Woody Sullender – Music From “Four Movements” & Other Favorites

Having examined Woody Sullender’s work in the not-so-recent past, my memory can’t locate anything of his as peculiar as this release. After making a name for himself as a highly distinctive banjoist, Sullender eventually focused on endeavors that were more in line with conceptual art, such as installation and other excursions that you may trustably read about online. A blend of acoustic (yes, the banjo is back), “cinematically rarefied”, and electronic-minimalist sonorities keeps us pretty engaged on this CD. Still, while in general interesting, the whole frequently veers into a kind of old-fashioned techno, adorned with vintage sequencers and drum machines. Although some genuinely hypnotic segments filled with bright frequencies are definitely helpful (I am not forgetting that Mr. Sullender has worked with the late, great Maryanne Amacher, among others), admittedly my ears were somewhat baffled at first. By experiencing the stuff for a second time, what was sounding bizarre – and nearly commercial – managed to carve out a little corner of guilty pleasure in my callous self. Now one can only hope that, moving forward, this writer won’t be swamped with additional techno-oriented music promos sent by the innumerable wannabes of the world. Quite amazingly, I already receive a lot of them.

Jaap Blonk / Damon Smith / Ra Kalam Bob Moses – Rune Kitchen

A rare instance of improvisation that maintained my interest at a high level over the entirety of a CD, which, in recent years, is an impressive accomplishment. Jaap Blonk sounds like an anxious wanderer who has been looking for logical slivers forever. His vocalizations reveal an effort on his part to find solace by obliterating visions and slicing up a painful history. Rarely does his approach convey anything close to serenity, but his expression – occasionally complemented by electronics – is absolutely, incontrovertibly true, often bordering on the ritualistic. With the confidence of a craftsman who learns day by day that this is the only way to experience liberated catharsis, Damon Smith navigates the rough edges of a challenging coexistence. His bass creates the necessary room for the survival of what would otherwise be utterly ephemeral by drawing from the ether particles of drones, unclean resonances, and an essentially percussive spirit. Ra Kalam Bob Moses comes across as a sage encourager of rhythmic hypotheses, while also keeping the trio grounded through complete control of his varied drumming, and sapiently breaking the pulse in coordination with their instants of spiritual unity. In a succession of ever-captivating timbral communions, the colors of his drums caress our ears and resound in sympathy. 

Reg Bloor – Viewer Discretion Is Not Advised

To address an audience on your own requires extraordinary bravery. Reg Bloor, however, has been consistently accomplishing this for years, both live and through a triplet of compelling recordings, replete with odd-metered harmonic variations supplemented by composite caterwauling textures. Viewer Discretion Is Not Advised confirms her habit of chastising ears overly accustomed to consonance and comforting frequencies, never forgetting to teach a thing or two in terms of solo composition for electric guitar. The terrifyingly piercing pitches of “Devil Without A God” can easily drive despised neighbors crazy. In just a few minutes each, “Bleed Like A Christian” and “The Wreckage Of Your Presence” lyophilize all the distortions that a test room of Pro Co Rat pedals may have produced over the past decades. The brilliantly titled “UFOs Are Real And No One Cares” alternates snippets of frightening tune and rhythmic capriciousness in such a way that we can picture Bloor psychologically in charge of a number of tiny parallel universes. Quite amazingly, after the initial shock the auricular membranes self-anesthetize, succumbing to the hyperacute invasion without a fight. What at first seems impossible to embrace becomes the norm to obey to. Those who are intelligent enough adjust effortlessly, and benefit much. We still need to calculate the percentage of irony and extreme seriousness; but, when the set ends, the brain suddenly misses the music’s overdriven quintessence.

Joe Berardi – Minor Miracles And Major Epiphanies

Last summer your reviewer remained entranced by the superb Outzeit The Geist, a solo album by Kira Vollman, the female half of the legendary duo Non Credo (woe betide you if the response is “never heard of them”). Not to be outdone, the remaining member of the duo – percussionist and composer Joe Berardi, a man of talent and extensive artistic resume – has put out a most enjoyable collection of little gems composed during the two-year period that we have all come to hate. Now, try to explain to folks why solitude is the best condition there is for generating interesting music. Playing all the instruments alone, Berardi gifted us with a trove of aural treats that may appear relatively penetrable, but conceal a myriad of contrapuntal subtleties, perfectly functional with the intelligence and mildly ironic sense of humor demonstrated by the deus ex machina through the entire program. If you are reasoning along the lines of extreme avant-garde, be prepared for nice “alternative surprises” instead. Berardi has quite an appetite for genuine themes and crafty harmonic progressions, if necessary surrounded by unlikely recorded conversations, or somewhat domestic noises. He also successfully tries his hand at various hypothetical commentaries on images that even we cannot focus on, perhaps taken from some movie of the 70’s whose film is already rather time-worn. I felt myself simultaneously a young kid enthralled in front of a black-and-white TV, and a nerd-ish teenager battling with the wiring of his own autonomous creative station in a room that smells like musty vinyl record covers. Overall, Minor Miracles And Major Epiphanies is a bravely inventive and, in a way, joyfully nostalgic release. The proof that memories can be warped, and still sound great.

Philip Samartzis – Atmospheres And Disturbances

It is advisable to rely on field specialists (no pun intended) when it comes to location recordings, particularly if technical proficiency complements compositional adroitness. A key person in this area is Philip Samartzis, a longtime professor of sound ecology who, as per his biographical notes, has always been motivated by ideas of “perception, immersion, and embodiment”. Atmospheres And Disturbances is a quintessential representation of the process connecting the residency at a remote site of environmental analysis (in this case, the High-Altitude Research Station at Jungfraujoch, Switzerland) with the judicious assemblage of the sonic manifestations identifying that place. The listener’s ability to temporarily disengage from the details of everyday life to appreciate the phenomenological vastness of acoustic/atemporal zones that not many are fortunate enough to visit is directly correlated with the skill of the artist who labored on the project. Samartzis, whose work we have respected for decades, certainly does not disappoint in this regard. After plunging the self inside windstorms, dripping and/or cracking glaciers, and sinisterly vibrating metal infrastructure, we feel deceptively relieved, at the close of it all, when the familiar cowbell chiming of a passing herd escorts our consciousness during the return to normalcy. Except then realizing that the (absent) mind was feeling more at home before, amidst psychoacoustic threats and ominous, yet healthy silences.

Stefan Östersjö / Katt Hernandez – Aeolian Duo At Edsviken

Umpteenth medium-sized pile of promos left in a corner of the archive. “Yep, I’ll listen to them later”. Typical forgetfulness for about a year, then an equally classic unassuming pearl that pops out of the huddle as soon as I get my hands on those items again. Stefan Östersjö (aeolian guitar) and Katt Hernandez (violin) do exactly what I would have liked to spend my earthly permanence doing. That is, using instruments that react to environmental cues while alone in the middle of wilderness, with the nearby fauna — in this specific circumstance the ducks of Edsviken, close to Stockholm — occasionally adding their daily chatter as the waters keep washing against the rocks. The reality remains that listening to this record made me feel immediately at home, yet not a little envious. The frail-toned violin, at least in this context, has a heartbeat as quick as a puppy dog’s and trajectory deviations as sudden as those of a goldfish, whereas the aeolian guitar conveys ectoplasmic signals and unbodied auras that no synthesizer can ever match. Everything was encased in the kind of silence that the trade calls “pregnant”. Of purpose, of hope, perhaps of mute pain. Only rare traces of faraway life materialize, but they do not manage to break the spell. Outside the window, a robin has just joined the ongoing sounds for a handful of precious seconds. It will never be too late when individuals realize the futility of talking.

Andrew Chalk – The Golden Road

The Golden Road was already referenced in the second volume of The Circle of Days, although it was only a relatively brief track back then. Thankfully for us, this namesake offering from the consistently praiseworthy Andrew Chalk extends the magic to over 33 minutes, immersing us once again in the microcosm of delicate whispers, harmonic ghosts and melancholy frequently bordering on the mournful that is typical of the work of this unique artist, who for decades now has been systematically steering clear of any trend. According to the press notes the original recording, though recently upgraded, was made in 2006. This was a time of grace for Chalk, who had released, among other beauties, the unforgettable Vega the year before, and had followed up with equally essential albums such as The River That Flows Into The Sands and Blue Eyes Of The March. To the knowledgeable ones, I obviously don’t need to say anything more, but I’d want to use this opportunity to encourage people who aren’t yet familiar with Chalk’s output to become so by getting deeply acquainted with his Bandcamp page. Besides collecting a wide variety of acoustically gratifying jewels, you will also have the chance to purchase outstanding limited edition artwork. The illustrations and paintings that make up the records’ covers represent a wonderful addition to a soundscape that subtly and silently depicts the shades of one’s innermost substance, without the listener even realizing it.

Adam Gottlieb / Victoria Stolz / Aviva Endean / Jim Denley – In Weather Volume 1: The Hidden Valley

It is crucial to rid our ears and brains of the currently prevailing garbage, especially in recent years. This terrific record serves as evidence that Jim Denley’s SplitRec is among the most effective labels for this kind of purification. The Hidden Valley, recorded in the Budawang Mountains (yeah, I’m feeling envious), is a classic example of improvisational ecology built on respect for the land and those who protect it; in this case, the Yuin, longtime residents of unceded Aboriginal territory. The genuine pleasure this writer experienced while deepening his knowledge of the quartet is equal to his ignorance of the geopolitical implications of the location in question. But none of this diminishes the enjoyment of the album. The performers appear wholly absorbed in the local environment, surrounded by organic, animal, and just faintly “modern” sounds (you can barely hear the distant hum of an airplane at one point, unless it was a figment of my imagination…), as they play – or beat – various types of wind instruments, objects, stones, trees, and mix Stolz’s charcoal paintings. Providing detailed descriptions would be of little assistance, but it is important to emphasize the significance of conscious listening. One must be open to noticing minutiae that, more than those of a musical statement, relate to priceless slivers of existence. A musician is likely aware of this connection to the intangible at such junctures, knowing the answers to all questions that aren’t required to ask, completely appreciating the union of sound and stillness, on par with all other living things. Not necessarily human.

C​/​W​|​N – ThirtyNine FiftyFive

For quite a while now, a few genuinely responsive musicians in the improvisational scene have been drawn to the quieter interstices between sounds already typified by a spirit of intrinsic peace, in spite of the occasional outburst of anarchy. Instrumentalists such as Georg Wissel (augmented alto sax), Dušica Cajlan (extended piano), and Etienne Nillesen (extended snare drum) fall into the category of performers more concerned with the reflection of internal resonance than with the “counterfeit zen master” mentality common among certain representatives of the same milieu (and, alas, of life at large). Free jazz ingredients may be present on their second album, but these elements also flourish into wholly different colors – sometimes verging on a mildly radical minimalism, if you ask me –  and always seem to represent an excellent product of instinctual contrapuntal investigation. Accordingly, Wissel, Cajlan and Nillesen’s accurate interplay is a perfect fit for their quest for a definition of shape amid the dispersion of intellectual translations. Alternative techniques are never utilized carelessly or crudely; every decision – individual or joint – appears to be made solely in service of the overall sonority’s depth, which remains the actual aim. Sincerely speaking, I haven’t felt much need to review albums of pure improvisation in recent months, perhaps annoyed by the too many semi-nonentities that have jumped on the bandwagon. This, though, is a welcome exception. A record that captivates the trained listener time and again, Thirtynine Fiftyfive is a classic sleeper, with a lot to offer to ears attuned to the dynamics of clever sonic teamwork.

Theresa Wong – Practicing Sands

Taking pleasure in an improvisation’s natural breathing. Discovering new timbral chiaroscuro thanks to the effective use of microphone positioning. Having the desire to see my luthier to experience the aroma of wood once more. These are only three of the many emotions that Theresa Wong’s most recent solo work elicited in me. I’ve played Practicing Sands – a genuine highlight of 2022, for me – at least a dozen times now. Each time I do, I come back to it hoping to understand exactly why listening to it makes me feel the way it does. Regarding spontaneous creation, there is little doubt about Wong’s talent, as the Bay Area-based artist has been navigating a wide range of settings with poise and assurance for years. The cello sounds in this album, both by themselves and when the protagonist’s voice is added, shape a unique combination of depth, levity, and, in a sense, mystery. Unplanned movements blend with unusual compositions and alternative tunings. It is flexible, soaring chamber music for a lone performer that is infused with poetic sensibility and an organic fluidity. Additionally, in the instance of the final and longest track “Opening Sea”, it serves as an illustration of how to manufacture a drone piece that truly has a purpose. Overall, not a single misstep, or a moment when we thought “this could have been avoided.” It’s just perfect.

Bjarni Gunnarsson – Paths

Small treasures of unfathomable acoustic depth always seem to materialize on dreary, frigid days. I’m spending fruitful hours listening to Paths, a set by Icelandic composer Bjarni Gunnarsson that was released six years ago, and casually picked up this morning from a handful of older promos. I’m being completely enthralled and pulled to the mystery of the sounds and near-silences contained in the five tracks offered here. And, as is often the case, I also need to berate myself for overlooking this excellent disc for so long. Gunnarsson’s CV is jam-packed with impressive accomplishments; some of his mentors are people I have the highest admiration for. Music that is self-sustaining through constant opposites, changes in condition, and transformed materials results from the ideal marriage of concreteness and cosmological spirit. It involves factors which may have been shared by diverse schools of electroacoustic thought, notably Richard Chartier’s Line, Empreintes DIGITALes, Andy Guhl and Norbert Möslang’s Voice Crack. However, for this listener, the overall effect is one of being lost in unfriendly areas of an unfamiliar city, accompanied by twilight shadows that very faintly allude to not necessarily human micro-activities, occasionally jarred by abrupt shifts in the environment. This brilliant sound artist’s work will require me to learn more about it, for sure.

Coach Campa Trio – Aggressively Unfriendly

The album’s title may lead you to believe otherwise, but hyperactive drummer Ethan Campa, along with Jared Flores on bass and Jonathan Livingston (ha!) on guitar, deliver 53 minutes of fast-paced, well-played, fresh-sounding material that is ultimately also ear-friendly in the greatest traditions of “free something” (in this case, more rock than jazz; perhaps a math rock where the math teacher actually comes from some asylum). The trio has a remarkable ability to develop a staggering amount of dynamic diversity and timbral intricacies by only adjusting the fundamental tones of their instruments. Their strength and stamina enable the music to never stop and occasionally become overpowering while always keeping an eye on the ironic component. At the risk of blasphemy, think of an improvising punk version of Doctor Nerve reduced to the bare sonic essentials. What else is there to say but “play loud and get your cognition scrambled”?

Stoffner & Frey – 0 Und 1

I routinely listen to music where the vocalist speaks a tongue that is entirely alien to me. Regrettably due to my illiteracy, German is one of these languages. Still, I may confidently welcome Anna Frey, who delivers her own words over the course of ten brief improvisations with guitarist Florian Stoffner, given that our main purpose has always been to analyze the sound of what is heard rather than its meaning (which is contained by the sound itself; but that’s a story we’ll save for another moment). The sheer concision of this set helps in appreciating the pair’s unadorned and relatively snappy manner even more. They are totally immersed in their call-and-response without giving it the smallest thought to cultivating an “aesthetic” (which, for me, is perfect). With Stoffner’s use of mysterious harmonics, bent pitches, rubs, and percussive sounds specifically tailored to his partner’s voice, Frey’s serious, never overly excited tone blends in flawlessly. A really positive indication came as soon as we felt the impulse to spin the whole thing again. Just pleasure, no stress. This little album is another standout release from Wide Ear, a Swiss label that consistently cranks out quality.

Innerwoud – Furie

Melodic lines amidst drones are often not something I enjoy that much. However, things change when a double bass is center stage, since its own vibration alone is a sign of shift in the consciousness of a creature sensitive to the ideal level. The four pieces that make up Belgian Pieter-Jan Van Assche’s second solo outing as Innerwoud superimpose varied elements in a way that may appease a variety of palates, although never for a moment slipping into the vulgar or superficial. In order to formulate music that is sometimes cinematic, dark yet not overly threatening, and quite simple to grasp and assimilate, the composer mostly made good use of travel experiences and profound personal emotions. In terms of sheer sonority, you won’t be too far off from the truth by envisaging Thierry Zaboitzeff blended with Mohammad (or MMMD, if so preferred). Essentially, Furie is an album that, not necessarily ultra-avantgarde, still keeps excellent company. That is, without focusing on any obscure esoteric objectives, rather persuading the audience to value it for what it truly gives. Of course, those beautifully pulsating low frequencies do have their say.

Mujician – 10 10 10

For improvisation to be truly meaningful, the technical skill, emotional maturity, and fearlessness of the performers must all work in unison. It becomes obvious that we are dealing with masterminds when a route of deep interconnection finally manifests, to the point where individual aspirations are foreseen, encouraged, and amplified while acting in accordance with each other’s core resonant frequency to jointly weave an unparalleled acoustic fabric. As proven by their final album – recorded in 2010 shortly before drummer Tony Levin passed away – and by the quartet’s entire output, Mujician certainly fit within this genre. Levin, Keith Tippett (who sadly also left us in 2020), Paul Dunmall and Paul Rogers illustrated, over the course of a 22-year collaboration, how one may learn to articulate virtually all existential nuances through music. Thematic parallelism, expressive articulation, continuous flow of thought/not-thought. In selected instances of 10 10 10, one fosters an illusion of natural phenomena unintentionally portrayed in sound. At the same time, it is incredibly tough to accept (yet again) the fact that nothing on Earth endures forever, and that these wonderful talents will no longer produce brand-new masterpieces in this combination. However, there is some solace in knowing that most everything they did is still easily available to consciously enthralled ears.

Wyndel Hunt – Sunshine Noir

As usual, tiny existential disasters happen whenever I decide to get my hands dirty in archival boxes. What ever happened to Wyndel Hunt? is the question of the day after retrieving this excellent disc from 2010, as I am unable to find any late evidence of the Seattle-based multimedia artist, at least not online. I assume and hope that since the release of his most recent CD, Oblivion, ten years ago, his creative endeavors are continuing in other realms. However, if you had let it fly under your radar – like this degenerate writer – Sunshine Noir still sounds brilliant. Using a Casio keyboard, a guitar, and Ableton software, Hunt created 42 minutes of mildly aggressive music interspersed with quieter-yet-tense pauses. He expertly added some rather corrosive elements to his vivid, pulsing drones, keeping the listener there for a while before abruptly leaving them alone but in a far more unsettled state. I’m not likely to make many new friends with what I’m going to say, but this album might have given Christian Fennesz, and the innumerable copycats, something to think about as well. For instance, the willingness to stray from the conventional harmonic parameters of digital noise, even slightly.

Orhan Demir – Freedom In Jazz Vol. 2

It all comes full circle eventually. In the middle of the 1980s, before the internet made it easier to find rare recordings, Orhan Demir, a Turkish guitar player residing in Canada, had vinyl albums marketed in Wayside Music’s print catalog. This writer is possibly the first Italian ever to have purchased and treasured those records. They were distinguished by a blend of modern swing, innovative fingerings, scales that aren’t precisely typical in jazz, and frequently amazing speed. There were also plenty of contemplative ballads (sort of), and genuinely distinctive themes (with the occasional “free” outburst, for good measure). In a nutshell, Mr. Demir is, and always has been, a fantastic instrumentalist. Over thirty years have gone, and one fine day, much to my astonishment and merriment, a parcel with four CDs arrives at my house from the artist himself. The most recent, which was issued in 2020, is the one that can be seen in the image, whereas I’m listening to the equally good first chapter while typing. If in need to listen to guitar-based jazz music that sounds contemporary and never monotonous while still honoring earlier traditions, all you have to do is channel the Massimo Ricci of three decades ago, get some of these releases – do not start with that involving a guitar synth, perhaps – and get sucked into the sophisticated, understated yet consistently virtuosic playing of Orhan Demir. A man who could impart wisdom to the vast majority of heartless guitarists exalted by publications that praise the hollowness of their music.

Alexandra Grimal – Refuge

I’ve been meaning to write about French saxophonist and composer Alexandra Grimal for a while. The bulk of her work is still unknown to me, to be honest; but what I did hear has always been quite absorbing. Grimal does her research all the way to completion when she commits to a project. Refuge, a set of eight soprano sax solos, is an example of this. It was recorded in the double stairway of Chambord Castle, a unique architectural backdrop. It might be very difficult to avoid clichés, if not boredom, in situations like these without understanding what it means to “immerse oneself in resonance”. Grimal delivers precisely that kind of enthrallment, alternating between wavering currents, gentle melodic sketches, more pronounced and fleshy tones, and protracted pauses full of contemplation. The overall result is endowed with an almost deceptive structural simplicity, but the artist’s profundity is audible in every fleeting second. This is an illustration of music that, via a respected humility, interacts with our inner space and is appropriate for all types of listening, from “totally focused” to “healing presence” in a room.

Clara Lai – Creciente

Sure, it’s much easier to wear the usual sly face to get another dozen undeserved articles after having published records that haven’t delivered anything fresh in years. Yours truly, however, feels that Clara Lai, a pianist and composer from Barcelona, is a different breed of performer. Only apparently disjointed, Creciente is instead a flawlessly coherent record. It comprises sharp-cornered compositions that project an innately clever method of musical reasoning, beyond the ease of comprehension. It also features segments of improvisational mystery that leave the door open to hypotheses of “collateral sentience”. Lai, whose pianism is sensibly restrained despite the range of exploratory horizons, is supported by the similarly brilliant Albert Cirera (tenor sax), Iván González (trumpet), and Joan Moll (drums). Even in tracks where the ordinary ear may fail to clutch at the straws of “previously heard,” the quartet exhibits an inherent responsiveness that turns this CD into a welcome treat. My bit of advice? Keep an attentive eye on this woman, and pay close attention to what is being suggested between the interplay’s lines.

Qonicho Ah! – Qonicho Ah!

The die-hard Kaczynski boys hold a special place in my heart, since their home in Northern Tuscany is quite close to the places where, as a youngster, I may have experienced some of the most “poetically internal” times of my life. However, the women who make up Qonicho Ah! (business headquarters: Marseille, France) are significantly less sentimental and unquestionably smarter than your reporter. Saxophonist (with effects) Morgane Carnet and drummer Blanche LaFuente alternate fiercely between contemporary tribalism with strong rhythms tempered with “soft” free jazz influences, and traces of more approachable, if rather autistic reed melody (but believe me, the sweetness lasts only a short time before the duo starts pounding and slashing again). The live recording, dated 2020, also includes a cameo by trumpet maestra Susana Santos Silva, not bad at all as a partner for a debut release. Lastly, the track titles are lovely – find out for yourself by clicking on the cover photo, I’m too old and tired for another copy and paste. Anyway, fun and sparkling stuff. And while you’re at it, take a little trip around there (Northern Tuscany, I mean; lots of beauty, though I’ve been missing for an eternity).