Jason Lescalleet - 'The Pilgrim' (Glistening Examples)

'Sometimes you drive, sometimes you're a passenger.' This is one of the most intense and personal works of avant-garde art that I've ever experienced, and it's actually so extreme in the nature of being personal that I find it very difficult to listen to.  I probably played this once when I got it, and once again today. It's not something I'd just throw on when guests are over, or even very often to listen to myself, such is the effect it has on me, one of feeling inappropriately voyeuristic and of course, sad. That said, I would never part with it; it's a beautiful object that encapsulates everything that humanity is capable of achieving through art –– a total expression that is personal, raw, and relatable (if difficult). This record is a tribute by Jason Lescalleet to his father, who passed away in 2005. The first side contains a piece performed live at a festival a few years earlier, inspired not just by the father himself but by how the elder Lescalleet related to Jason's music, understanding it through his own memories of a car ride with his father, Jason's grandfather. The record begins with Jason's spoken introduction, reading out a letter from his father, and then the piece begins, a rumble that attempts to imagine the soundworld of what his father experienced while young. The liner notes explain that he already knew his father was likely to die with two years of creating this piece, and thus this composition ('His Petition') took on immense significance. It's a beautiful blur of sound, with the guttural momentum of a car engine felt but not heard, and the slow sputtering finish taking on a powerful effect given the motif of death that hangs over this record so much. As someone who sometimes struggles to connect with the emotional resonance of abstraction (despite, obviously being invested into the field for years) this really hits me, not just because of the externally-supplied context, but because this is specifically about how to relate one's own work to a loved one, and how your relationship can grow through your art. It's the second side of this picture disc that is the really difficult material, made up of recordings of Lescalleet's father as he was literally dying, deathbed conversations processed and presented as an actual recording of the end. I have to admit that when listening to this, my mind races to go elsewhere, almost as if this material is too personal, not meant for my ears. It's a struggle to focus on the sounds and the language, and my lack of concentration feels disrespectful to the man and the material. So it's odd to write such praise about an artwork that I actually have trouble experiencing, but in some ways, maybe that's the mark of something truly boundary breaking? Words fail me here, as there's not really any way to do this justice for what it means to Lescalleet and its unique status as a form of expression. I would suggest any reader to seek it out, with the caveat that this is not an uplifting experience, or maybe it actually is, but through the presentation of loss as a shared experience, which is best described as inspirational, not uplifting. But not everything should be uplifting, anyway.

Fairport Convention - 'The History Of' (Island)

I love those 'rock band family trees' and this gatefold LP uses it as the artwork, which is fun as you can really trace the lineups and changes of the sound as you listen through this compilation, which spans up through '71. Most of the first LP of this feels like a retread, especially as I just listened to What We Did on Our Holidays and Liege and Lief for this project; the Unhalfbricking songs are a nice inclusion (ah, it's such a pleasure to have 'A Sailor's Life' on vinyl!) though they included zero from the self-titled Judy Dyble-vocalised album. I can't say much more than I already did except I didn't mind listening to 'Matty Groves' again, and this first LP is a pretty solid collection that should be foundational for many people. 'Grazy Man Michael' and the medley replace 'Tam Lin' for some reason - I guess the medley is important to show their further descent into traditional material, especially to audiences in 1972 who might be purchasing Babbacombe Lee expecting Thompson's malignant picking to be there. The second LP I confess I rarely listen to, though it contains Thompson's mighty 'Sloth' and the single-only 'Now be Thankful'. 'Sloth' really is a masterpiece, alternating between world-weary resignation in the verses and the fire-storming churning of something more kinetic, only to sit back and look at the 'war' which has begun, just the roll of the drum, etc. etc. This is probably the best Fairport song. I'm so biased towards the official, rock-ist view of Fairport Convention, which is that after Richard Thompson left, I cash out (just like I care not a fuck for post-Wyatt Soft Machine, post-Barrett Floyd (mostly), etc.). I guess that's cause I've never taken the initiative to really give that stuff a chance, happy to take the collective doctrine as gospel.  The last side of the record is hard to sink into; 'John Lee' is all right, there's a real storytelling sense, and the performances are more than adequate, but I don't know; it's just not for me.

Hamiet Bluiett - 'Birthright' (India Navigation)

This is "a solo blues concert" and that's always a bold move; solo saxophone records are not an everyday thing and presenting yourself as this type of soloist in concert is often demanding. Hamiet presents here what I assume is an unedited concert, with extensive liner notes in a cursive font that is too hard to read. Here's what I like about this record: it's diverse, and the recording is such that you really get the live feel. You can hear the room, and you can hear him moving around different parts of the stage. Bluiett is definitely rooted in melodic and blues-based forms, but there are some excursions into circular breathing and heavy affectation that usually accentuate the intent of the piece. 'Doll Baby aka Song Service', the 10 minute opener, is a tribute to his grandmother; it introduces the theme of family and history that carries through the album. The piece moves through a few different movements - slow, placid tones at first, and then a more sinewy speedrush through the higher registers of his instrument. Side two's counterpoint is the 'My Father's House' 3-part suite, which is fast, free, and chunky. This and the subsquent 'In Tribute to Harry Carney' are both described as "free-form telepathic", which me question how a solo performance can involve telepathy. Unless he means his instrument has a mind of its own. I love the way baritone saxophones sound; if I played saxophone, it would be my choice, except I think it's too heavy. Heavy as in carrying it, I mean; the sound of the instrument can certainly carry some gravity too, but his pieces avoid being overbearing. The conceptual, personal nature of Birthright is a nice complement to Endangered Species' more mind-based strategies. Bluiett got his start playing in the Mingus band -- well, actualy he got his start in a St. Louis grade school under George Hudson,who gets his own ballad at the end of side one -- but you can feel the eternal Mingus swing underneath some of the more dazzling runs. There isn't really any point where I am overdazzled though - I'd never point to this as an example of technical mastery, though he is more than competent - for me this is a record that showcases the range of his voice amplified by the range of his heart. There are some squeaks and squawks, but they don't take away from the color of his tune.