Mette Henriette - untitled (ECM, 2015); Ben Monder – Amorphae (ECM, 2015)
Part of the magic of ECM records is the fact that it has both a signature sound and an incredibly broad variety. The ECM debuts from Norwegian saxophonist Mette Henriette and American guitarist Ben Monder, for instance, grew from drastically different processes—one is the result of loose improvisations, the other a dense, classical-influenced suite—but the projects both fit comfortably into Manfred Eicher’s pristine sonic vision. Monder’s Amorphae began as a duo project with legendary drummer Paul Motian, but after Motian’s passing, the guitarist finished the album with Andrew Cyrille, a veteran drummer whose fluid sense of time pairs nicely with Motian’s. The proceedings are loose but never feel messy: Monder thoroughly works the guitar’s possible sounds, pairing spare melodies with waves of tone that expand and contract organically. Motian and Cyrille suggest pulse, but the music is more interested in color than groove. And yet the results are surprisingly dynamic—a highlight of the album is a slow-motion take on Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” that surrounds the music’s lushness with a subtle raw edge.
Though she uses acoustic textures rather than effects pedals, Henriette’s album shares Monder’s close attention to sound. The sweeping double album feels like a tone poem at times, characterized by slow swells from Henriette’s fuzzy tenor tone and the album’s classical string players. The album’s moments of tension—piercing saxophone screams and sizzling cymbal rolls—seem to erupt organically, making this an album that grabs attention with both delicacy and bombast. The piece feels more like chamber music than a jam session, but the players, including trumpeter Eivind Lønning and members of the Cikada quartet, are periodically let loose and improvise with striking sensitivity.
While ECM is often accused of sterility, these two recent releases make a strong case for the label’s true dynamism. In a jazz market that can often feel full of similar sounds, it’s refreshing to hear two artists so focused on new textures.
Darrell Grant - The Territory (PJCE Records, 2015)
The Territory has been a long time coming. This is true in a literal sense, of course: the project was first commissioned by Chamber Music America back in 2012, and the album was recorded live at Reed College a year later. But Darrell Grant’s epic salute to the Oregon landscape is also built on a century of history, as it attempts to engage with the complicated role of people of color in the state’s evolution. On the suite’s gripping opener, “Hymn to the Four Winds,” Marilyn Keller sings a melody inspired by the songs of Oregon’s native peoples, while thenine-piece ensemble swells dramatically underneath her.
Though it’s presented as a chamber piece, the suite alternates between complex orchestrations, chaotic free improvisation, and driving, Coltrane-esque swing. Grant gives the players ample solo room, which is particularly rewarding given the amount of talent in play. Grant’s band blends Portland heavyweights with New York legends, pairing the likes of trumpeter Thomas Barber and saxophonist Kirt Peterson with saxophonist Steve Wilson, vibraphonist Joe Locke and drummer Brian Blade. Connections could be drawn to Blade’s own music, which also incorporates orchestral sounds and engages with Native American culture, and the veteran drummer sounds right at home on the material (to be fair, there doesn’t seem to be anything Blade can’t play). Keller’s presence is sporadic, but always notable, and Grant gives her material that combines jazz, art song and Native American melodies into outbursts that are both angular and emotional.
The Territory is an important album for Oregon jazz, a celebration of the beauty of the Northwest and a critique of the region’s utopian image. As usual, Grant is working hard to keep the Northwest’s scene rich and relevant.
Halie Loren - Butterfly Blue (Justin Time Records, 2015)
Like Norah Jones and Madeleine Peyroux before her, singersongwriter Halie Loren has a knack for channeling jazz stylings into a pop context. Her newest album, Butterfly Blue, features standards ripped from the Great American Songbook alongside guitar-driven originals, and while there’s plenty that might qualify as straight-ahead jazz, genre boundaries seem more like dotted lines than steep gradients.
Part of the effectiveness of the album is Loren’s ability to use swing in a variety of ways. The opener, “Yellow Bird,” is a gentle jazz number, but it bounces along with a decidedly danceable pulse. A horn section and silky strings emphasize the popleaning nature of the tune until a layered breakdown pulls the track into quirky harmonic territory. “Butterfly” plays more like a soul ballad than a jazz tune, with tremolo-heavy guitars and crunchy organs resembling classic Muscle Shoals-style production. Loren rarely pushes her mellow voice to its limits, but the results are tasteful rather than constricted: she can infuse even a gentle whisper with the right amount of attitude.
The more straight-ahead corners of the record are fine modernizations of jazz classics, but they ultimately come off as the least interesting tracks. Cole Porter’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” gets a sultry treatment that borders on Cabaret-style parody, while “Stormy Weather” is taken nice and slow—it feels good, but is unremarkable in the end. A track called “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” comes late on the album, and while younger generations might hope for a version of the hit song by punk band Green Day, this “Boulevard” is the 1933 standard from the original Moulin Rouge. Loren’s dark rendition is a highlight of the album, superimposing the somber melody over a groove reminiscent of Bill Withers’s “Ain’t No Sunshine.”
Even on the less effective tracks, though, Loren’s music treads the jazz-pop line gracefully. Given the right timing and opportunity, her star could rise beyond the jazz sphere without losing integrity.
Joe Manis Trio - The Golden Mean (SteepleChase Look Out, 2015)
The latest recording from Eugene saxophonist Joe Manis once again features a trio of Manis, George Colligan on organ and Kevin Congleton on drums. Manis is a fine tenor player, heavily influenced by the probing post-bop of Michael Brecker and Joe Henderson, and the organ trio sound of the album emphasizes connections to Henderson’s legendary performance on Larry Young’s Unity.
Perhaps the biggest influence present, though, is Wayne Shorter: Manis even has a tune called “Shorter Story” on here, a mysterious down-tempo dirge that creates atmosphere even if it doesn’t quite reach new territory. “Three Four For Three” is another Shorter-influenced composition, a fiery waltz inspired by the Gil Evans tune “Barracudas” that Shorter made popular among post-60s musicians.
Alongside the knotty post-bop originals, Manis includes several left-field covers like Soundgarden’s “Black Hole Sun” and the theme song from Goldfinger. The latter song fits surprisingly well into the group’s aesthetic, sounding like something off a Tony Williams Lifetime record. Manis’s bright tone also manages to channel the swagger of Shirley Bassey’s original version. The Soundgarden tune also works well for the group, providing a welcome vehicle for Congleton’s drumming.
A more standard choice of material is the reworking of Ellington’s “It Don’t Mean A Thing,” which, aside from a couple metrical tricks on the melody, is played more or less straight. Even so, the soloists take the well-worn standard and run with it, peppering their solos with clever quotes (Manis plays a full four bars of Herbie Hancock’s “One Finger Snap” and Colligan tosses in a fragment from the ballad “Laura”).
The organ trio format can be dangerous, as the sound is so specific that associations with a particular era are difficult to avoid. Manis and company are well aware of the format’s history, and in addition to being a showcase for the ace musicians on hand, The Golden Mean serves as a tribute to some of the genre’s seminal organ groups.
Flipside - Perfectly Sane (2014)
Bassist Paul Unger grew up in Silverton, Ore., but now he makes his home in Fort Worth, Texas, where he plays with the local symphony. And yet he also makes time for Flipside, a collective trio that’s decidedly rooted in jazz but pulls in sounds from a variety of sources. Unger’s virtuosic bass playing opens the band’s latest album with a repeated bluesy riff that is soon doubled by Dave Monsch’s husky tenor tone. Then, after the horn and bass drop out, Dennis Durick’s drum solo is joined by a shifting kalimba groove. When the band comes back in, it’s for a burning, avant-leaning tenor solo reminiscent of Dewey Redman.
Many pieces on Perfectly Sane follow this template, beginning as one type of tune and soon shifting gears completely. No style seems to be ruled out completely; the band seems just as comfortable jumping into hard-driving swing as it is laying down a heavy backbeat. It’s also hard to tell what is arranged and what is improvised, as moments that appear chaotic end abruptly with tightly coordinated hits. The album has gentler moments as well, like the aptly titled “Lullabye.”
Even with a lack of chordal instruments, the trio is still capable of striking sensitivity, partially due to Unger’s fluid bass playing. The bass often feels like just another voice rather than the low end of the ensemble, especially on cuts like “Little T. on Parade,” which features Unger’s work with a bow as the track channels Eastern European melodies into an epic march. Fort Worth might not be known for its thriving jazz scene, but here’s hoping that Flipside gets the recognition this inventive trio deserves.
Adam Larson - Selective Amnesia (Inner Circle Music, 2015)
Adam Larson is a 25-year-old saxophonist whose virtuosity and maturity have made him a top-call player on the New York scene. His latest album, the often scintillating Selective Amnesia, features a cast of musicians that back Larson’s rising profile: pianist Fabian Almazan, guitarist Matt Stevens, and bassist Matt Penman have played in some of the most buzzed-about jazz groups in recent years, and drummer Jimmy MacBride is another fast-rising young player. The new album works best as a showcase for the heavy talent involved; while the compositions might not be the most indelible, they offer rich enough material for Larson and his band to chew on.
Larson’s music features melodies wandering over shifting grooves, which often work well as a showcase for his crisp articulations and fluid facility. The vamp-heavy “Mcwendel” sounds like something off of Michael Brecker’s pilgrimage, with a highly angular melody doubled with the tenor and guitar displaying Larson’s quick jumps from his searing high range to rich low notes.
If Larson is the melodic and virtuosic center of the album, guitarist Matt Stevens is responsible for much of its color. On the sparse ballad “Gratitude,” Stevens sets up the melody with a spacious solo offering, and when Larson enters, Stevens weaves in and out of step with the saxophonist, sometimes filling in gaps and other times fitting snugly underneath Larson’s melody. While Stevens has experience laying on the reverb and distortion in Christian Scott’s band, here he employs a thin, almost acoustic-sounding tone that makes more melodic passages sound almost like folk music. On piano, Almazan is also careful to stay subdued and supportive throughout. With such a finessed group of players on board, Selective Amnesia is a constantly intriguing listening experience, yet another fine modern jazz record that shows a young saxophonist confidently extending the great tenor lineage.
Wadada Leo Smith and John Lindberg - Celestial Weather (TUM, 2015);
Juhani Aaltonen and Iro Haarla – Kirkastus (TUM, 2015)
Two recent releases on the Finnish label TUM Records both feature intimate duo work between longstanding musical partners: trumpeter Wadada Leo Smith, a pioneer of free improvisation and prominent member of the AACM, pairs with bassist John Lindberg for a mostly improvised set, while Finnish pianist/ harpist Iro Haarla collaborates with saxophonist Juhani Aaltonen on her breathtaking original compositions. Though sonically very different, the two records share a similar spirit, a combination of sensitive intimacy with freewheeling experimentation.
The Smith-Lindberg pairing is a largely visceral experience, with sound just as important an element as notes and melodies. Smith likes to hold a note out for several seconds and infuse it with fuzz, grit and subtle shifts in pitch, letting Lindberg move up and down the bass with stunning ease. The album is split into discrete sections, the first dedicated to free-jazz legend Malachi Favors Maghostut and later segments titled “Celestial Weather” and “Feathers and Earth,” but the record also plays as a seamless journey through the textural possibilities of the players’ instruments.
Haarla is more interested in melody than Smith and Lindberg, though that’s not to say the album sounds any more conventional. Aaltonen switches off between saxophone and flute, constructing slow-moving melodies over Haarla’s turbulent piano and harp textures. The compositions feel somewhat like meditations, and while they can feel stagnant at times, the textures weaved between Aaltonen’s syrupy tone and Haarla’s chords are always rich.
John McLaughlin - Black Light (2015)
Nearly half a century after he revolutionized jazz with rock and Indian influences, John McLaughlin is back with another hard-driving mixture of virtuosity and stylistic inventiveness. The guitarist describes the music on Black Light as “an open door,” and yet the record itself feels almost impenetrable. There is so much going on at all times that it can be difficult to breathe throughout this highly produced fusion affair.
McLaughin still clearly has the guitar chops that made him a fusion legend in the 1970s. In fact, he seems to be playing faster than ever. The album’s melodies move lightning fast, with little to grab onto. The intricate, always-shifting grooves are also difficult to grasp, which is not inherently a bad thing but feels like just another complication in congress with the other highly technical aspects of the music. Sometimes, the grooves aren’t even human—McLaughlin employs various electronic textures— but these sounds are a couple decades off and sometimes border on club music.
All this isn’t to say that the album is devoid of content; “Being You Being Me” is a welcome moment of sensitivity, and McLaughlin occasionally falls into a more blues-inflected style to pleasant effect. But for the most part, the album only becomes more muddled as it goes on, a synthesizer-laden project on which the sounds seem to have been picked almost at random. McLaughlin is still a legend, to be sure, and the project has good intentions, but Black Light casts him as a hero of a past era unsure how to proceed.
Correction
In the October 2015 issue of Jazzscene, the review of Brian Ward’s Palouse Skies was erroneously labeled as “self-released.” Palouse Skies was actually released on the WSU Recordings label.
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