The Jazz Composer's Orchestra (JCOA)

This is a beautiful record, with a shiny mirrored gatefold cover and huge booklet, adorned with copious liner notes, photographs, poetry and and the actual scores. For an orchestra of composers, the JCOA records tended to stick to one composer per release, and this time it's Michael Mantler, who I think was the brains behind the whole project. And fair enough - the apostrophe indicates that this is the orchestra of a single composer, as opposed to being called the Jazz Composers Orchestra or even Jazz Composers' Orchestra (so few bands are willing to risk the trailing apostrophe). However, Cecil Taylor gets top billing, a line of his own, perhaps being the 'star power' used to market this thing. He only appears on the second LP, and they aren't his compositions, but he's clearly the featured guest as the booklet includes two pages of his Cecil Taylorisms, actually a beautiful verbal rendering of the complexity of group dynamics. I generally like Michael Mantler's work; I think he's underrated and definitely comes from a direction that tried to emphasise the power of the composer in new jazz music, particularly from a unioned/organised side, not unlike the AACM in a way. The sheer fact that this many musicians are together in a studio and the recording is clear and well-defined is an accomplishment alone; I actually really like listening to the first cut on headphones, as it has this throbbing low-end pulse underneath which can really work as 'night music'; a few months back I put the headphone extension cable on and sat on my balcony watching the trees sway in the summer wind while listening. Today's too cold for a repeat performance but in the glossy wooden echo of my bedroom (accented by the Ikea laminate floor) it takes on a different quality, maybe as the brass and saxes bounce around more. But that throb is so good - it's present not just on the aforementioned 'Communications #8' but on the short 'Preview' at the end of side two - and it helps to distinguish this from European free-jazz big bands like Globe Unity, who were generally more jittery and even light, in a sense. Larry Coryell is the featured soloist on 'Communications #9' and it gets into some real hot swamp jazz; his electric guitar rips holes over everything else, and when the same band reassembles for 'Communications #10' with Roswell Rudd it loses something without Coryell. Maybe I just like the way the guitar sound pulls everything closer to good fusion, or to Mantler's later work in the 70s. It's hard to single out any one musician here, as everyone eventually gets their moment, and it's not easy for me to determine which of the two flugelhorns is Lloyd Michels and which is Stephen Furtado, for example. The pace across both LPs is mostly 'full and fast', though not the death jazz speed of something like Naked City; just rumbling over the drums (either Andrew Cyrille or Beaver Harris) and the five simultaneous bassists (not always the same five, mind you). When Mr. Taylor enters the picture on LP #2, for the creatively titled 'Communications #11' he is mixed high enough to stay a constant presence throughout and he works well with this large of a group. This is 1968 so before Taylor's Unit band with Jimmy Lyons was established, but there's a similar sense of dynamics to his rising and falling runs. I can't really make much out of the scores because they are reproduced too small to really see, but the writing hits a high level of drama, especially on the second half (side four). The swells are particularly cinematic at points, and Taylor goes with the flow, locking in with Cyrille in particular (which makes sense, since the piano is of course a percussion instrument, something I am always aware of when listening to Cecil Taylor). The piano is mixed high, as high above everyone else as the cover's billing would suggest, and at times the other musicians fade into a background blur - yes, even Gato Barbieri. It's music that evokes a great sense of togetherness, sure, with a serious purpose and intent that paradoxically feels somewhat restrictive, as if it's interrogating the very question of what freedom is. And that's not always an easy listen, not because it's dissonant or dense but because it feels relentless in such a narratively understandable language. I go back to cinema because I honestly think that JCOA could have scored a film nicely (or maybe they did, I don't know); there's almost an emotional manipulation from the rising and crashing and plundering of these musicians. Whatever Mantler's intent was, I find it pretty affecting, even almost 50 years later.

Godspeed You Black Emperor! ‎– 'Slow Riot For New Zero Kanada E.P.' (Constellation)

And here's where things started to get huge. Not just huge in sound, though it's very much that, but huge in terms of cultural impact. Of course, a large cultural impact in my world circa 1999 is a far cry from an actual cultural impact, like, for example, popular culture. Not that this was underground; Godspeed You Black Emperor! exploded at the right time - when records still mattered, things weren't totally digital, and enough of a groupthink existed to crown them as the new gods of the nearly-underground. I loved the first album and knew they were poised for a breakout; the moment I heard 'Moya', the 45rpm first side of this, I knew it had come. Everything that was great about F#A#∞ is present here! By this I mean the liberal use of violins and cellos, a brilliant application of field recordings and tape manipulations, a theme of dystopian decay, and a strong sense of landscape and sweeping romanticism. Everything that was weak about F#A#∞ has been fixed! While the pieces still have movements, they are not a lazy collage. While there's again a strongly dominant spoken voice, it's integrated into the music as an instrument rather than layered on top, so the band is dialoguing with these ideas. And there's two compositions, one of which tightens the soundscape vibe into an epic cinematic indie rock build, and the other which avoids the easy crescendos in favour of a horizontal composition. 'Moya' is built around one hell of a RIFF - though it takes its time to get there, instead opening with a lush, thick ambience that couldn't be done without these neoclassical instruments. It skates on the edge of eternity, not that long (this is 45rpm after all) but enough to build a pulse inside the listener as well as out of the speakers. And when that riff comes - a rising, anthemic crescendo that is supported by a thunderous, deep bass guitar and the string section filling out the midrange - it's unforgettable. Catchy and iconic, it's been etched into my brain ever since, and seeing it live the two times I did was breathtaking. It's the most 'accessible' track GYBE! ever made, though I write that having heard none of the recent albums after the one after this EP. Anyway. It's amazing, but then after a belt-change back to 33, the B-side, 'BBF3', takes things even further. The centrepiece of this is a recording of a clearly deranged man, an extremist for sure, ranting and raving about freedom and liberty and genreal libertarian insanity. It's impossible to hear this right now, February 2016, and not think about Donald Trump - the tonality of his voice is eerily similar and there's a phrase that is a chilling echo of Trump's line about Mexicans all being rapists 'and some of them,  I assume, are good people'. But it's not just this slightly humorous, mostly disturbing vocalisation that makes the track; it's the way the band creates an epic dialogue with it. It rises and falls like waves, resisting the impulse to explode into a distortion-laden wall of sound, and also keep the harmonic movement rather restrained. 'BBF3' feels like it's pulling itself apart in every direction, it's tonality echoing the chaos inherent in the narrator's worldview. For a band that uses apocalyptic imagery (and are no strangers to religious appropriation when possible -- see the cover art, which whatever it might say, uses the religiously-charged Hebrew alphabet) -- this is the thunderous summation of chaos and dystopia, an internalised fear and trembling that Mr. Finnegan expresses and represses. This is no longer mere soundtrack/soundscape music, no longer merely a darker, punker Morricone - this is a band who has managed to synthesise a vision, and made one side-long work of perfection. I often think of this as following the same formula as Sun City Girls' 'Napoleon and Josephine', which is also amazing and probably my favourite SCG song -- but it's also a different beast and a hell of a lot more breathtaking. Even after I had my backlash to them (which I'll describe in my next review) I would sometimes go back to 'BBF3', which is a work of perfection that is dark, unsettling, and beautiful - and yet addictive. And it lives forever on this slab of wax, one of those tracks that makes me feel justified in owning physical media still. Sure you can listen to all 18 glorious minutes on YouTube but it's not the same; this is a total package, putting the 'art' in 'art-rock' and I don't just mean the lavish packaging. It's a track that remains inspirational to me, to this day - a track to encourage me to attempt to scoop up the mess of data flowing through my brain, blood and heart at all times and regurgitate back something that someone, somewhere, might be able to parse with one iota of recognition for some sort of harmony with their own cracked/skewed impulses. God bless, Godspeed.

Don Cherry/Krzysztof Penderecki - 'Humus - the Life Exploring Force/Actions (For Free Jazz Orchestra)' (Everest)

This odd pairing isn't really the unified synthesis of Polish avant-garde composition and free jazz pulse that it would suggest. Really, this is the product of the New Eternal Rhythm Orchestra, a free jazz big band populated by some of the giants of European free music. Manfred Schoof, Kenny Wheeler, Paul Rutherford, Peter Brötzmann, Wilem Breuker, Han Bennink, Terje Rypdal, Gunter Hampel and others -- such a collection of titans has rarely been assembled before! Cherry and Penderecki, two giants in different but occasionally overlapping worlds, probably don't share the stage at all on this recording. Side 1 is Cherry leading the band through his piece and side 2 is Penderecki, with Cherry absent. The labels are applied to the wrong sides on my copy, so I began by listening to side 2, which is the final 5 minutes of Cherry's 'Humus' and then Penderecki's composition, 'Actions'. 'Actions' is well-suited for this group - the many trumpets and saxes combine at both the beginning and the end to create a deep, throbbing drone that's both beautiful and malevolent. The chaotic parts remind me of the Globe Unity Orchestra recordings from around the same time period, no doubt due to some personnel overlap. But I file this under C for Cherry, because it's 'Humus' that is the more interesting piece. The orchestra, accentuated by Cherry, Loes Macgillycutty on vocals, and Mocqui Cherry on tambura, reads Cherry's melodies quite straight, giving a marching-band punch that I've never heard before in any of Cherry's music. Loes' singing is pretty much the icing on the cake (I like icing); she's fluttery and brash, but doesn't overdo it, sitting out long sections. The different movements of 'Humus' are broken down on the sleeve and the entire band stays to the script. But this is a script that allows a lot of improvisation. I think I can recognize Brötzmann in a few points, and Macgillycutty manages to punch her voice along with the instruments quite seamlessly. The coda, on side 2, brings back some of the Sanskrit chants heard on the last few records, with Cherry speaking to the crowd and trying to lead a complicated count on the 1, 5 and 13 beats. He almost talks more than he plays here, but it's a nice reprise of what's now a familiar theme ('Sa-re-ga-ma-pa-dha-mi'). Everything explodes in blast of cacophonous jazz blowing, and then we're out. (Well, actually this is where the Penderecki piece starts, but I'm trying to assess this in the proper order. Kinda like when my friend went to see Matrix 2, and the cinema screwed up and started showing the middle of the film first, and then the beginning came at the end.) I feel like I would be missing an opportunity if I finish this writeup without making some joke about 'hummus' but, well, there ya go.

Béla Bartók - 'Divertimento (for strings)' (Bartók Recording Studio)

Classical records pose a problem, alphabetically. Do I file the record under the name of the composer or the name of the conductor? Despite a lifelong interest in classical music (though one marked with a healthy skepticism towards the nauseating attitudes carried by advocates of the genre), I actually don't have that many records so it's never been a big issue. This is conducted by Tibor Serly, and actually the 'Divertimento' is only half of the record with side 2 filled out by a Gesueldo piece (also conducted by Serly) and a Scarlatti sonata conducted by A. Walter Kramer. Which means, there is neither consistency of composer nor of conductor to make the decision for me. Since the record was issued by Bartok's own in-house label, we have a tiebreaker. This comes on that super thick shellac like 78s are pressed to, and the sleeve claims the record is 'non-breakable'. It sounds pretty good, with 'Divertimento''s lively glissandos sounding like lemon juice splattering across glass. The melody is circular and initially doesn't display the usual Magyar folk jams associated with Bartók. The second movement emerges with this really sweet cello riff that meditates for awhile before the screaming violins and violas burst out, clawing for your heart - but only for a second before they are subsumed. It's the ocean at night, raging to a foggy horizon, with occasional bursts of static and white light cutting through. At moments, the same sense of drama that Mahler's later symphonies have is here, though with a very different sonic palette. The recording is crisp and wide - the differences in volume between the quiet and loud parts are so extreme that it's actually a bit difficult to listen to without intense concentration. The third movement is actually on side two and brings in the typically Bartókian circular folk/dance melodies -- not a bad thing as the bass-like cello plucks sounds great on this old bit of wax and you can't always want Béla in minimal/mystic mode. Still, it doesn't feel like it fits with the first two movements and I wonder how much the physical interruption of flipping the record is responsible for this feeling. I guess it's a thematic tie to the Gesueldo piece, which even though it was written 350 years earlier carries a similar sense of motion. The Scarlatti piece is 'whatever' I guess - total filler but it's easy enough to ignore.

Area - 'Are(A)zione' (Cramps)

The cover to this live album suggests that it's taken from a concert in which there are about a million people there, like an Italian Woodstock; the sound is appropriately trumphant for such a grand presentation of Area's music. This record proves that Area were tight as hell live, and the recording is pretty-hi-fi while still containing that 'live' atmosphere. The more experimental side of Area seen on their second album isn't as prevalent here, as the whitenoise/tape manipulations are definitely more a studio thing - but if you like the rock 'n riffs, you'll find much to delight you here. The first side has the crowd-pleasing prog jams, a rock onslaught that never loses sight of pure technical aspiration yet still wets the panties of the screaming girls pictured in the liner notes. Stratos really comes alive on 'La mela di Odessa (1920)', which vamps a bit harder than the studio version (maybe at the expense of dynamic range, but fuck, I should listen side-by-side another time). Side two embarks on a jazz-fusion tip, with a speedy rumble crunch that takes center stage, relegating Mr. Stratos to the background. The album ends with some guitar heroics rather reminiscent of Albert Ayler's most iconic riffs. Now, while this is a cool enough album I don't know why I'd ever really pull it out instead of the studio recordings. I'm sure if I became a die-hard Area fan I'd appreciate the nuances of the improvisational sections here, much like a Deadhead jizzes over millions of alternate versions - but the rest of the Encourager Template calls, reminding me that I have too many goddamn records to give any of them the deep attention that (some) deserve.