Andrea Centazzo, Moon in Winter (Ictus) Peter Paulsen Quintet, Goes Without Saying… (SquarePegWorks)
By David R. Adler
These two discs are worlds apart in some ways, but there’s a link to be found in the acute, versatile trumpet of Dave Ballou. Both sessions feature a quintet: Moon In Winter, an evocative chamber-improv date from Italian-American percussionist Andrea Centazzo, is freer in concept, while Goes Without Saying…, from the unheralded Pennsylvania bassist Peter Paulsen, is a darkly shaded postbop gem.
What amazes most on Moon in Winter is the panoply of sound from Centazzo’s percussion — a strategic onslaught of metal and wood, seemingly unlimited in variety. With the MalletKAT, a marimba-like MIDI controller, Centazzo builds other layers as well, at times sounding like a vibraphone, accordion, Rhodes or abstract synthesizer, bolstering the contributions of pianist Nobu Stowe and bassist Daniel Barbiero. Much of the interplay is free, but there are a number of finely composed themes, often harmonized by Ballou and woodwinds man Achille Succi, who switches between alto sax, clarinets and shakuhachi as the music demands.
The dominant focus is “Moon in Winter,” parts one through five, interspersed with three “Winter Duets” and two freestanding pieces: “The man with foggy fingers,” in a doleful rubato, and “Absolutely elsewhere,” which contrasts Succi’s feverish staccato alto with Ballou’s Kenny Wheeler-esque flight toward the end. (Regrettably, there is an obtrusive buzzing, some sort of static interference or distortion, heard throughout Moon in Winter. It was checked on multiple stereo systems, with two different copies of the disc.)
Peter Paulsen, a jazz bassist with extensive symphony experience, has three earlier releases to his credit (Three-Stranded Cord, Tri-Cycle, Change of Scenery). On Goes Without Saying… he brings seductive compositions to the table and leads a formidable band with Ballou on trumpet and flugelhorn, Chris Bacas on tenor and soprano, Mike Frank on piano and Chris Hanning on drums. Although the music is more tonal or mainstream than Centazzo’s, Ballou is consistent in personality, from his pinched half-valve entrance on Wayne Shorter’s “Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum” to his lyrical intensity on Kenny Wheeler’s “’Smatter” and Kenny Werner’s “Compensation” (all three of these cannily arranged by Paulsen).
The bass intros on “You Said You’d Call” and “Psalm” (arco and pizzicato, respectively) highlight Paulsen’s rounded tone and unerring intonation. And the leadoff title track, its bright triplet feel barely concealing a sense of inner mystery, should establish that Bacas is one of today’s great unsung voices on soprano sax. In all there are six Paulsen originals, each a model of smart orchestration and rhythmic and harmonic subtlety, marked by a truly individual touch. It’s easy to see why they inspire brilliant performances all around.
An album by the Metta Quintet always begins with a premise. The group’s 2002 debut, Going to Meet the Man, was inspired by James Baldwin’s short stories. Subway Songs (2006) evoked the bustle of New York mass transit and mourned those killed in the London tube bombings of the previous year. Big Drum/Small World continues with a statement on jazz globalism, featuring music by composers of disparate backgrounds: Marcus Strickland, Miguel Zenón, Omer Avital, Rudresh Mahanthappa and Yosvany Terry.
Drummer Hans Schuman, founder of the band’s nonprofit parent organization JazzReach, teams up with Strickland, bassist Joshua Ginsburg and two impressive newer recruits — pianist David Bryant and altoist Greg Ward — in a program that highlights the varied and distinctive voices of these guest composers. Strickland’s “From Here Onwards” leads off in a joyous and breezy mood, with saxophones in polyphony during the theme and swinging hard on the solos. Zenón’s “Sica” and Terry’s “Summer Relief” fit well together as complex, multi-themed works in a progressive Latin vein. Mahanthappa’s “Crabcakes,” introduced by Strickland and Ward in a devilish pas de deux, launches into brain-bending rhythmic repeats over fairly static harmony. Avital’s “BaKarem,” set up by Ginsberg’s passionate solo intro, brings forward the most accessible melody of the set: mournful but dancing, with a Middle Eastern tinge that prevails in much of Avital’s work.
The drawback is that Big Drum/Small World could be appropriately subtitled Short Album: it’s over in just 34 minutes. Yes, in an era of overly long CDs, concise is often a plus. But this recording feels somehow less complete, less of a journey, than the Metta Quintet’s previous two. And a quibble, perhaps, but the saxophones are overly reverbed and too severely panned (it’s especially apparent through headphones). The band sounds less live as a result. Although this is compelling music by highly gifted composers, and Metta deserves praise for bringing it to light and playing it so well, we’re left wanting more.
Egg on my face for not posting this in advance of last night’s show. But here it is anyway, from Philadelphia Weekly:
David “Fuze” Fiuczynski Sat., Feb. 4, 8pm. $25 advance ($30 at door). Painted Bride Art Center, 230 Vine St. 215.925.9914 www.paintedbride.org
Just as Hendrix used Delta blues as a launching pad into space, double-neck guitar maniac David “Fuze”Fiuczynski builds on a jazz-rock foundation and ventures into microtonal musical concepts of Asia and the Middle East. His instantly identifiable sound, on fretted and fretless guitars, has caught the ear of esteemed bandleaders such as Jack DeJohnette, Billy Hart, Muhal Richard Abrams and Rudresh Mahanthappa. This week with his Screaming Headless Hendrix project — a spinoff of his band Screaming Headless Torsos — Fuze will bring his advanced theoretical system, “Planet MicroJam,” into focus. His five-piece unit includes vocalist Freedom Bremner, bassist Justin Schornstein, drum heavyweight Kenwood Dennard and Turkish microtonal keyboardist Utar Dundarartun. — David R. Adler
The term “groove-oriented” usually describes jazz of a funkier, danceable sort. But it’s not how many would categorize the maddeningly complex music of Vijay Iyer and his trio with bassist Stephan Crump and drummer Marcus Gilmore. Pulsing rhythm, however, has always played a significant role for Iyer, and at (Le) Poisson Rouge during Winter Jazz Fest (Jan. 7th) he brought the beat like never before, drawing on pieces from the forthcoming ACT release Accelerando. The atmosphere was just right: packed and sweaty crowd, eager for something new. Like a good DJ, Iyer reached back to 1977 with Heatwave’s “The Star of a Story,” shrouding the pretty chords and melody in a fragmented, bass-heavy pattern. “Lude,” with an almost imperceptible segue into “Optimism,” featured Iyer in a more pronounced soloing role, though the mix was too muddy at times to hear it well. “Actions Speak,” another original, closed the set at warp speed and allowed Gilmore time for a seal-the-deal drum solo. Hypnotic deconstructed rhythm was the focus, giving a consistent band sound to a set that ranged from “Hood,” inspired by Detroit’s “minimal techno” pioneer Robert Hood, to “Human Nature,” the Michael Jackson classic from Thriller. The latter, which led off Iyer’s 2010 disc Solo (and was once a concert staple for Miles Davis), got a thorough going-over from the trio, in a limping modified shuffle feel — a beat that seemed to hold together by nearly falling apart. (David R. Adler)
~
Surging and inescapable rhythm is what gives Adam Rudolph’s Moving Pictures Septet its broadly accessible and riveting sound. This much seemed clear to a late-night Winter Jazz Fest crowd at Zinc Bar (Jan. 6th), where Rudolph played a short but solid set with fellow percussionists James Hurt and Matt Kilmer, guitarist Kenny Wessel, acoustic bass guitarist Jerome Harris, reedist Ralph Jones and cornet/flugelhorn man Graham Haynes. An avant-garde theorist and student of musical traditions from around the world, Rudolph had a wealth of sounds available, and he used them brilliantly: lap-steel guitar from Harris on the opening “Oshogbo”; flute and muted cornet dissonance on the closing burner “Dance Drama”; Hurt’s melodica and Wessel’s ethereal effects at the opening of “Love’s Light,” a bluesy meditation; Jones on “Return of the Magnificent Spirits” making forceful statements on bass clarinet and Chinese hulusi (one of several Eastern wind instruments in Jones’ toolkit). Rudolph, standing behind his conga, tumba, djembe and other gear, drove the band with an effortless kind of polyrhythmic abstraction. The writing was loose but focused, with precise hits and carefully crafted themes — not unlike what we hear from Rudolph’s larger group, the Go:Organic Orchestra (which plays some of the same repertoire). Happily, the energy of this music translates onto disc: Rudolph’s latest releases, Both/And and The Sound of a Dream, are essential. (DA)
Cleared Tue., Jan. 31, 7:30pm. $6. With Mind Over Mirrors, James Plotkin. Highwire Gallery, 2040 Frankford Ave. 215.426.2685 www.museumfire.com/events
There are “indie” artists, and then there are indie artists — the ones who record for micro-niche imprints like Immune, and make their stuff available not only on LP but cassette. Put Steven Hess and Michael Vallera, the Chicago-based duo known as Cleared, in that category. On their self-titled debut, and their new follow-up Breaking Day, they call forth grainy and mysterious expanses of sound, with formless drones and subtle percussive patterns vying for ear space. It’s music to get lost in, and no two listeners will hear it the same way. Fellow Chicagoans Mind Over Mirrors and Philadelphian post-metal Renaissance man James Plotkin share the bill. — David R. Adler
Inzinzac Sat., Jan. 21, 8pm. $6. With Zvoov, Mi Head Ur Head. Angler Movement Arts Center, 1550 E. Montgomery Ave. 215.922.0866 www.museumfire.com
It’s not easy to categorize the raw, cerebral music of this trio, but “highbrow garage” is a start. The band name alone offers a kind of onomatopoeic clue. But what, really, is “Inzinzac”? Philly guitarist and composer Alban Bailly, originally from France’s Brittany region, named the trio after a small town where his brother lives. He and his partners, soprano/tenor saxophonist Dan Scofield and drummer Eli Litwin, cite progressive rock, free jazz and Balkan music among their myriad influences. If that doesn’t explain it, their 2011 High Two debut Inzinzac will. It’s raging stuff, with links to the music of Many Arms, Normal Love and others in Philly’s experimental underground. — David R. Adler
Yesterday was hard. About a hundred of us gathered for your memorial, and spoke of how you touched our lives in so many ways.
We are wounded. But even from where you are, you’re bringing people together. It was so good to connect with dear Julie, Jess, Angela, the gang from Rivington Street. And your mom and dad, and Charles. So many new friends, too, since we were together. It was inspiring to see, all these connections, all this love. They all probably felt the sorrow I felt on New Year’s 2012, the first day of the first year without you.
You and I met in late 1990, October I think. At a party on East 7th Street, not far from your memorial. And you became my first real love. We lasted until about April 1994 and the end was not easy, but it’s all in the past. What I’ll keep with me is the sunshine and the joy — your middle name. And the music.
At some point your mom came up to New York from Memphis for a visit, and the three of us were walking down East 7th (that street again). We passed by the little jazz club Deanna’s, and a band was playing “Monk’s Dream” by Thelonious Monk. You and your mom began singing the difficult melody, accurately. I’m thinking you first heard Monk through me, maybe I’m mistaken, but it wasn’t long before Monk became one of your favorite songwriters. Of course! You loved him enough to get your mom hooked too.
I took you to Bradley’s to hear Benny Green and Christian McBride, smoking piano and bass duo, way before McBride became a star. We went to hear Charlie Haden’s Liberation Music Orchestra at the Village Vanguard. They played “N’kosi Sikeleli Africa,” the anthem of the African National Congress. John Stubblefield was in the band, Ray Anderson, Tom Harrell. You knew about Harrell’s struggle with schizophrenia, and you were awed by his triumphant trumpet solo. You were rhapsodic after the show, about how jazz is life-giving, transcendent in spirit, open to the humanity in everyone.
Remember the drive to Memphis? We started seeing confederate flags and scary knives in the gas station shops in Virginia, almost ran out of gas in the hills of West Virginia, picked up your dad and spent the night in Elizabethtown, Kentucky, before driving straight across Tennessee to your hometown. Visited the Lorraine Motel, site of King’s assassination. Then there was our Adirondack trip — fantastic sights, left the mountains for a bit and stumbled on Lake Champlain. Nothing on our agenda, so we hopped on the Port Kent ferry to Burlington, Vermont. The water was gorgeous, the sky dark gray on one side, pure sun on the other. Drove across Vermont to New Hampshire, spent a half-hour watching a moose (!) wade in a roadside creek, stayed in a crap motel with mirrors on the ceiling. We watched a brand new MTV show, “Beavis and Butthead,” and didn’t get it at all. (Later I became a zealous convert.) The next morning it rained, so we hit the road again for Montreal, the big city. I loved those travels with you.
We weren’t in close touch for a long time, but I got the wonderful news of your marriage to Charles, and the birth of your darling Lily. And much too soon after that, the evil, unfathomable news of your disease. And the accounts of your incredible and valiant fight. We messaged on Facebook for months about getting together with our daughters for a play date. I’m thanking heaven every day that we actually did it, around August 2010, the last time I would ever see you. I was about to teach my first course; you gave me great feedback and insight. Tess wasn’t walking yet, but Lily was rocketing around the playground at 18 months. You looked good, and as far as I could see you felt good. I spoke to Charles yesterday about future play dates. I want that to happen. I want to watch Lily grow and do her mother proud, and I know she will.
You insisted that your memorial include “Happier Than the Morning Sun” by Stevie Wonder. As we all sat and listened to the track, and watched photos of you float by on the screen, I thought back to those Rivington Street days. In that apartment with probably a half-dozen roommates, we had Stevie’s ’70s albums in constant rotation, a soundtrack to all our lives. I’ve been revisiting Stevie Wonder in recent years and learning a lot of his music on the guitar, but I’d never thought to study this one, so close to your heart. Getting home from your memorial, I cracked open my case and learned it right away. A far from perfect rendition, but then, you weren’t a believer in perfect. It’s my goodbye to you, Diana Joy.
These two discs are worlds apart in some ways, but there’s a link to be found in the acute, versatile trumpet of Dave Ballou. Both sessions feature a quintet: Moon In Winter, an evocative chamber-improv date from Italian-American percussionist Andrea Centazzo, is freer in concept, while Goes Without Saying…, from the unheralded Pennsylvania bassist Peter Paulsen, is a darkly shaded postbop gem.
Peter Paulsen, a jazz bassist with extensive symphony experience, has three earlier releases to his credit (Three-Stranded Cord, Tri-Cycle, Change of Scenery). On Goes Without Saying… he brings seductive compositions to the table and leads a formidable band with Ballou on trumpet and flugelhorn, Chris Bacas on tenor and soprano, Mike Frank on piano and Chris Hanning on drums. Although the music is more tonal or mainstream than Centazzo’s, Ballou is consistent in personality, from his pinched half-valve entrance on Wayne Shorter’s “Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum” to his lyrical intensity on Kenny Wheeler’s “’Smatter” and Kenny Werner’s “Compensation” (all three of these cannily arranged by Paulsen).
