Steve Norton: Debris and Beyond
Multi-reedist Steve Norton is best known for his work with the 1990s Boston-based band Debris. Debris was an ambitious, exuberant, puzzling band that puzzled together serialism, free jazz and funk. Their music is in equal measure exhilarating and exhausting.
It was the combination, in part, that burned Norton out about ten years ago, as well as a need to attend to his job and family. Back in full force now, at fighting weight, with drive and direction and reinvigorated sound, he's steaming.
Recent projects include the duck-call trio, Duck That, with Joshua Jefferson and Angela Sawyer; Matt Samolis' Metal and Glass Ensemble; a trio-without-name performing a stunning rendition of Steve Lacy's "Tips," with Noell Dorsey on voice and Samolis on flute; and a duo with Vic Rawlings, Symptomatic.
Symptomatic is, in fact, symptomatic of a theme Norton has pursued throughout his career, the play between paying attention to collaborators and blissfully ignoring them in a way that will lead to discovery of deeper layers.
All About Jazz: I know that your group Debris employed a lot of structure, but when I hear itand like I said, I know this isn't accuratebut I think of it as an avant-jam band.
Steve Norton: Really...I could almost take umbrage at that. But I won't! For the most you will find that the pieces on the discs, they've all gotthere's generally a bunch of written stuff and then there's areas for improv. So there's plenty of improv in there, but it's always within a context. It's kind of like with traditional jazz where you have the head and then a bunch of solos, except it doesn't really work like that. Frequently the written music is something that's episodic and through-composed, so it's not like we just start with something and end with it: we start with something, there'll be some improv, another written sectiona different written section will come in, there'll be more improv, and then a another written section which is yet again different...So you won't hear that kind of repetition most of them time.
AAJ: And the tone rows...
SN: Yeah, almost all the pieces composed by me on those discs are twelve-tone.
AAJ: I have a theory. You know Harold Bloom's theory of the anxiety of influence?
SN: I've heard of it, I've never heard it articulated.
AAJ: It's an Oedipal struggle between a poet or an author and his precursor, like Wordsworth and Milton...I see your precursor as being Eric Dolphy, and you've been wrestling with Dolphy for twenty years, trying to throw him off, and you've finally done it.
SN: [laughs] Wow, that's funny. So I would accept him as a precursor...On my way here I was remembering a very important evening in the process of my development. This must have been in 1979 or '80. I had a good friend, she lived on Hanover Street [in Boston's North End], three or four floors up somewhere, and she went away, and she asked me if I would come in and feed her cat. This was back when I was living at home in Framingham.
So I drove in, it was like a Sunday night and I came inI was just happy to be in the city and it was nice out and I opened the windows, and I fed the cat and then I just sat there and I turned the radio on. And I just sat there and listened to something from one of Dolphy's Prestige releasesOut There or Outward Bound (both 1960)and I can't remember which piece it was, but I loved it and I wrote it down; and the same night I heard Miles Davisit was "Moon Germs," off The Birth of the Cool (Capitol, 1957). And there's a section in "Moon Germs" whereit's not a fast piece, it's a fairly slow pieceand the time goes away, and the horns are playing these sustained chords, and they sound almost atonal. They're almost Schoenbergian, and I was just smitten by that. That was the first time knowingly hearing either of those guys, and thinking, "That was really cool."
I appreciated jazz, but I wasn't really hooked on it...But I had thisI was always looking for things that were interesting, and more interesting, and I ended up finding Roxy Music
AAJ: I can hear Roxy Music in your work.
SN: No question. Brian Eno's solo records...and then the next thing you know, Fred Frith and Henry Cow. And I was on my way out there. I always had this feeling, this kind of push, to hear things that were unusual...I worked at Strawberries, the record story in the late '70s and I was really attracted to the Anthony Braxton album, The Montreux/Berlin Concerts (Arista, 1977), 'cause it had that picture of him playing the contrabass clarinet, and I was like, "What the hell is that!"
I had been playing music all my life. I took violin in the third grade, piano in the fourth, I played piano for twelve years. I had a friend in high school, he was a guitarist, and without really knowing anything about free improvby that point I had been listening to Yes and Genesis, because it was unusual. And he and I started to improvise, because it seemed like the thing to do. I think the stuff we were playing was mostly rock based, chordally and rhythmically, but it always went in strange places and there was never any plan. One summer evening we pulled all the stuff out of the kitchen cupboards, pots and pans, and started playing them. We decided we had to play the kitchen! And recorded it.