Moment's Notice
Reviews of Recent Media
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Bill Frisell + Kit Downes + Andrew Cyrille
Breaking The Shell
Red Hook RH1006
Breaking The Shell showcases a rarely heard combination of instruments, pairing electric guitar and trap set with pipe organ. Guitarist Bill Frisell, pipe organist Kit Downes, and drummer Andrew Cyrille conspire towards a collaborative aesthetic that is intimate yet bold – a singular curiosity with a sonically mesmerizing atmosphere. Downes’ ethereal pipe organ contributions, captured on the 2023 Red Hook album Medna Roso, set the stage for this nuanced, expansive recording; Sun Chung, founder and producer of Red Hook Records previously produced three similar studio albums for Cyrille in trio and quartet settings with Frisell for ECM Records.
The album was recorded over two days in May 2022, at St. Luke in the Fields, Greenwich Village, New York. The English village style church, with its Baroque style organ, provided a unique environment for the trio. The organ, with its 27 stops and 1,670 pipes, required Downes to adapt to its unique characteristics, presenting an infinite range of possibilities. The unconventional instrumentation and unusual acoustic properties of the hall reveal attentive listening was key. All three musicians are in top form, confidently expressing themselves while exploring the timbral and harmonic capabilities of their instruments to summon strikingly original performances.
The trio fashions an ethereal sound world in which the organ often sounds the least dominant – paradoxically for an instrument that can be so bombastic. The impressionistic opener, “May 4th,” sets the tone with a slowly enveloping soundscape; one can hear each musician seeking communality as Frisell plies spare fretwork against Downes’ organ drones while Cyrille accompanies softly. The angular, Monk-ish melody of Downes’ “Untitled 2023,” trades atmosphere for tension as it becomes more agitated. Named after an enormous flood region and system of canyons on the planet Mars, “Kasei Valles” is even more expansive. Enriched by Cyrille’s percussive accents, overdriven guitar and the full breadth of the organ saturate the church with swelling reverberations, as Downes adroitly juggles stops and pipes, building from a hushed whisper to a thundering roar. The sound becomes increasingly dark, dense, and unsettling, mirroring the turbulent nature of the alien landscape.
“El,” composed by Downes, explores a more harmonious angle as the trio relays a melancholy tale. Guest cellist Lucy Railton adds lush accents, accompanying Frisell’s rendition of the dulcet melody and Cyrille’s exquisite brushwork. Frisell’s “Two Twins” is a master class in dynamic interplay, sculpted by Cyrille’s sensitive refrains. This piece, along with other abstract sketches, like the nuanced meditation “Southern Body,” a gorgeous rendition of Cyrille’s ballad “Proximity,” and the eerie miniature “Cypher,” offer listeners a range of sonic possibilities. The album also includes two traditional European folk songs: the moody “Sjung Herte Sjung” (“Sing Heart Sing”) from Norway, that Frisell imbues with a cinematic vibe; and “Este a Székelyeknél” (“In the Evening at the Székelys”) from Hungary, which concludes the date with the restful sound of wind whispering through the organ’s pipes.
Featuring a mix of original compositions and old folk songs, Breaking the Shell yields a multihued tapestry of sound that is innovative yet rooted in musical traditions. Despite the unusual instrumentation and varied source material, the trio creates a cohesive and absorbing program that transcends genre, its otherworldly sonic explorations unveiling new details with each listen. A testament to these musicians’ protean abilities, this effort celebrates the limitless creative possibilities of improvised music.
–Troy Collins
Satoko Fujii Quartet
Dog Days of Summer
Libra 204-076
On Dog Days of Summer, pianist Satoko Fujii reconvenes one of her earliest working ensembles – the Satoko Fujii Quartet, her powerhouse avant jazz-rock fusion group – for their first recording in almost two decades. Originally founded in 2001, the Satoko Fujii Quartet was one of Fujii’s first working bands, which recorded five albums before she put the group on hold in 2007. Then last year, Fujii brought them together again for a festival gig, a short tour, and a studio session. Reunited with trumpeter Natsuki Tamura, bassist Takeharu Hayakawa, and drummer Tatsuya Yoshida, the band has lost none of its edge; challenging though the music is, it is also nuanced, as the quartet continues to find new ways to navigate uncharted areas between musical genres.
The Satoko Fujii Quartet truly is an all-star ensemble. Fujii is one of today’s most original voices; for nearly 30 years she has created a unique and prodigious oeuvre that spans genres, blending jazz, classical, rock, and traditional Japanese music into a singular style. Tamura’s musical vocabulary blends lyricism with extended techniques; in addition to appearing in many of Fujii’s projects and recordings, he is a leader in his own right. Hayakawa is one of Japan’s premiere bassists and a longtime member of the Dr. Umezu Band. Yoshida, founder of avant-prog duo The Ruins, is one of the world’s most innovative drummers. Together, Yoshida’s odd-metered volleys and Hayakawa’s metallic tactics call to mind The Ruins – the collision of their bombast with Fujii and Tamura’s abstract approach often results in a surprising symmetry.
Fujii incorporates a variety of styles into her intricate, multi-layered compositions, subtly fusing divergent genres into an organic whole. She enhances elaborate arrangements with sections for individual solo cadenzas as well as intimate duets. Her writing and arranging breaks the band into smaller configurations, often pulling it in different directions, but the ensemble never loses its sense of unity. The group surges with vivacious energy, delivering evocative melodies bolstered by complex harmonic counterpoint and expansive dynamics.
The rousing opener, “Not Together,” is playful but serious, beginning with tandem exclamations before devolving into angular abstraction. Yoshida’s drums are thunderous; Hayakawa’s distorted fuzz bass evokes guitar-like tonalities; Fujii bashes with unfettered enthusiasm; and after Tamura lets loose with brassy fanfares there’s a collective climax and a return to the opening theme, together. Yet despite all the fury, there is melody. “Haro wo Matsu” initially contrasts Hayakawa’s amplified bass lines against Fujii’s acoustic piano filigrees. Fujii blends lyrical refrains with percussive runs and a dramatic crescendo before instigating a tonal shift into a progressive jazz-rock excursion; Tamura enters with a melodious solo and after a freeform break down, Yoshida ends it with an epic drum solo.
Ensemble interplay dominates “Metropolitan Expressway,” which spotlights the instrumental prowess of individual players. Yoshida’s funky beat propels the band; Hayakawa surges with tribal timing; Tamura blazes with a mute; and Fujii weaves in and out with free cascades. Ultimately, it all coheres, much like the following number. Beginning and ending with Tamura soaring over a plodding rock beat, “A Parcel for You” separates the band into bass/drums and trumpet/piano duos, alternating thrashing rock and gnarled free jazz, then merges disparate strains for a rousing finale.
Oscillating between quietude and intensity, “Circle Dance” begins with pointillist musings before swelling to life with vocalized trumpet refrains and a sensitive drum solo. Similarly engaging, “Low” is a barnburner with overlapping solos by each bandmember that converge at the end in a cumulative finale. The date concludes with the title track, a tuneful number dappled with hints of fusion and prog that is underpinned by a fuzzed-out, rocking Hayakawa/Yoshida rhythm, and complemented by Fujii and Tamura’s adventurous extrapolations on a wistful melody.
Extending the band’s track record, Dog Days of Summer expands upon the group’s prior accomplishments, establishing new possibilities from a familiar framework. An adventurous set from Fujii’s Quartet that merges jazz and rock with lyricism and power, Dog Days of Summer rewards repeated listening, revealing new layers of complexity and virtuosity over time.
–Troy Collins
Rich Halley 4
Dusk and Dawn
Pine Eagle 016
For over three decades, Portland, Oregon-based tenor saxophonist Rich Halley has been performing uncompromising modern jazz away from the purview of the mainstream press. Halley’s vanguard approach draws inspiration from a long line of tough tenors, bolstering his neo-traditionalist post-bop with an affinity for the boundless possibilities of free jazz. One of the great undersung saxophonists of our time, Halley is part of a generation of musicians who not only know how to structure solos that tell a story, but how to create compositions that enhance such narratives. In turn, Halley’s singular pieces are unconventionally structured, each bearing its own unique character.
With over two dozen independent releases to his name as a bandleader, Dusk and Dawn is Halley’s 16th release on his Pine Eagle Records imprint, featuring Halley’s longstanding working quartet with trombonist Michael Vlatkovich, bassist Clyde Reed, and Halley’s son Carson on drums. Reed and the young Halley support the vibrant horn section with fluid, in-the-pocket rhythms, integrating more than just straight-ahead swing to drive the band. Navigating the rhythm section’s stylistic shifts, Halley’s brawny tenor invokes numerous antecedents, from the breathy lyricism of the swing era to the New Thing’s brusque rhapsodies. Vlatkovich makes a perfect foil for Halley, complementing the leader’s robust extrapolations with vocalized ruminations and exuberant admonitions.
The album opens with “Spherical Aberrations,” which traverses a series of dynamic changes, foreshadowing the seamless shifts between freedom and form that define Halley’s writing. Lumbering out of the gate, the tune transitions from an odd-metered lope to roiling double-time, the bristling rhythm section underscoring Halley’s turbulent tenor and Vlatkovich’s burly musings before the punchy front-line engages in a series of contrapuntal exchanges in Latinized straight time.
Despite Halley’s rugged approach, he does occasionally reveal a more introspective side. As he has on prior releases, Halley includes a handful of collective improvisations, although the band’s chemistry and approach towards written material blurs the line between loose readings of notated charts and spontaneous invention. One of the more reserved pieces, “After Dawn,” bears a plangent tenor line, which evolves in balladic fashion bolstered by Vlatkovich’s counter-lines.
Another group improvisation, “The Return,” reveals tonal harmonies and variable rhythms that are common to most of Halley’s written compositions. The slow but melodically complex piece is executed primarily by tenor and trombone, until the tempo increases. Once bass and drums enter to buoy Vlatkovich’s solo, they maintain an infectious, swinging beat for Halley to veer “outside,” before Carson grabs the spotlight. Similarly revealing a composer’s ear, Halley’s lengthy excursion on “Spatter” builds from fragmentary motifs to circuitous phrases that peak in exclamatory cries as the pace quickens, drawing a conceptual through-line from the gruff refrains of Hawkins to the acerbic exhortations of Ayler.
From the rousing assault of “Stretching The Sinews” to the bluesy lamentation of “The Hard Truth,” the group imbues each coiled theme with vim and vigor. Considering how few creative improvised musicians work outside established scenes in the states, Halley deserves wider recognition for his efforts. Expounding upon a diversity of avant-garde jazz traditions with palpable conviction, Halley and company make a strong case for the possibilities of adventurous acoustic jazz made outside of well-known metropolitan centers.
–Troy Collins
Andrew Hill Sextet Plus 10
A Beautiful Day, Revisited
Palmetto
Nobody reading a journal entitled Point Of Departure should need any introduction to pianist and composer Andrew Hill. His string of Blue Note sessions from the 1960s are legendary, and the foundation of his reputation. However, one aspect of his work which has not been well documented is his approach to larger ensembles, with the partial exception of 1969’s Passing Ships for a nine-piece band, although that was only released in 2003. Otherwise, A Beautiful Day, first issued in 2002, remains the sole big band entry in his discography. On the evidence of this top-notch set, his was a distinctive conception which merited greater exposure.
As revealed in the liners, Palmetto label boss Matt Balitsaris rediscovered the master tapes of the three nights of live recording from NYC’s Birdland which sourced the original album and was inspired to remix using updated technology. The new mastering results in more detailed, transparent sound, and also benefits from extra unreleased material, meaning that the album has been enlarged from a single to a double CD/LP. While the inclusion of a second version of the title track is worthwhile, the other addition, presenting the entirety of the closing vamp of “11/8” to take in Hill’s introductions to the band offers little more than a splash of local color.
Maybe Hill subscribed to Cecil Taylor’s dictum that the music does not exist on paper, as he goes to extraordinary lengths to keep his musicians off-balance. In the liner notes to the new set, trumpeter Ron Horton, who both wrote the arrangements and conducted the band, reveals some of Hill’s process. At one rehearsal he recounts how after he had handed out the parts to everyone, Hill went round a few band members, whispered something in their ears and took away their music.
Even as the 16 musicians took to the stage, one trumpeter confided to a journalist “We don’t have any idea what’s going to happen tonight.” The majority of Hill’s pieces comprised fragments which he ordered or reordered not long prior to mounting the bandstand. In performance, as critic Nate Chinen reviewing the opening night for Downbeat explained: “During the set, trumpeter/conductor Ron Horton intermittently flashed a cue card with specific coordinates (e.g. ‘Beautiful Day, Insert Bar 1’), and the band quickly followed his instructions.”
If the sleeve notes occasionally read like an apologia, then it must be directed towards any unreconstructed big band enthusiasts who inadvertently stumble across this set. For everyone else any contrition is redundant as the spontaneous mix of watertight sections, loose tutti, and impromptu individual features create a sometimes bewildering, other times enthralling, but always supremely listenable experience, notwithstanding a few unduly precipitate endings. As a consequence, a piece might be very different from one night to the next, as the second, longer version of the title number, from the opening night of the run, demonstrates.
While some lovely melodies surface from time to time, in many of the cuts, the unison horn lines are minimal, a few bars only on occasion. As such they barely frame the ensuing solos or small group interactions, and rarely offer substantive resource for subsequent development in solos. However, the likes of Horton and saxophonists Marty Ehrlich and Greg Tardy – stalwarts of Hill’s sextet who form the core of the outfit – use their familiarity with his working methods to smooth transitions and ensure coherent wholes, more so than the leader in fact.
In both his writing and playing, Hill inhabits an uneven netherworld between hard bop and avant garde, but chisels out a niche all his own. He assumes prominence sparingly here, and there is minimal aural indication of him directing via the keyboard. Indeed, his solos often seem more digression than tune, marked by regular subtle shifts in meter, clanking dissonances which distantly recall Monk, and an incantatory manner which evokes his peer Mal Waldron. Perhaps to cope with such unpredictability, drummer Nasheet Waits and bassist Scott Colley lay down a chattering rhythmic carpet which constrains neither the pianist nor his squad.
Aside from Hill, other notable moments include tenor saxophonists Tardy and Aaron Stewart trading blows amid the braying excitement of “Divine Revelation,” the only selection repurposed from Hill’s back catalogue, and the most conventionally arranged. Helpfully, soloists are delineated on the track listing, although Ehrlich’s keening alto on the originally released version of “A Beautiful Day” might be easily identified. Also readily discernible, Jose D’Avila can be heard having a great time throughout, romping through “Bellezza” in tandem with Horton who alternates darting sallies, conversational expressiveness, and puckish humor.
Baritone saxophonist J.D Parran, (spelt Parron on the sleeve), takes a bow on “J Di” as a punchy fanfare swiftly gives way to a showcase in which the reedman mediates attractive burrs with multiphonic blasts, until almost subsumed by the unruly horns, but seeing out the track unaccompanied. That illustrates a more general point: none of the spotlit players pursue the typical big band arc to manufacture a screaming climax. Not only does Hill keep the band on its toes, but he does the same to the listener too. The alluring scent of danger is never far away. Each cut teeters on a tightrope, giving the album a particular edge. But at the end of the day, Hill’s trust in his crew, and in Horton especially, is amply rewarded.
–John Sharpe
Darius Jones
Legend of e’Boi (The Hypervigilant Eye)
AUM Fidelity 120
If there’s one quality that you can hear across all of Darius Jones’ projects, it’s urgency. Not in the sense that he’s in a rush (despite how prolific he is), but a kind of emotional intensity of the “listen with all your might!” sort. On this, the seventh of a planned nine recordings in his ongoing Man’ish Boy epic, his trio with bassist Chris Lightcap and drummer Gerald Cleaver is as dialed into this emotion as one could imagine.
Jones has consistently been invested in self-exploration and spiritual questing. To these searching themes, Legend of e’Boi adds Jones’ engagement with black mental health and generational trauma. Even without knowing this, you can hear such sentiments all over these six tracks. “Affirmation Needed” jump-starts the date, with Jones’ pared-down lines stretching across a crackling groove. What immediately grabs you is how marvelously he plays with time, spooling out dazzling polyrhythms here and soaring across bars with long tones there. Things boil fervently but Jones, as much as he heats up his tone, is bracingly focused on maintaining clarity of line. “Another Kind of Forever” has a kind of harmolodic quality to it, all bouncing lines broken up by sizzling drums. The tempo noses up to a full gallop and somehow despite all the energy Jones sounds overwhelming lonely.
He’s even deeper in this space on the powerful lament, “No More My Lord.” The only non-original here, it’s based on a prison song recorded by Alan Lomax at Parchman Farm in 1948. Over Lightcap’s sorrowful drone and Cleaver’s anxious skitter, Jones’ lines are positively sobbing, and somehow especially aching when he applies the heat. Things sound even more dialed in on “We Outside.” It begins as a wonderfully spacious piece – Jones is a very generous player, leaving his mates tons of room – but soon cycles through continuous subconscious permutations, from free to groove. Threads weave together to reach a boiling crescendo. From there, though, the date changes quite a bit. First is the lush, bluesy ballad “We Inside Now,” which steadily rises to its feet for a slinky groove. And the album closes with the splendidly titled “Motherfuckin Roosevelt” – one of several tunes/concepts that Jones revisits on his recordings. This piece is mysterious and unpredictable, but Jones is again so forceful in his expression, with such an intensely powerful low end and impassioned keening up top. It’s a fitting capper to this marvelous record, and whets the appetite for the next entry.
–Jason Bivins