Ramnad Krishnan - 'Vidwan: Songs of the Carnatic Tradition' (Nonesuch Explorer)

These four sides of Carnatic classical music were recorded while the musicians were in a residency at Wesleyan. No date is given but this came out in '68 so one would have to assume it was from around this time - during the summer of love, perhaps? Krishnan has a strong and reedy voice, and it's recorded really up-front, making these Telugu lyrics really reverberate. Of course I don't know what they're saying, and I don't know anything about Carnatic music, but that's the escapism of music. Not that when listening to this material (or anything else equally impenetrable to me on a linguistic level) I make up my own meanings; maybe when I was younger I did or I tried to interpret a narrative through non-verbal moods and images at least, but now I just ride along with the sounds, harmonies, layers, assonances and dissonances. Most of these tracks are loooong (10-20 minutes), built around little more than a violin, some percussion, and the everlasting tampura drone that makes Indian music so distinct. V. Thyagarajan is the violinist, and he plays it seated and upright, like a tiny cello - this allows him to saw in and out quickly around the notes and this leads to some stunning, stark passages where everything drops out except the violin and tampura. This is recorded in a way that makes it sound somewhat tinny, or maybe a better word would be 'crisp'; the little bells on the percussion instruments sound like they are right here in the room with me, and that presence gives it a lasting physical feeling, especially due to its length. Four sides are a lot of Carnatic tradition, and each seems to be punctuated with the same structural shifts as the others - solos, long jammy passages, and vocal fore-fronting. The fourth side is billed as an improvisation, so I spent the whole record looking forward to it, hoping that I would be hearing some sort of freakout AMM/No Neck Blues Band style jam. But alas, it was an improvisation around fairly tightly defined Carnatic traditional structures. Which is to say that its still a fine side o' vinyl, as fine as the other three, but I didn't detect any increased freedom or looseness here; this is hardly Tristano's 'Digression' or Coltrane's Ascension - but that's OK, its not necessary at all for everyone in the 60s to let loose in a wild way. Krishnan died in the early 70s but is still well regarded in this world; Thyagarajan popped up on a lot of recordings by Jon Higgins, who is also one of Carnatic music's greatest practitioners, despite being originally from Massachusetts (thanks, Wikipedia).

Anthony Braxton - 'Five Pieces 1975' (Arista)

Despite the smokiness of the cover image, this is a record of clear skies and full-steam ahead sailboat ventures. The whiteness of the rhythm section (Holland and Altschul) doesn't hold back the groove, and despite Braxton's usual cryptic symbology in his titles (defended somewhat in the liner notes), the tone is really set by the opening track, 'You Stepped Out of a Dream' (penned by Macio Herb Brown). This is an upbeat record, with a loud, crisp recording quality that brings out Kenny Wheeler's trumpet and flugelhorn, and lets Braxton show off his sharp turns and warm sonorities. This is some of the most straightforward Braxtonisms I've encountered, which is pretty funny since it comes sandwiched between the Derek Bailey duets and the third-stream explorations of Creative Orchestra Music 1976. Maybe this shoulda been called Five Easy Pieces 1975 though maybe the makers of that film would have sued. If you're thinking about countercultural matters put them aside; this is a record that really strikes the balance between accessibility and new composition. Side two in particular ends with a very edgy, nervous bassline from Mr. Holland; the brass trumpet feels like fingernails on a chalkboard at times, but it's driven ahead almost like a Neu! track. Toe-tappin', hip-slappin', yeah all those things - I dig it, it's my pick of the LP for sure - and it's certainly a brighter spot than we've heard in awhile here. This of course recalls the Circle band on ECM which is just so so good, except minus Chick Corea and with Wheeler -- but it's similar how that Wayne Shorter tune sets the tone of that, and this also opens with a 'standard'. The Circle record is a bit more exploratory, but it's not like Braxton has anything to prove by this point. No murky clouds here - it's sunbeams, not icicles.

Art Ensemble of Chicago - 'Live in Paris' (Get Back)

Wikipedia incorrectly reports that Don Moye plays on this, which is an easy guess to make since this came out in '74, but the recording is from '69 in pre-Famoudou Paris; I'll stand by the liner notes. But more confusing is the essay in the gatefold, which is from the late 70s so it refers to events that haven't happened yet when this music was being made. Also I should note that my cover is slightly different than this as the word "Live" is actually in grey, and it says "Live in Paris" and the Affinity logo isn't in the bottom right. A beautiful black gatefold with four black sides of great black music - about 100 minutes of it! The first record is "Oh Strange", supposedly a Jarman/Bowie tune though it sounds like a group improvisation if I've ever heard one. It's long and sprawling and it changes a lot but has some absolutely jaw-dropping moments of groupthump. At one point near the end of the second side the band shifts into a detuned, strummy banjo-led bit but instead of referencing some American folk music or country lineage, it's a warped abstracted soundworld. If you told me it was some cassette from the corners of the American underground avant/noise scene of maybe 3, 4 years ago, I would have no reason to doubt you. This prescience is evident at all points of the piece but it sounds most 'current' here; clearly, the rest of the world is still catching up to these guys. The second LP is "Bon Voyage", penned by Bowie, which explodes with a drumset-led freeform freakout. I assume the drums are being played by Malachi Favors though we also hear bass and marimba or vibes or something pulsing underneath. Whoever's doing it is a madman, exploding in little shouts with a rampant nervousness that drives the horns to accelerate towards the sun. Bowie is seriously one of the most expressive trumpet players ever, even if he's just shooting flutters to the winds - they feel so human, and so warm, that they bring a dynamic basis to the colder moments. When it finally starts to settle down we get a really melodic, repetetive trance and then special guest Fontella Bass, aka Mrs. Lester Bowie, chants with the rest of 'em. This record really sounds 'live'; great fidelity, but you can hear the room and feel the energy of the audience (Ils ont été perplexe, non?). I don't mind the fadeouts at the ends of sides 1 and 3 either - it's almost necessary to have a breather in the middle of these dense pillars. Listened to chronologically (by recording date, not release) it's a nice release after all the carefully calculated space on the last couple of records. Some might decry that they've moved into a more traditional free jazz area here, but there's still so much depth and sensitivity in their playing that's more like they moved free jazz into their area.