joins the band for the remainder of the album. “Fela Fela,” a simple, hooky melody sung over a danceable, African groove, showcases several of the band’s instrumentalists, as well as a fearsome, powerful solo from singer Amina Amatullah. On “Why Don’t You Listen?” the chorus invokes the musical ancestors, such as Lester Young and Clifford Brown, then riffs behind soloists, singing, “Listen. Listen. Listen.” – an exhortation that’s both command and invitation. “Little Africa” opens with a contemplative Tapscott-Trible duet that sets the stage for a lyrical paean to Africa highlighted by Sessions on soprano and Phil Ranelin on trombone.

Anchored in the predominantly black Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles for nearly his entire creative life, Tapscott provided a musical focus for the talents of resident musicians and artists. It was important work and perhaps no jazz artist has done it better.

The Hatch, la trappe. On ne saurait mieux dire. Mette Rasmussen et Julien Desprez on le sens de la formule et elle est comme leur musique : sèche, brute, précise, directe.
La rencontre a lieu en 2016, au Music Unit de Montreuil, ce n’est pas la première, et quand bien même, il n’y aurait pas de round d’observation, la guitare et l’alto parle le même langage, celui des bribes et des rapports de force, des mots brefs et des attaques pointues. Tranchantes, effilées : “Clay on Your Skin” : la danoise commence par introduire des bribes à l’alto, comme on prépare des scalpels à la chaux, et c’est la guitare qui tranche puis suture à vif.
Pas de douleurs, c’est trop rapide, et le travail est suffisamment précis pour qu’il en devienne orfèvrerie.
Parce que voilà bien la trouvaille de The Hatch : on connaît nos deux improvisateurs européens, le guitariste sans limite qui fait de chacune de ses cordes les tendons de muscles rablés et la saxophoniste danoise que l’on aurait tendance à ranger trop vite dans le cri. On pourrait imaginer un ring, un rapport de force, deux murs de sons qui s’opposent voire se renversent et s’ébrèchent, mais ce serait tellement attendu…
“Offenders” prend le contrepied : celui des textures, des sons longs, des à-plat où chaque souffle est un relief, où chaque scorie saturée est une légère déviation…
Etonnamment, une grande douceur, qui se propage comme une vague de chaleur, et gagne même des “Matters of The Soul” aux légers reflets ayleriens, l’air de rien. Enfin, pas si étonnant que ça ; bien sûr, il y a les trappes. Les puits sans fonds hérissés de pics où la guitare claque un rythme primal et une légère dissension.
Chuter dedans à l’effet de ces rêves que l’on fait juste au moment de s’endormir, mais qui perdurerait un peu trop longtemps pour que ça ne puisse pas virer au cauchemar.
Un dispositif de tension comme un autre, qui relance la machine.
La rencontre entre Rasmussen et Desprez est belle et riche. Elle est, non pas la matrice, mais le carburant de ce que nous avions pu entendre en début d’année avec T(r)opic, où dans le grand orchestre, la relation entre guitare et alto était tout à fait primordiale. Elle se fait ici tout à fait concrète dans “Black Sand” qui introduit la matière. Est-ce le jeu des anches où les cordes grattées qui laissent toute cette poussière sur un son presque uniforme ? Les timbres se confondent, se mélangent, s’enlacent mais ne s’anhilent pas. Ils se complètent, et se nourissent.
C’est une belle sortie que nous propose Dark Tree, et un instant important pour les deux musiciens qui n’ont certainement pas fini de discuter ensemble. On s’en régale.

Le label Dark Tree tire son nom d’une œuvre musicale phare du pianiste et chef d’orchestre Horace Tapscott. Enfin, la publication d’un très beau concert de ce dernier, superbement documenté au niveau prise de son et contenu du livret de pochette (photos, textes, paroles des chants…). Le Pan Afrikan Arkestra est essentiellement un groupe rythmique pulsatoire rassemblant un batteur, un joueur de conga, trois contrebassistes, un pianiste, un chanteur, Dwght Trible qui dirige aussi le chœur, et seulement deux souffleurs, le saxophoniste Michael Sessions et le tromboniste Phil Ranelin. Cinq compositions. Aaiiee The Phantom, Fela Fela et Why don’t You Listen d’Horace Tapscott, Caravan de Duke Ellington et Little Africa de Linda Hill. Cinq pièces s’étendent chacune autour du quart d’heure. Une musique musclée, d’une grande cohésion, chaleureuse, polyrythmique, essentiellement collective avec une saveur indubitablement africaine, inspirée par l’exemple Coltranien, agrémentée de magnifiques chœurs mixtes. Les deux souffleurs interviennent pour souligner l’effervescence de la rythmique, une fois les beaux textes chantés par les voix envoûtantes des Great Voices de l’UGMAA. Michael Sessions envoie ses volutes dans la stratosphère, spécialement au sax soprano dans Little Africa et  Why Don’t You Listen  Ceux-ci parlent de la condition et de l’univers culturel afro-américain ou citent les artistes incontournables de leur musique, Bird, Lady Day, Trane, Cecil, Dexter, Max et leurs membres disparus, comme Lester Robertson et Everett Brown. Leur style vocal est profondément original tant chez les solistes (Amina Amatullah, Carolyn Whitaker et Dwight Trible) que le chœur lui même, majestueux, insufflant une puissance irrésistible à la musique. Comme on peut le voir sur les photos les membres des Great Voice, ils – elles sont habillé.es de dashiki et tuniques africaines. Le Pan Afrikan Orkestra et les Great Voice of the UGMAA offre une version communautaire, communale et collective du jazz, musique généralement basée sur l’expression individuelle originale d’individus. Horace Tapscott a conçu sa musique et le Pan Afrikan comme un moment et un lieu de rencontre/ partage de la communauté noire de Los Angeles dans le but d’élever la conscience de son peuple au point de vue culturel et des droits civiques. Cette aventure avait débuté dans les années 60 et cet enregistrement réalisé lors d’un concert au Musée d’Art Moderne de Los Angeles en 1998 quasiment au terme de l’existence de cette fabuleuse confrérie. Pour ceux des jazzfans qui ne sont pas au parfum, voici le moment venu de découvrir une magnifique facette de la Great Black Music trop laissée pour compte et qui est au cœur de ses expressions.

Passing the Magic: Horace Tapscott and His Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra

“Why Don’t You Listen?” is a posthumous recording released in May 2019 on Dark Tree Records by the Los Angeles pianist and community artist Horace Tapscott. Though Tapscott died in 1999, his legacy burns brighter than ever because of the rising popularity of contemporary jazz artists like Kamasi Washington. The new release was recorded live at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art on July 24th, 1998, and it was one of Tapscott’s last performances before he passed. The five songs on the record are quintessential transcendental Tapscott accompanied by his Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra (Ark).

As this record testifies to, Tapscott and his Ark is the source of so many movements that continue to this day. In addition to his incredible music, Tapscott’s status is further bolstered by his integrity and how he lived his life. Though the man was an enormous talent on piano, early in his career, he decided that leading a community orchestra was a bigger priority than his solo success.

Tapscott’s biographer, Steve Isoardi, writes in the record’s liner notes: “Today, the new label emerging for the music from Los Angeles’ black community has become ‘spiritual jazz.’ For Horace, the Ark, the choir and the many brothers and sisters whose roots stretch back decades, their art was also community, political and revolutionary. In essence, an active opposition to all manifestations of oppression — spirituality at its most meaningful.”

Whatever label you want to call the music, every note in the recording trumpets freedom and truth. The five songs create a mesmerizing tapestry of sound and have a timeless essence that provokes a call to action.

The Roots of the Ark

Born in Houston, Texas in 1934, Horace Tapscott moved to Los Angeles in 1943 because his stepfather got a job in the then-booming defense industry. 1943 was one of the biggest years in the Great Migration, and Los Angeles’ black population nearly doubled in the 1940s. Tapscott moved into South Central, right off the famed Central Avenue Jazz Corridor. Sooner than later he was studying with two of the best music teachers in the city.

At Lafayette Junior High School, he studied with Percy McDavid. McDavid encouraged students to write their own music and to study the fundamentals. “Mr. McDavid,” Tapscott says in his autobiography, “Songs of the Unsung,” “also had a band that played in different parks around the city every Sunday. He had Charlie Mingus, Britt Woodman, Eric Dolphy, Buddy Collette, Red Callender and John ‘Streamline’ Ewing. All the cats were in it.”

McDavid’s band not only had all of these future jazz greats, but McDavid was close with the pioneering black composer William Grant Still and the music teacher from Jefferson High School, Samuel Browne. Sooner than later, Tapscott would regularly be playing events around Central Avenue with the aforementioned artists, as well as McDavid, Browne and other stalwart musicians like Gerald Wilson. Tapscott grew up with them all.

By the time Tapscott got to Jefferson, he was writing his own music and was already close with Samuel Browne. Browne was an exceptional pianist and, in 1936, was also the first black male teacher hired in the Los Angeles Unified School District. He had graduated from USC and had gone to Jefferson himself a decade before he taught there. Similar to McDavid, Browne was close friends with many of the musical heavyweights,  and it was an everyday occurrence for someone like Duke Ellington or Lionel Hampton to come by class and talk with the students. Browne was keen on sharing the tradition and exposing his students to the best musicians.

“All the musicians would come pick you up, the young cats, take you to rehearsal, and bring you back home,” he said in “Songs of the Unsung.” “You’d come out of the house, and there was a well-known, world-renowned trumpet player waiting to take you to rehearsal. They were always looking out for you, and they were serious; they wanted you to learn. All the time you were riding with them, they’re talking, and they’re jamming with you.” Tapscott carried the same process of mentoring when he was older, inculcating these values and technical skills to younger artists. Moreover, he remained close with Samuel Browne his entire life, all the way until Browne passed in 1991.

Tapscott picked it all up quick and never forgot the fundamentals. Throughout his career, he and the Arkestra would often play at least one or two cover songs in their live sets. The second song on the new record, “Caravan” is a famous Duke Ellington composition played flawlessly by Tapscott and the Arkestra.

These early years set the table for Tapscott’s greatness, and also his value system. Under McDavid and Browne’s tutelage, Tapscott cut his teeth playing clubs like Jack’s Basket Room in L.A.’s Central Avenue while he was still in high school. By the time he was in his early 20s, Horace had landed a job playing with Lionel Hampton. After a few years of touring with Hampton, Tapscott decided to quit Hampton’s band and came home to start his “Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra” in 1961.

The Dark Tree

The longer story of Horace and his Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra is told in two books, his autobiography from 2001, “Songs of the Unsung” and “The Dark Tree: Jazz and the Community Arts,” written by author Steve Isoardi and published in 2006. Tapscott’s example is so influential that it even led Michael Balzary, aka Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, to start his own music academy, the Silverlake Conservatory of Music, after he read Tapscott’s life story.
Horace Tapscott never liked the word “jazz.” To him it was black music. In his autobiography he explains, “I wanted to preserve and teach and show and perform the music of black Americans and Pan-Afrikan music, to preserve it by playing it and writing it and taking it to the community. That was what it was about, being part of the community, and that’s the reason I left Hamp’s band that night.” His purposes with the Arkestra were about preserving black music and playing music across the community to educate and uplift everyone, like it did for him.

One of the Ark’s best-known songs, “The Dark Tree,” he explains in his autobiography, “has to do with the tree of life of a race of people that was dark, and everybody went past it and all its history. The whole tree of a civilization was just passed over and left in the dark, but there it stood still.” This concept of “The Dark Tree,” connects directly to his efforts to protect and preserve black music. The idea is so central to Tapscott and the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra that when Steve Isoardi thought about the title for the extended history on the Ark, “The Dark Tree,” was the obvious choice after his partner, the filmmaker Jeannette Lindsay, suggested it to him one day.

While his autobiography tells Tapscott’s life story chronologically, “The Dark Tree” traces Tapscott’s life during his years with the Arkestra. The narrative spotlights the Ark itself and Tapscott’s role as a community artist from his days in high school, through the late 1990s. Over the course of nearly 40 years, well over 300 different musicians played with the Ark at one time or another. Several of the musicians who started early in their careers with the Ark, like Arthur Blythe and Roberto Miranda, went on to further success later on as both solo artists and with different groups.

Isoardi describes the defining spirit of a community artist in the book’s first chapter, “Roots of the Community Artist.” He writes, “To ensure social continuity, artists and musicians took seriously the responsibility of passing along their knowledge and skills to the next generation. This was accomplished primarily through the craft and family structures and through participation in the communal process, involving absorption, adaptation, and imitation.”

Tapscott called it “passing the magic,” after being told at a very young age by Samuel Browne that the only way he was going to be let in on the secret knowledge is if he passed on down the line when he became the teacher.

Tapscott often declared that the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra always had at least three generations on the same stage. Isoardi writes in “The Dark Tree” that “Through this interaction of young and old, inexperienced and talented, the musical tradition was nurtured and passed along.”

Why Don’t You Listen?

If there’s one song on “Why Don’t You Listen?” that explicitly vocalizes Tapscott’s values it’s the title track. Originally written in the 1960s by Horace with lyrics co-authored by his longtime collaborator Linda Hill, the song repeatedly asks, “Why don’t you listen?” The chorus of singers asks in the song:

Throughout the song’s six verses there are different names of musicians and community members called out. The question is asked again and again, “Why don’t you listen?” Names like Dizzy Gillespie, Dexter Gordon, Thelonious Monk, Dinah Washington and several others, are called within the litany. The song speeds up and slows down, pulling the listener in closer and closer through every cycle. For Horace, the music is a communion. He always wanted people to listen to the musicians, listen to the poets and listen to members of the community. At one of the most climactic sections of the song, the choir sings, “now listen,” followed by a pregnant pause.

A buoyant socio-political spirit is a driving force in all of his music, and this track especially epitomizes the energy. The radical musicality ever-present in performances by the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra is why they were the group of choice for the Los Angeles chapter of the Black Panthers during the late 1960s.

The Arkestra at Full Strength

Tapscott’s Arkestra is in rare form on this recording, and what makes it extra special is that though the group had an almost 40-year history of playing events, they only recorded a few albums. They were never focused on commercial success; they were too busy playing music at public parks, schools, churches, prisons and anywhere else they were called. “We did a lot of things in the community that we didn’t advertise because it was done just for the community,” Tapscott says in his autobiography.

What also makes this recording extra valuable is that it is with the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra in its expanded format and last concert at full strength. Tapscott played in only three more shows after this, but two of them were with smaller groups. The Ark only played one more show with Horace, in September 1998, at the Leimert Park Jazz Festival, and his arm was in a sling. Footage from this final concert is featured in the documentary, “Leimert Park: The Story of a Village in South Central Los Angeles.” “You can see Horace at the beginning of the film with his arm in a sling,” Isoardi says. “Yet, by the closing segment, when they are doing ‘Little Africa,’ his arm is out of the sling as he conducts. The power of the music!”

Tapscott would often play a trio or quintet at the museum’s frequent Friday concerts, but this time, according to Isoardi’s breakdown in the liner notes, Tapscott “decided to stretch beyond the usual small group format by bringing in the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra (Ark), nine members strong, including three bassists (he always loved a strong bottom sound), and The Great Voice of UGMAA (Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension), an ensemble of 12 voices, including Amina Amatullah, a veteran of their first choir formed in the 1960s” (for a complete list of all the players and choir members see the notes on the sidebar).

The 12 voices of the choir were led by vocalist Dwight Trible, who is still actively recording today. Listening to Trible sing in songs like the third track, “Fela, Fela,” it’s easy to see why some have called it “spiritual jazz.” “Fela, Fela,” is of course in honor of the great Nigerian Afrobeat artist Fela Kuti who Tapscott admired but never had a chance to meet. This tribute track was only performed live on four occasions. It’s a collaboration Tapscott created with the Arkestra conguero Najite Agindotan, who in his early years had been around Fela in Nigeria before he moved to America.

Najite told Isoardi that Tapscott took the horn line from the iconic Fela song, “Why Black Men Dey Suffer,” and reinterpreted it on piano. “He sat on the piano and took the horn line I put to song to a different height. He blew my mind,” Najite exclaims. The blend of piano, heavy bass, drums, horns and chorus of voices cascading creates a soundscape of music that defies words.

The Phantom

The opening track, “Aiee! The Phantom,” features some of Tapscott’s trickiest piano work. The song, Isoardi writes in “The Dark Tree,” is “based on a piece Horace composed in the early 1970s for the film ‘Sweet Jesus, Preacher Man,’ (and) was a reference to an image that had come to be associated with him, a reflection of his bohemian, underground reputation and his penchant for late-night ramblings, his sudden visits to friends and music venues and abrupt disappearances.” Tapscott was a phantom in multiple ways. Musically, because he was so quick on the keys, and also because he was elusive and would suddenly appear out of nowhere.

In this way, Tapscott was like a superhero that appeared and disappeared both musically and in the physical realm. The song, “Aiee! The Phantom,” emulates Tapscott’s spirit with his piano playing appearing and disappearing in a sort of dance between the horns, bass and drums. It’s easy to see how the original composition was used for a film.

The Final Song on the Album: ‘Little Africa’

“Little Africa,” is the final song on the album, and according to Steve Isoardi, it was written by Linda Hill in the mid-1960s in honor of her new grandson. If Horace was the father, or Papa, of the Ark, Linda Hill was the mother. She was involved with the Ark for many years. “Horace and the Arkestra performed ‘Little Africa’ for decades,” Isoardi tells me. “Over the last ten years of Horace’s life, ‘Little Africa’ became his preferred way of closing concerts, with ‘Lift Every Voice and Sing,’ the ‘Negro National Anthem’ as a two-line coda.”

The song is especially important to the Ark’s oeuvre because it resonates on many levels with the Arkestra, politically and personally. “When one of the first vocalists to join the band in the 1960s, Amina Amatullah, returned in the early 1990s at Horace’s urging,” Isoardi remembers, “hearing the piece performed brought tears to her eyes.” It is the perfect song to close out the record.

Horace Tapscott is Not for Sale

The influential Los Angeles Poet Kamau Daaood got his start with the Ark in 1968 when he was 18, at a concert the Ark was playing in South Park on Avalon and East 51st Street. Daaood was sitting in the park with his poems when he was called up on stage. Tapscott became his mentor and in many ways Daaood’s own career has mirrored Tapscott’s. Daaood is now almost 70 years old. When he began, he was the youngest member of the Watts Writers Workshop. Now he’s one of Literary Los Angeles’ elder luminaries, but he never chased the fame.

Over the last 50 years, Daaood has wrote a lot of poetry with the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra and throughout the community. He also co-founded the seminal performance space, the World Stage, in 1989. In the Ark, Daaood was known as “the Word Musician.” Peter J. Harris recently told me that Daaood is the best wordsmith he’s ever seen at performing poetry accompanied with music, even better than Amiri Baraka.

One of Daaood’s best known poems, “Papa, the Lean Griot,” pays tribute to Tapscott. Tapscott was called Papa for his obvious fatherly characteristics, but also because this was an acronym for Pan African Peoples Arkestra. Daaood’s poem is printed in both his City Lights book, “The Language of Saxophones” and near the conclusion in the final pages of Tapscott’s biography, “Songs of the Unsung.” The final stanza captures Tapscott with incredible veracity:

There’s a recording of this Daaood poem, but it is not on this new record. Nonetheless, Daaood’s poem captures the spirit of Tapscott incredibly. Tapscott created form carrying on the stories of his ancestors. He also sought the divinity in outcasts and celebrated the richness of rebels. Similar to the old school Oakland Raiders that took castaways from other teams and made them integral pieces of theirs, Tapscott found a way to use everyone’s skills.

William Marshall, a longtime member of the Ark and a well-respected musician and actor, writes in the foreword of Tapscott’s autobiography about memories “where they handed out percussion instruments in wood, hide, metal, and shell to everyone in the audience — adults and children — who wanted to join in, who had something to say and was willing to try to say it, and who held, perhaps for the first time, an instrument with which to begin.”

KCET and the Watts Prophets

Tapscott worked with a number of poets in addition to Kamau Daaood. The first poet that read with the Ark was Jayne Cortez, who was married to Ornette Coleman and eventually moved to New York, where she found more fame. Several other poets read with the Ark, including a few members of the Watts Writers Workshop like Ojenke, Eric Priestley, Quincy Troupe and the Watts Prophets. Richard Dedeaux of the Watts Prophets worked at KCET in the early 1970s and even got Tapscott to write a theme song for the Sue Booker-produced show “Doing It at the Storefront.”

Dedeaux recounted the story to Steve Isoardi in “The Dark Tree.” “There was nothing dealing with black and brown news,” according to Dedeaux. “So they gave us a news and public affairs show. ‘Doing It at the Storefront.’ We moved out of KCET and got a storefront building on Forty-seventh and Broadway, right down the street from the Malcolm X building. Our whole budget was so tight, like $250 a show. So what we did, we sat down and pooled all our money, and we got Horace to write us a theme song for ‘Doing It at the Storefront.’ It’s an incredible song … Man, he sure made the show.”

Longtime aficionados of the Watts Prophets and the Ark speak about this show and the theme song like it’s the long-lost Holy Grail. The concept of focusing on black and brown news used in “Doing It at the Storefront” is also a desperately needed format for 2019.

The Legacy of the Community Arts Movement

Tapscott listened to the community and his fellow musicians. As Daaood said, he was not for sale. He lived an uncompromising life. Though he made some short-term sacrifices like fame and more money up-front, by the end of his career he was internationally known and especially revered because he played by his own rules. Tapscott recounts a story about how when he first met the legendary East Coast artist Horace Silver, Silver told him that he’d been hearing the name Horace Tapscott for 20 years. The integrity in which Tapscott lived is why his music and legacy matter now more than ever.

Tapscott always said that art is contributive and not competitive. When I first heard this in 1998, it changed the trajectory of my own artistic career. Somewhere around April 1998, I saw Tapscott speak at Skylight Books right after “Central Avenue Sounds” was published. He was one of the voices in that seminal book that in many ways kick-started a deeper interest in the history of Central Avenue and black music of Los Angeles. The stories Tapscott shared that day at Skylight inspired me and changed my life forever.

I had recently seen poetry slams and emcee battles where good friends would become adversaries, egos would get in the way and power struggles would unfold while the respective artists would tear each other down. Tapscott’s model of building community showed me that there was another way. He still achieved excellence, but rather than subscribing to a scarcity mindset, he believed there was room for everyone to shine accordingly. Furthermore, he believed in sharing knowledge and passing it on, like Samuel Browne had done for him. These core philosophies of Tapscott became bedrock ideals for me and they have deeply informed my own ethos as a writer, poet, scholar and educator.

“Why Don’t You Listen?” is a quintessential capsule of Tapscott’s music and his message. As people around the world begin to get excited about L.A.’s spiritual jazz community in 2019, there’s never been a better time to listen to the grandfather of the entire scene who kick-started it all over a half century ago.

What’s more is that now more than ever we need to listen to others. We need to listen to the community and the musicians for a new vision. Tapscott’s music was ahead of its time, and we are finally catching up. Moreover, Dark Tree Records will be releasing a few more of their lost recordings in the next few years.

One more final note, the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra continues to play to this day with a combination of some of the elder members and a new group of young, very talented musicians. They are now under the direction of Mekala Session, a young musician who studied Jazz at the California Institute of the Arts and grew up watching the Ark because his father, saxophonist Michael Session, was the leader of the Ark after Horace passed (Michael Session also plays on the record).

The Ark has recently played local events around Los Angeles in spaces like the Zebulon and World Stage. The Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra continues on, and “Why Don’t You Listen?” is the perfect recording to honor its history and simultaneously introduce its work to new listeners. So, in the words of Horace Tapscott, “why don’t you listen?”

If you’re mainly acquainted with Mette Rasmussen through her collaborations with American musicians like Chris Corsano and Paul Flaherty, this record will change your perspective as surely as having the glasses knocked off of your nose will affect your vision. When in America, she seems to have done as certain Americans before her have done. There’s a long tradition of fire music here, and she’s plugged into it. But there’s more to her than that.

In the company of French guitarist Julien Desprez, the Danish alto saxophonist’s playing is just as fiery but less bound by tradition. Instead of riding the molten flow, this duo creates music that feels chopped and scrambled even though it is being made before your ears. At some points she plays coarse exhalations and brief, effortful gulps, which toss and tumble with the guitarist’s pops, harmonics and scrapes like a salad of nuts and apples that’s been tossed into a spinning clothes dryer. Other times, horn and guitar pour twin streams of elongated tone like a couple of painters dumping their personally mixed hues into some river; what starts out thick and bright becomes diffuse and cloudy as it spreads and recedes.

You don’t have to see them in action to know that they’re both physical players. You can feel lungs being emptied with diaphragm-bruising force, and you can also hear the moments when fist meets wood. But the album’s title provides another clue to their shared aesthetic. One gets the sense that they don’t
play their instruments out of love. No, they’re things that can obstruct one’s progress, objects that need to be moved around, and tools to get to the other side of something. You don’t hear them playing; you hear them working to get past their absurdly shaped but sonorous gadgets.

French guitarist Julien Desprez and Danish sax player Mette Rasmussen collaborated together on record for the first time on the 3rd version of Mats Gustafsson’s Fire! Orchestra that produced «Ritual» (Rune Grammofon, 2016). They immediately found out that they share more than a like-minded sonic vision.

Their conception of their respective instruments – the electric guitar and the alto sax – is similar. Both wish to liberate their instruments from common role and conventional techniques, experimenting and transforming the string and wind instruments to bold sound generators, modifiable at will. Both are also very physical improvisers, using their whole body while playing-dancing with the guitar and sax. Both also enjoy collaborating with other improvisers that are not necessarily come from jazz or free jazz schools. And you can add an eccentric, sometimes even odd sense of humor. Their debut album as The Hatch duo was recorded in Montreuil, France on September 2016, but they continue to perform together these days.

The seven pieces suggest a rich and totally personal sonic vision. «Roadkill Junkies» that opens this journey already cements the atmosphere, urgent and restless. Both Desprez and Rasmussen employ extended breathing techniques and effects to sketch a dense, conversational interplay between alien shamans who like to bump into each other, and, clearly, are junkies of high intensity. «Clay On Your Skin» dives deep into ethereal and almost transparent, abstract soundscape with fragile rhythmic vein. Rasmussen offers on «Offenders» a series of otherworldly, dreamy sounds while Desprez beautifully answers her his own subtle, noisy inventions. «Matters Of The Soul» introduces a melancholic vein, stressed by Rasmussen tense, emotional cries and resonated by Desprez heavy, feedback-laden lines and patiently headed for its catharsis. Rasmussen and Desprez translate Dutch sound poet Jaap Blonk’s dadaist lingo to their own weird needs on «Twin Eye». «Blank Sand» diverts the urgent, conversational tone to super fast, sometimes nervous, on other times playful and poetic exchange of cryptic, distorted messages. The last breathy and delicate texture of «Orange Plateau» sounds, again, as an alien, industrial one, but more considerate to the neighboring environment and its planet.

A follow-up is obviously needed. This Hatch leads to many more sonic wonders.

Horace Tapscott, festa e rito
La Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra di Horace Tapscott con The Great Voice of UGMAA in un emozionante live del 1998

La storia del jazz è ricca di dischi e progetti che vedono l’utilizzo di un coro: da It’s Time di Max Roach ai Sacred Concerts di Duke Ellington, passando per il Donald Byrd di A New Perspective, gli inni cosmici di Sun Ra e le più recenti uscite di Kamasi Washington, l’utilizzo di più voci ha raccontato di volta in volta l’afflato di una comunità, la forza della voce umana quando si unisce a altre, il legame con l’espressione più diretta del sentimento musicale.

La pubblicazione del concerto della Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra di Horace Tapscott al Los Angeles County Museum of Art nel luglio del 1998, insieme al coro The Great Voice of UGMAA (Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension) aggiunge ora una pagina intensa alla lista.

Il disco si intitola Why Don’t You Listen? Live in LACMA 1998 (Dark Tree Records) e documenta la ricchezza del mondo sonoro di Tapscott, nonché la sua importanza per tutta la comunità losangelina.

Pianista, compositore, arrangiatore, attivista, figura di riferimento per diverse generazioni di musicisti, sebbene ancora sottovalutato nella considerazione degli ascoltatori, a partire dalla fine degli anni Cinquanta Tapscott ha attraversato i decenni – morirà nel 1999, pochi mesi dopo il concerto del disco – condividendo una visione artistica collettiva di rilevante originalità.

Due intensi set, nonostante Tapscott fosse già malato, di cui il disco ci restituisce oggi cinque lunghi brani: “Aiee! The Phantom”, un’energica resa della ellingtoniana “Caravan” con Dwight Trible (che anche dirige il coro) alla voce, un omaggio a Fela Kuti, la veemente title-track e la toccante “Little Africa”. È una musica che costruisce, che comunica costantemente con la comunità – che infatti risponde spesso in modo convinto dal pubblico – e lo fa sia nelle lunghe intro (che magari in un disco in studio sarebbero oggetto di editing) che nell’alternarsi degli assoli e nel sorgere degli episodi vocali, nel loro iterarsi.

È musica che fa sintesi di tensioni espressive e culturali, restituendole alla loro spettacolare tensione tra celeste e terreno (non a caso nell’ensemble ci sono ben tre contrabbassi!), che ancora oggi emoziona. Non sorprenderà che proprio il celebrato Kamasi Washington abbia più volte indicato l’esperienza dell’Arkestra di Tapscott come un punto di riferimento: quel tipo di messaggio, spirituale e sociale, collettivo e immediato si muove in evidente continuità emotiva e artistica con questo festoso rituale, che emerge dalle note del disco in modo disarmante. Bellissimo.

 

“The Hatch” is out now on “Dark Tree Records” label. Album was recorded by a duo – Julien Desprez (electric guitar) and Mette Rasmussen (alto saxophone). Two different cultures, individual styles and absolutely different streams all joined together – that’s how it would be possible to describe the music of this duo. Here meets three jazz streams – European, American and Scandinavian avant-garde jazz and the main elements. The modern and innovative playing techniques, the newest tendencies of experimental jazz, fresh and ambitious conception of Scandinavian avant-garde jazz and the roots of American and European avant-garde jazz. Julien Desprez is excellent improviser based on Paris. His improvisations are based on European and American jazz styles synthesis, as well as it has an influenze of rock and avant-rock jazz styles. Musician is searching to new forms, explores unknown zones of sound and get on frantic, crazy, extraordinary and fascinating experiments. He had played and collaborated with such great jazz masters as Charlie Haden, Mats Gustafson, Jeanne Added, Edward Perraud, Stephane Payen, Guillaume Orti, Benoit Delbecq, Tortoise, Han Bennink and the others. Mette Rasmussen is great and talented Danish saxophonist based on Norway. Her music is totally based on free improvisation, the synthesis of Scandinavian, American and European avant-garde jazz. Fluent, sharp, expressive, sometimes even – aggressive, frantic, furious and wild – playing style is based on attractive, inspiring and moving playing manner and driving, hypnotising and suggestive sound. Improviser played with Alan Silva, Chris Corsano, Ståle Liavik Solberg, and with her Trio Riot.

“The Hatch” filled with expression, drive, intense and vital sound. Two musicians are improvising on their own, but gently fit together. They always react to each other’s playing and give immediate, spontaneous and impressive reponses. Sparkling and flowing riffs, dizzy passages, especially rich and colorful pattern, all kinds of ornaments, factures, abbreviations and coloristics, and effective, especially expressive playing manner, are the main keys of these compositions. Dynamic, intense and powerful improvisations are mostly played in vivid and expressive mood, which is connected to silent, abstract, contemplative and lyrical tunes. Musicians succesfully manage to create rich, gorgeous, illustrative, imaginary and dynamic musical pattern. It has many layers, which are independent and contrasting with each other. Solid, effective and driving melodies construct polyphonic facture. All kinds of rhythms, strange sounds and special effects contain intense and just impressive rhythmic section and gorgeous background. Musicians fuse together their own ideas, stunning experiments, special effects, experimental, innovative, traditional and usual playing techniques to the one place and make inventive, inspiring and fantastic instrumental section. Saxophone’s melodies by Mette Rasmussen are the burst of energy, vigilence and drive. Expressive, vital, driving and intense melodies, roaring, tremendous, furious and frantic riffs, blowing and frenzy blow outs, moving trills, dizzy passages, gorgoues and colorful ornaments, sudden changes and perturbating, persecuted and explosing bursts of energy – all these elements are gently combined together. They meet lyrical, soft, abstract and silent free improvisations who are dedicated to experiments on various textures, explore new sounds and extract strange and peculiar tunes. Dizzy passages, charming, light and extremely rapid solos, ornaments and all kinds of textures are strong and effective coloristics. Growling, buzzing, cracking and vibrant solos bring more affection and drive to the music. Saxophone’s melodies give the main tune to the melody line, as well as dictate intensive, vital, powerful and thrilling mode of whole album. Sharp, strict and quadratic riffs, dynamic melodies, strange tunes, peculiar timbres, extravagant decisions, ambient sounds, vivid and frantic culminations are the keys of electric guitar’s improvisations by Julien Desprez. Terrific, powerful, tremendous and frenzy culminations, expressive and dynamic melodies, sudden turns, bright contrasts, individual compounds, passionate and flowing solos, complicated and aggressive rhythms or persecuted breaking and furious sessions – all these elements are the main part of these improvisations. Both musicians get on brave and tremendous adventures, stunning experiments, searching to new, extravagant, eccentric or simply crazy ways of playing, modern expressions or dreamy, calm and lyrical pieces. Their music is a piece of cake to listen – it has interesting, innovative and expressive sound.

The duo of Mette Rasmussen on alto saxophone and Julien Desprez on electric guitar recorded this experimental duet album in France in September of 2016. (Live performance from same month) The music is raw and exciting, melding sharp cries of saxophone with alternatively percussive blasts and torn screams of guitar, creating sounds which are for the most part freely improvised, but still quite accessible and well rounded. Their approaches are diverse, yet complementary, as Rasmussen works within the realm of improvised music, drawing from a wide range of influences, spanning free jazz to soundscapes, she is free to take liberties exploring her instrument, expressing what extremes the saxophone can produce in terms of sound, both prepared and unprepared. Desprez in turn explores free form music in a physical manner, providing a synthesis of technique on the instrument itself and a wide array of effect pedals, taking inspiration from the performance of tap dance, it allowed him to approach the possibilities of the whole ecology of the instrumental system of strings and pedals in a novel way. “Roadkill Junkies,” the opening track on the album, demonstrates how their individual approaches to sound creation and manipulation are quite compatible. This piece begins the album in an approachable free jazz / free improvisation setting that works quite well, giving the musicians a place to stretch out at varying speeds and sculpt a piece that is tense without devolving to chaos and providing stability and a platform for the music that will follow. The following track, “Clay on Your Skin” shows that the duo is adept at developing textures and allowing them to work into the overall sensibility of the music, allowing them to grow and alter the forms they develop with greater variety, branching further afield as the improvisation develops. As this track broadens, they begin to use long droning sounds to push the music relentlessly forward, with the deep and scouring sound of the saxophone calling out fearlessly against the waves of electric guitar, tearing it apart into a chaotic wilderness. This was a gathering of like minded musicians that was successful in achieving its goals, creating spontaneous performances that integrated the aesthetic approaches of both musicians allowing them to take the initiative to make their own individual and collective artistic statements with a form and texture of their choosing. The Hatch – Dark Tree Bandcamp

Song You Need To Know: Horace Tapscott, ‘Why Don’t You Listen?’

Newly issued live recording from 1998 sheds light on a crucial L.A. jazz figure who inspired Kamasi Washington and other future stars

Unless you’re a hardcore jazz aficionado, you might not know the name Horace Tapscott. But to several generations of L.A. musicians — including breakout saxophone star Kamasi Washington— the late pianist and composer is a near-legendary figure.

“I grew up in Leimert Park and his footprint is all over that area,” Washington said in 2015 of Tapscott’s importance to his South L.A. neighborhood. “We all learned his music and his philosophies from the elders who played with him that are still with us. Horace is one of the most important figures in the foundation of music in L.A., from both a purely musically and socially conscious perspective. My dad took me to hear [Tapscott’s] Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra many times and I played with them after Horace passed away.”

If Washington’s sound — specifically the large-scale, spirit-lifting jazz-meets-gospel-meets-R&B documented on his 2015 breakthrough The Epic and its 2018 follow-up Heaven and Earth — has a patron saint, it would have to be Tapscott. From the early Sixties through his death in 1999, the pianist helped to anchor a community-driven L.A. scene, bringing together musicians, singers and poets in both the Arkestra (the name nods to a group led by Tapscott’s like-minded predecessor Sun Ra) and an umbrella group called UGMAA, the Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension.

A new archival release, Why Don’t You Listen?, captures the ensemble that inspired Washington and his peers in the form of a 1998 Arkestra concert at the L.A. County Museum of Art, reportedly the final time Tapscott was healthy enough to play piano with the band live. Released by Dark Tree, a French label named for a Tapscott piece, it joins a wealth of other Tapscott and UGMAA work now available digitally.

The album’s near-15-minute title track makes for a fine introduction to Tapscott’s expansive approach. While much of the Arkestra’s available output focuses on the leader’s intricate instrumental writing, which ranges from funky to free, “Why Don’t You Listen?” spotlights the voice. On the piece, co-written by Tapscott and Linda Hill, a nine-member choir known as the Great Voice of UGMAA — directed by Dwight Trible, who remains committed to Tapscott’s mission — sings out stirring variations on a central question: “Why didn’t you listen to the sounds of truth?”

After a brief, expressionistic piano intro, the vocalists sing out a somber opening (“Go forth my seed / And spread the truth …”). From there, the tempo picks up, and the singers begin calling out a series of jazz icons — “Why didn’t you listen to Bird and Trane … ?/ Why didn’t you listen to Lady Day?” — over an insistent pulse, complete with hand percussion, booming brass and emphatic shouts. Around the five-minute mark, the piece breaks into brisk post-bop swing, with the soprano sax of Michael Session swooping over top. A solo vocal episode and a slashing drum feature by Donald Dean lead back into the “Why didn’t you listen …?” refrain.

The track’s blend of somber, gospel-like textures with upbeat, unfettered improv does have precedents in jazz — Duke Ellington’s Sacred Concerts, grand Charles Mingus works like “Meditations on Integration” — but Tapscott clearly developed his own rich aesthetic. Throughout Why Don’t You Listen?, it’s easy to hear why up-and-comers like Washington were so struck by his vision — and following that thread to Washington’s own work, equally plain to hear the echo of an earlier L.A. jazz revolution.

Daniel Levin, Chris Pitsiokos & Brandon Seabrook – Stomiidae (Dark Tree Records, 2018)

Laat er geen twijfel over bestaan: dit is geen vanity project van Pitsiokos, maar een sessie van drie gelijkwaardige improvisatoren die geen duimbreed toegeven. De Stomiidae in de titel verwijst naar een familie van lelijke diepwatervissen, zoals er ook eentje op de hoes afgebeeld staat. Meteen wordt duidelijk dat de relatie met de muziek er geen is van ironie, want wat je te horen krijgt is al even ongedurig en agressief als het gedrag dat je van zo’n killer verwacht. De combinatie van cello, altsax en gitaar is iets waar je veel kanten mee uit kan, en dat is ook wat hier gebeurt, met een soms bloeddorstige goesting.

De drie zijn dan ook improvisatoren die niet bepaald bekend staan omwille van hun terughoudendheid. Hoewel Levin zich het voorbije decennium als een graag geziene cellist in uiteenlopende, en dus ook meer ingetogen/bedachtzame contexten, liet horen, is hij een muzikant die tot ver buiten de klassieke woordenschat van het instrument gaat. Idem voor gitarist Brandon Seabrook, net als Levin geregeld in de buurt van een Nate Wooley te vinden, maar ook actief naast trompetwonder Peter Evans en als lid van Pistiokos’ CP Unit (of toch op hun eerste plaat). Die Pitsiokos is met z’n 28 jaar eigenlijk nog een snotneus, maar heeft al een fabuleuze reputatie bij elkaar gespeeld, waarin referenties aan avant-garde, vrije improvisatie, hedendaagse muziek en radicale muilperen in een adem genoemd worden.

’s Mans techniek komt hier dan ook regelmatig op de voorgrond, met een verbluffende wendbaarheid, vooral in het hoge register. Hij heeft die schrille kreten van Zorn onder de knie, maar combineert die met een meesterschap dat herinnert aan Anthony Braxton. Hij haalt alles uit de kast waar nodig: driest, hysterisch gesputter; lange, circulair geblazen lijnen, explosieve salvo’s. Stuk voor stuk worden ze gecounterd door Levin en Seabrook, die uitpakken met knauwende bewegingen, agressieve strijkstokstoten (Levin) en ander snarengeweld (Levin en Seabrook). Regelmatig gaat het gelijk op, beland je in een withete regen van schrille scherven en bijtende uithalen, maar net zo vaak is het één en al contrastwerking: autistisch vs. extatisch, gefluisterd vs. loeihard, traditioneel vs. onwerelds.

Er zijn momenten dat je even kamermuziekland binnen bereik hebt, dat je je kan voorstellen dat de drie ook iets in elkaar zouden krijgen voor de zondagse brunch van de Rotary Club, maar dan nooit zonder de bedenking dat er uiteindelijk een explosie van komt waarmee het volk de stuipen op het lijf wordt gejaagd. Stomiidae is grillig en geagiteerd, en als je niet aandachtig luistert, dan irriteert het ook, in z’n koppige onwil om nu eindelijk eens normaal te doen. Maar ‘normaal’, dat is iets waar deze drie heren lak aan hebben. Dit gaat om pure, onverdunde exploratie, waarbij geen middel onbenut blijft. En alhoewel duidelijk is dat de muzikanten te goed en te gedisciplineerd zijn om er een zootje van te maken, zit er achter de schijnbare chaos ongetwijfeld ook een grijns vol slechte bedoelingen. Het soort album dat van de gemiddelde heavy metal-plaat watjesmuziek maakt.

Chris Pitsiokos CP Unit – Silver Bullet In The Autumn Of Your Years (Clean Feed, 2018)

Before The Heat Death, de debuutplaat van CP Unit die begin 2017 verscheen, was een knaller van formaat. Met goed volk als Brandon Seabrook, Tim Dahl en Weasel Walter, een van Pistiokos’ oudste metgezellen, werd meteen duidelijk dat een nieuwe stem z’n entrée maakte. Met een onverdunde, gevaarlijke energie, maar tegelijk ook veel te veel inhoud om weggezet te worden als een barricadebestormer met enkel spieren en decibels. Opvolger Silver Bullet In The Autumn liet niet te lang op zich wachten en combineert stukken van twee overlappende line-ups. Pitsiokos en gitarist Sam Lisabeth zijn de constanten, en krijgen af te rekenen met de ritmesecties Tim Dahl/Jason Nazary en Henry Fraser/Connor Baker.

Hoewel heel anders dan Stomiidae, is dit album al net zo ongewoon, en het geluidenpalet nog een stuk breder. Voor een stuk is dat te danken aan het feit dat Pitsiokos naast sax ook ‘wind controller’, sampler en analoge synth speelt, waardoor niet alleen aangeleund wordt tegen (free-)jazz en vrije improvisatie, maar ook tegen allerhande bands die de afstand tussen rock, noise, improvisatie en grootstadschaos dichtrijden. Denk aan namen als Cellular Chaos, Child Abuse, Unnatural Ways, Little Women of, nog een stuk eerder, Naked City. Er komt funk en kosmisch gezwalp aan te pas, al wordt het steevast in balans gehouden met momenten van onwaarschijnlijke strakheid. Ze kunnen zich gedragen als slagers, maar gaan wel te werk met fileermessen.

Het kwartet met Fraser en Baker tekent voor twee korte improvisaties die meteen in die friemelende onvoorspelbaarheid duiken, maar de band toont pas z’n troeven in de langere tracks. Zo duikt “Once Upon A Time Called Now” in een verstoorde jazzfunk die vaagweg herinnert aan Ronald Shannon Jackson’s Decoding Society of Defunkt, terwijl de komst van Pitsiokos misschien herinneringen oproept aan de Prime Time Band. Verderop is de titeltrack een verkrampende, heavy brok geluid, waarin weerbarstig gebeuk afgewisseld wordt met alweer die knetterende strakheid. “The Tower” start bij aarzelende improvisatie op een bedje van log gebrom, maar mondt vervolgens uit in een kolkende massa, die even omslaat inverzengende rock-‘n-roll.

Met het andere kwartet wordt al net zo gretig buiten de lijntjes gekleurd. “Orelius” en “Positional Play” starten met staccato patronen die uitgevoerd worden met een Zwitserse efficiëntie, voor ze de deuren wijd open zetten voor krijsende sirenes, vettig klodderende turbobas en uit z’n voegen barstend gegier. Alsof nog moet meegegeven worden dat het allemaal niet zo serieus is, klinkt “A Knob On The Face Of A Man” alsof een stel barbaren samen met Henry Threadgill een paar Zuid-Afrikaanse jazz standards ruïneren, en is afsluiter “Arthropod” een optelsom van alle voorgaande waanzin, met Pistiokos’ hysterie op sax en synth in een hoofdrol. Dat zorgt ervoor dat ook deze CP Unit zeker niet voor iedereen is, maar wij kennen volk dat zich hierdoor gedraagt als hooligans tijdens een kampioenenviering (misschien zegt dat vooral iets over ons). CP Unit is radicaal, dwars, soms wat onevenwichtig en regelmatig vermoeiend, maar biedt tegelijkertijd ook een fris, opwindend geluid. Dolle kermis, kortom.

Cynosure of the new, Los Angeles’ reputation for adopting the most current trends in everything from diet to architecture to music of all stripes means that the lifestyle of the area is in a constant churn. That’s why multi-reedist Vinny Golia is such a singular figure there. As musical fashions and players come-and-go, he’s remained emblematic of the creative music scene in the city since he moved there about 40 years ago. On his own he’s collaborated with many of the most advanced players in the area and fronted groups ranging from duos to big bands. These releases pinpoint his continued musical consistency and his ability to adapt many styles to fit the creative impulse.

Recorded in 1979, Live at the Century City Playhouse is an all horns date, done around the time during which such configurations were being widely tested. Playing bass clarinet, baritone saxophone C and alto flutes and piccolo, Golia’s co-improvisers are trombonist Glenn Ferris, who has worked with everyone from Frank Zappa to Don Ellis and two veterans of the L.A. Free Jazz scene: cornetist Bobby Braford and clarinetist John Carter, both of whom had first-hand early associations with Ornette Coleman. Advance approximately four decades – no recording date is listed – and Golia, who is now too an elder statesman, performs on the two-CD set Trajectory, with five associates who had been his students –brass player Daniel Rosenboom, saxophonist Gavin Templeton, guitarist Alexander Noice, bassist Miller Wrenn and percussionist Andrew Lessman. Constantly expand his instrument collection, Golia here plays sopranino, Bb, G soprano, tenor, baritone saxophones, G, Eb, contra alto clarinets, Eb flute, Fujara, bull roarer, Zun, gongs, bells, singing bowl and bass drum.Creating a less austere variant of the thorny Free Jazz which Carter and Bradford had been perfecting since the late 1960s, the quartet’s improvisations on Live at the Century City Playhouse are cleanly harmonized with every texture clearly audible and interlocked. On a track like “#2”, for instance, Golia’s vaporous flute flutters and Carter’s peeping arabesques create a running commentary on the contrapuntal theme, expressed chromatically through heartfelt moans from Bradford and Ferris’ growled pitches. Resolution comes when Golia’s baritone saxophone shronks apply a thickened coda to the tone distribution. On other tracks the marching band history of the wind instruments is explored in full, as the four frequently unravel themes which owe much to processional or marching band expressions. Of course no matter how many times the quartet is involved in these semi-regularized expositions, the multiphonic and multi-pitched variables consistent with more exploratory sounds are as prominent. Moving from reed to reed, Golia can sometimes approach the formality of a Jazzer, recasting a melody from the standards tradition, or elsewhere, especially when using his lower-pitched horns, crunch out earth-shaking tones that brush up against Carter’s studied euphony or Ferris’ plunger polyphony.

Live at the Century City Playhouse’s most convincing improvisation occurs on “Chronos I”, with Golia depending on piccolo power to further disentangle the coloratura concerto set up for Carter. Using a combination of freak notes and flutter tonguing, the clarinetist pulls original lines from his reed, meeting at various times contrapuntal challenges from bugle-like fanfares from the cornetist, measured snorts from the trombonist and a cornucopia of antiphonal textures from the piccolo. Eventually, as the others are also briefly showcased, what could be called Concerto for Carter expands enough to leave a memorable impression.

Impressions are just as indelible on the 16 tracks that make up Trajectory, but imbued with timbral differences. Besides Golia collecting and utilizing more reeds and percussion, the rhythmic sensibility is altered more by the looming spectre of Rock as well as Jazz; plus that guitar effects, electric bass suppleness and varied percussion attacks further democratize the improvisational proceedings. Noice’s guitar work, for instance, expands the spectrum from single-string melodic Barney Kessel-like accompaniment with an acoustic double bass solo and polished flutter tonguing from Golia’s soprano saxophone on “Dr. Loomis, Welcome Back To The Hospital” to clamorous lead guitar motion with pedal distortion on “Ananaki (What They Left …?)” which concentrates on an allegiance to Frank Zappa-like Jazz-Rock with the lead guitar kicks introducing fluttery trumpet coloration in almost concert keys that is uniquely provides counterpoint to torqued reed explosions, all of which is stacked upon a baritone sax bottom.

The tracks which depend on rock-sock, jumping rhythms spectacularly show off the sextet’s virtuosity, but so do the more measured interactions. For example “Gift of the Nile” is introduced with a ghost-like combination of high-pitched flute breaths, clinking drums and moderated bass thumps that soon build up to knob-twisting buzzes and splatters from the guitar and horn vibrations. In the same way, “The Penabus (Going To Leyte Soon, Can You Get Me One?)” is mercurial enough to climax with guitar flanging and percussion shakes, but begins with an atmospheric scene-setting of layered trumpet and tenor saxophone reflections.

Truthfully though, those pieces which best express the mature considerations of the sextet are those which downplay Rock inflections for Jazz expressiveness. “Sparks Of Dare … For Elizabeth Or Eleanor (Have You Ever Been To Roanoke?)” and “Night Time Messages (Not Exactly As Planned but Still OK …)” both break through their polyphonic and polyrhythmic shapes to isolate distinctive reed encounters, the first between contra alto clarinet and alto saxophone, and the second between clarinet and alto saxophone. Unparalleled excitement is added to “Sparks Of Dare …” with trumpet peeps and clip-clap drum patterns, with the finale finding the others turning tonally upwards as Golia propels foghorn-like snorts across the sound field. As for “Night Time Messages…” the flutter tonguing and doubled reed vibrations are eventually harmonized, so that a coloratura theme elaboration twists and turns enough with to connect with Noice’s plectrum pacing.

Maintaining a front-row position with every type of improviser in the Los Angeles area has led Golia to experiment with nearly every size and shape of band and texture. As different as these discs are, they demonstrate his consistency. But it may have been helpful for comprehension if Trajectory’s track titles were less like extended in-jokes.

Het uitstekende Franse label Dark Tree Records heeft een beperkte catalogus, met 9 releases waarvan zes met sleutelspelers van de Franse improvisatie. Na een eerdere release van het John Carter/Bobby Bradford Quintet (een registratie uit 1975) is dit de tweede release waarmee het label in die scene duikt. Klarinettist Carter en kornettist Bradford waren samen met pianist Horace Tapscott enkele kernspelers van de vooruitstrevende Californische jazz en zorgden met Seeking en Flight For Four (beide uit 1969) voor regelrechte cultklassiekers. Het was een creatieve voedingsbodem waar later ook artiesten zoals Arthur Blythe, Mark Dresser, het Rova Saxophone Quartet en de broers Alex en Nels Cline in zouden gedijen. Een andere belangrijke figuur was de voormalige schilder Vinny Golia.

Die had in 1977 een eigen label (Nine Winds) opgericht waarop de eerste release — Spirits In Fellowship — ook al met John Carter was. Golia, een veelvraat die zowat alle fluiten, saxen en klarinetten bespeelde en normaal een voorkeur had voor duo- en triobezettingen, breidde zijn trio met John Carter en Bobby Bradford voor deze concertopname uit met trombonist Glenn Ferris. Golia’s arsenaal blijft hier ‘beperkt’ tot dwarsfluit, altfluit, piccolo, basklarinet en baritonsax, maar zelfs met één instrument had het waarschijnlijk geleid tot iets bijzonders. Deze opnames bevatten immers een naadloos verbond van gecomponeerde kamermuziek en vrije improvisatie, met interactie die voortdurend blijft bewegen en transformeren, aanzwelt en uitdunt, een evenwicht zoekt tussen een variatie aan timbres, texturen en registers.

Het is meteen Golia die op fluit het voortouw neemt in “#2”, dat van start gaat met een kluwen van ideeën, een nerveus heen-en-weergekets waarin plots eensgezind een thema opduikt. Het klinkt als kamermuziek waarin een liefde voor moderne klassiek doorsijpelt, maar die gaandeweg weer gecontrasteerd wordt met vrije interactie, vol zwierige fluitvluchten, zoemende klarinetpassages, schetterende kornetstoten en breed uitgesmeerde en ontspannen pompommende trombone. Geen swing, maar die duikt wel op in “Views”, waarin Golia’s ronkende baritonsax in combinatie met de andere blazers toch een beetje herinnert aan het oudere, vrije werk van het World Saxophone Quartet, vooral omdat de jazz hier wel nadrukkelijk doorsijpelt.

Het zwaartepunt van het album zit in het tweeluik “Chronos I”/ “Chronos II”, samen goed voor een half uur, dat aanvankelijk vooral opvalt door de combinatie van hoge timbres en registers (piccolo, klarinet, kornet met ouderwetse, lichtjes komieke demper) en de zorgvuldig uitgewerkte arrangementen, maar uitpakt met een opmerkelijke solo van Carter, die eigenlijk ver verwijderd is van het nog relatief conventionele spel op de albums uit 1969, met virtuoze techniek en een fenomenaal bereik die zonder enige terughoudendheid in de strijd gegooid worden. Wat bovendien opvalt, is de ruimte die hier gegund wordt aan elkaar, met uitgebreide solopassages en opvallende contrasten, zeker wanneer Golia de diep bokkende basklarinet speelt.

Afsluiter “The Victims” is een korte ode aan de in 1977 overleden activist Steve Biko, en is doordrongen van een intense statigheid die laat horen dat het kwartet ook in iets meer gestroomlijnde vorm nog beschikt over een uniek karakter. Het is mooi dat deze opname uit een wat miskende periode en scene nu alsnog onder de aandacht komt, ook al was er dan een klein Parijs label voor nodig. Ook dat behoort tot de charme van de vrije muziek.

Throughout his four-decade recording career, woodwinds palyer Vinny Golia has collaborated with the likes of Anthony Braxton, John Zorn and Wadada Leo Smith. Dark Tree Records’ recent release of the Vinny Golia Wind Quartet Live at the Century City Playhouse – Los Angeles, 1979 captures the intensity and experimental fervor that first established him as a mainstay of the West Coast avant-garde scene. Five original compositions conjure spectral and volatile landscapes, combining a free-jazz methodology with an instrumental and harmonic palette that borrows from 20th-century chamber music. Ranging from delicate to thrillingly abrasive, each piece defines an otherwordly space of its own for the musicians to explore – often resulting in ferocious twisting gestures and intrepid flights of extended techniques.

Upon receiving this CD, the first thing some listeners will do is to check the year when it was first issued and the label that released it. Let me save you the trouble: remarkably, this is the very first time this album has ever been released. Given the quality of the music and playing here, that seems an unforgiveable oversight by someone, which the Paris-based Dark Tree label has now remedied. Recorded live in May 1979 at one of the reputed Sunday-night concerts held at LA’s Century City Playhouse, the album features then 33-year-old Vinny Golia on assorted woodwind instruments, Glen Ferris on trombone, Bobby Bradford on cornet and John Carter on clarinet, collectively called Vinny Golia Wind Quartet.

That quartet of two brass and two reeds, with no rhythm section, was of its time, coming just two years after the formation of World Saxophone Quartet. The pair with Texan roots, Bradford and Carter, were vital to the sound of Golia’s quartet, their interweaving lines displaying years of experience of each other, dating back to the late 60′s when they were together in New Art Jazz Ensemble. (Incidentally, in 2015 Dark Tree also released the pair’s fine album No U Turn, of music dating back to 1975.) Golia’s written chamber-music themes provided structured contexts for the quartet, which could have sounded too polite and controlled without the life and energy breathed into them by the players’ solos, notably those from Bradford and Carter. Golia balanced the quartet’s instrumentation well, his choice of Ferris on trombone adding depth to the soundscape, and his own combinations of piccolo flute, C flute, alto flute, bass clarinet and baritone sax on different tracks giving it colour and variety.

The album features both sets from the concert, the first one consisting of two pieces that run for just over twenty-six minutes, while the second has three pieces and runs for thirty-seven minutes. Right at the heart of the performance, opening the second set, is the two-part composition “Chronos I” and “Chronos II”, a tour de force that plays to the quartet’s strengths and allows them all time and space to show what they can do. The album is brought to a stunning conclusion by “The Victims (for Steve Biko)”, a sedately-paced composition with a fittingly mournful tone that does justice to its title and its dedicatee. The recording deservedly closes to the sound of warm applause. An album to treasure. Let’s hope for more such gems from Dark Tree.

Vinny Golia, ce n’est pas que cette longue chevelure blanche à faire pâlir tous les chauves de mon espèce. C’est aussi -voire surtout en réalité, mais quand même- un musicien polymorphe, saxophoniste généreux et puissant, mais également à l’aise aux clarinettes, au basson, aux flûtes… Pour aller vite et reprendre sa définition, l’usage des bois, dont il s’est fait le spécialiste, tant dans le domaine de la creative music que dans la musique contemporaine. On se remémorera ses compositions for Large Ensemble, enregistré en 1982 ou un incroyable solo capté en 1980. Plus proche des obsessions de ces pages, on le découvrait également au ténor dans le Creative Orchestra de Braxton en 1978, notamment à Köln.
Une sacré carte de visite, qui brille encore aujourd’hui, avec Oliver Lake, Weasel Walter ou Lisa Mezzacappa.
Le disque qui nous concerne aujourd’hui est une édition d’un concert capté à Los Angeles en 1979, pile entre sa participation au Grand Orchestre de Braxton et sa propre expérience en grand format. Mais ce disque est un quartet. Doit on dire quatuor ? Il n’y a que des soufflants qui s’escriment comme il s’expriment dans une forme chambriste extrêmement élaboré où chacun des solistes convergent comme par une force centrifuge inextinguible qui mène à un point central en constante fusion.
Pour résumer, c’est doux, c’est fin, mais on s’en prend plein les oreilles.
Si le doute persiste, se passer “#2″, sur le premier set, où l’alchimie des timbres et cette phrase obsessionnelle qui hante le morceau capte immédiatement l’attention
Pour accompagner Vinny Golia, on retrouve deux habitués du label Dark Tree, qui édite presque naturellement ce document. Il s’agit du clarinettiste John Carter et du cornettiste Bobby Bradford, qu’on avait déjà entendu dans NoUturn. Bertrand Gastaut, le patron du label est un spécialiste de la West Coast, et ce concert en est un pur produit. Du moins l’un des exemples de ce qui a pu se faire de meilleur dans le creuset de Los Angeles. On est à peine surpris de voir le tromboniste Glenn Ferris clore le angles du carré. Le tromboniste, plus pertinent que jamais offre une grande souplesse et ses discussions récurrentes avec Bradford sont l’un des moment les plus intense de cette brillante rencontre, où le son n’accuse pas le poids des ans.
On peine à savoir où donner de la tête, tant les interpellations sont partout, à l’instar du ronflement incessant de la clarinette basse sur “Views”, ou la trame pleine de finesse de “Chronos 1″, en équilibre constant entre le sifflement abrupt et la mélodie riche, passant de l’un à l’autre comme pour mieux s’affranchir de toutes postures attendues et d’offrir à Golia, au milieu des envolées collectives de formidables occasions de briller dans la foultitude de ses instruments.
Live at The Century City Playhouse est une belle pièce, d’autant que les notes de pochettes nous font découvrir tout une époque (et la passion de Glenn Ferris pour les Volvo). Indispensable.

Adventurous cellist Daniel Levin has been taken creativity further with bold trio projects totally lean on free improvisation. After collaborating with saxophonist Tony Malaby and violist Mat Maneri on New Artifacts (Clean Feed, 2017), he now presents us a new project co-lead by fiery altoist Chris Pitsiokos and the wildly virtuosic guitarist Brandon Seabrook.
The album title, Stomiidae, refers to a class of particularly small deep-sea ray-finned fish, and the seven tracks were named according to some of its representative species.

“Photonectes Gracilis” opens with Pitsiokos’ incessantly frantic runs, which foment prompt responses by his peers. The result is vociferous, dispersed, and convoluted, only occasionally marching toward convergence and harmony. These dynamics, bracing a collective vision, end up in another noisy stir with saxophone growls and whistles, violent guitar discharges, and corrosive cello rips.

The art of noise is not so simple as it seems, and on “Eustomias Trewavasae” the threesome structures layers of drones with shifting moods and several intensities and densities. Levin uses the cello as a percussive element through bow tapping, leading the trio into a cacophony conversation that lies between lucidity and insanity.

“Neonesthes Capensis” feels like a neo-folk extravaganza that cumulates endless circular movements, rapid-fire sprints, and provocative interjections. Its freedom and interplay make us feel alive.

Both “Chauliodus Danae” and “Photostomias Atrox” last around two minutes, embracing distinct atmospheres marked by different granularities in its microtonal textures. The former stands out through the magnetic tonalities created by the bowed cello.

We are able to picture dark and gelid aquatic habitats from the fully-tilt passages that describe “Opostomias Micripnus”, a piece whose rhythmic control combusts with raw intensity, enhancing the frisson of discovery. High-energy aggregations are spontaneously lined up through several individual actions. While the saxophonist attacks with both piercing and popping sounds along with mercurial patterned sweeps, the guitarist inflicts short distorted blows and odd fingerpicking with strong accentuation toward the epicenter of the storm, with Levin injecting ominous sawing, panting low sounds.

Even if the sonic entropies are subjected to repetition, there are captivating abstract moments on Stomiidae that will make listeners of modern creative and new music styles fully immersed in the experimental, often-opaque waters in which the trio navigates.