WILLIAM PARKER
... And William Danced
AYLER
aylCD-044
JEMEEL
MOONDOC
Live at Glenn Miller Café Vol. 1
AYLER
aylCD-026
True, exceptional, improvised music depends on particular circumstances
to be actualized. Mood, time, location and acquaintance are capable of
altering the equation to such an extent that two sessions recorded hours
apart can be vastly different.
That's
what happened with these two CDs, both of which feature bassist William
Parker and drummer Hamid Drake. Live was recorded one night at Stockholm's
Glenn Miller Café by the two, plus their regular playing partners,
alto saxophonist Jemeel Moondoc. The result is a representative hour of
high class, New York-based free improv sound. Earlier that day Parker
and Drake, met and played for the first time with veteran Swedish alto
saxophonist Anders Gahnold, who isn't even that well known in his homeland.
Touchingly, the ensuing studio-recorded 66 minutes, offers up a slice
of free improv at its finest.
Obviously
the novelty of the arrangement, time of the day, circumstances of the
meeting, or to use a 1960s word, the vibes, were in alignment at that
time. Gahnold, was for eight years until the 1986 death of bassist Johnny
Dyani, part of a European avant trio with Dyani and the bass man's fellow
South African, drummer Gilbert Matthews. Today he works as an electronic
engineer for a large Swedish high tech firm. Perhaps understandably, given
improv's low media profile, the saxophonist had literally never even heard
of Drake and Parker before he met them at the session.
Thrown
together, though, the three soon make a rapprochement, with each subsequent
improvisation longer than the one that proceeded it, and with the boiling
point reached on the title tune, at more than 30 minutes, LP-length itself.
More
a finger-snapping freebop number than a true avant garde vehicle, Gahnold's
edgy, piercing tone is reminiscent of Jackie McLean or Sonny Rollins in
their 1960s New Thing-flirting days. A foot on the floor, plowing ahead,
the saxman eventually begins double timing with a pronounced burr in his
delivery. Ultimately, after he stops spinning out longer phrases, Gahnold
makes his sound even sharper and higher-pitched, using multiphonics to
construct variations on the changes, and changes on the variations. He
doesn't so much stop playing at the end, but grounds to a halt, as if
he's ready to start again on a moment's notice.
Contrary
to the title, the only dancing Parker does is with his fingers, but he
shapes identical notes over and over again, creating melodies and counter
melodies, playing one phrase on a string and then echoing it with another.
One technique used is to produce a buzz as a string is loosened, finally
returning to foursquare rhythm and speeding up the attack. Sizzles from
Drake's cymbals worry an off-kilter beat as all this is going on until
he too turns boppish, bending bass drum pedal work, cross sticking and
press rolls to fit the role. Someone (Drake?) even yells out "yeah"
-- the distinctive call of the hipster.
The
other two tunes are no less exciting, with the second grotesquely named
by the actions of the studio owner's next door neighbor. When the trio
began playing the fellow complained that the music was disturbing his
customers, though he runs an undertaker's parlor. Thus "The Undertaker's
Dance."
On
both, as Gahnold's jagged alto sax slips in and out of key, creating gritty,
stairstep arpeggios Drake and Parker lay down a groove. Manfully pulling
on the strings, Parker comes up with a nearly endless bluesy vamp that
speeds up and slows down as it herds the others from one tempo to another.
Using his palms, sticks and brushes, Drake rollicks around the bassist's
centre point with his snares and toms as the alto saxophonist trills staccato
notes, which touches of an outside Charles Lloyd.
During
the course of the session, it's reported, the musicians hardly talked
to one another, they just played, without bothering about titles and time
signatures. Would that had happened with Moondoc that same night. If the
Swede and two Americans were like a trio of John Waynes, the American
altoist, who has been a Parker associate for more than 20 years, comes
on like Robin Williams.
Musing
about the history of the saxophone on "Blues From (sic) My People,"
Moondoc mires himself in an extended rap about marching bands, saxophone
inventor Adolphe Sax, legendary tenorman Coleman Hawkins who "reinvented
the sax" and how he doesn't take requests, even from family members.
This
may have been diverting in a club, but when he finally starts playing
"Blues," which isn't really a blues, it's up to Parker and Drake
to guide Moondoc's strident tone into melding with their never less-than-professional
work. The drummer unveils many press rolls, rim shots and hi hat cymbal
splatters, after the bassist sounds out one of his characteristic deep,
dark bass explorations.
Unfortunately,
with both numbers clocking in at either side of 30 minutes, there's too
much round robin soloing. Often flashing by at supersonic speeds, you
can note Parker snapping his strings as he illuminates both the high and
low parts of his axe and, at times, he seems to be playing duets with
himself. Hard and fast, Drake appears to be in a bop mode, with much emphasis
on bass pedal and sizzle cymbal. Notwithstanding both men trading fours
with the altoist at different times, on his own Moondoc appears to have
no on/off switch, often worrying a riff over and over and over again.
Those
who follow the careers of the American trio members will be most interested
in the second disc. But be forewarned that it's a standard club set where
flashes of brilliance vie with banality. The first disc with Gahnold is
a find, though. More discs featuring him -- new or reissues -- will be
anticipated.
--
Ken Waxman
Track
Listing ... And: 1. First Dance; 2. The Undertaker's Dance; 3. ... and
William Danced
Track
Listing Live: 1. Hi Rise; 2. Blues From My People
Personnel ... And: Anders Gahnold, alto saxophone; William Parker, bass;
Hamid Drake, drums
Personnel:
Live: Jemeel Moondoc, alto saxophone; Parker, bass; Drake, drums