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One week after his first America session Anthony Braxton ventured back to Studio Decca in
Paris. The fruits of that visit took shape as a follow-up to his seminal For Alto
released by Delmark in ‘68. A double album like that solo debut, Saxophone
Improvisations Series F also limits the multireedist’s tool chest to alto saxophone.
The borders between improvisation and composition blur across the nine tracks. Each one
carries a dedicatory tag to an influential person in Braxton’s creative cosmology. Chess
genius Bobby Fisher, philosopher-inventor Buckminster Fuller and fellow AACMer Maurice
McIntyre are among the honorees. Track widths vary widely from side-long monuments
like “26B†and “26F†to the miniature “26D.†Each one seeks to address specific series of
questions in direct relation to extemporaneous musical creation. Though they suggest the
appearance of academic exercises in everything from titles to overarching temperament,
the pieces end up anything but sterile or pedantic. Braxton sketches a myriad of
methodically wrought patterns from the lucid liquid melody at the crux of “26J,†a piece
that owes conscious debt to idols Lee Konitz and Warne Marsh, to the clench-jawed
overblowing of “26B†his real-time variations and interpolations uncover copious content
to ponder. Its counterpart “26F†is less successful, foundering in call-and-response
redundancies that snowball over the track’s long-winded incline. “26C†and “26I†illustrate
the polarities at Braxton’s command. The former piece revels in a robust profusion of
notes for its entire duration while the latter scales back in scrupulous volume-dampened
increments. Levied against his first solo record, a significant improvement in recording
quality preserves the nuances of Braxton’s reed cleanly. Even the clack of his keypads is
audible in the quieter passages. The sum total is a mouth-gaping, eye-popping protracted
display of chops wedded to intellect.
Dave Burrell delivers one of the most ambitiously-conceived efforts in the America archive
with After Love. Relying on a septet pool of Roscoe Mitchell’s reeds, a trio of
string players and two drummers, the pianist devises a set that straddles both free jazz
and modern classical camps. The title track stretches across both sides of the LP into two
commodious parts. The first limns on a relatively narrow canvas of hard thrumming
strings, cyclic chugging drums, keening reeds and rippling distant piano for much of its
duration. Amidst these hectic environs Alan Silva slots his usual maverick role, his
amplified razor-wire cello ripping demonically at the harmonic pinions of the piece and
presaging the sort of antics players like Fred Lonberg-Holm would employ decades later.
Ron Miller’s mandolin manifests another alien voice, his tightly wound strings mimicking
the hypnotic sonorities of a Chinese zither with fast-plucking figures. Despite a web of
engrossing patterns crafted and conjoined by the players the relentless cascade and
limited dynamics begins to tax over the extended length. Burrell’s decision to recoup
some of the ground allotted the strings on the second part proves a sound one. His
resilient chords float atop a background of buzzing bass, bass saxophone and tidal
drums. “My March†occupies as much sprawling temporal space as the opener, but is far
less portentous conception. An extended Burrell improvisation segues into solo segments
for Mitchell’s clarinet and Silva’s violin before locking on a boisterous martial vamp fueled
by drummer Don Moye. Despite its tendency to flag in places this album’s pleasures still
outweigh its flaws.
The proliferation of free jazz players in Paris at the close of the 60s spawned a host of
short-lived ensembles. Comprised of a multi-national contingent of improvisers,
Emergency was one such assemblage. Homage to Peace represented their only
commercially released record, a concert taped in the capital French city in 1970. Four
tracks, among them a contemplative cover of the Art Ensemble’s title tune, show a band at
ease with their nascency and well-versed in their community. Saxophonist Glenn
Spearman (in his recording debut) fronts the band with brio to burn. Boulou Ferret’s
electric guitar acts like gasoline on already smoldering tinder. His abstract string torquing
largely eschews rock bombastry, accessing a far greater tonal complexity through frequent
enveloping swathes. Elsewhere he fires off arpeggio volleys that perforate ears like
hallucinogenic-tipped darts. What’s most inspiring is the way the band balances its
ecstatic energy leanings with an emphasis on melody, structure and even restraint (the
elegant “Kako’s Tune†where electric keys come into play offers one emblematic example).
Pianist Takashi Kako is most effective in this pursuit, his rich, rippling chords and right
hand forays matching the gravitas of Spearman’s ecstatic horns, in a copasetic union akin
to the momentous Trane-Tyner pairing. Drummer Sabu Toyozumi works as an oceanic
force, propelling and coloring with swirling shadings and beats. His liquid rhythms pour
into the cracks and augment the band’s underlying emotional sincerity and warmth.
Bassist Bob Reid completes the circle, his bubbling pizzicato subsumed in the more
exuberant sections, but never lapsing in the charge to anchor the action.
Steve Lacy’s The Gap marked the first of two May ‘72 sessions by the soprano
saxophonist for America. On the album’s title track Lacy and his reed confrere Steve Potts
capitulate to the eponymous divide, their respective solos separated by a brief, but canny
rhythmic episode from drummer Noel McGhie. “Esteem†explores a fabric of piercing pitch
clusters, the horns tracing a progression vaguely similar to Coltrane’s “Giant Steps,†but
slowed down to dirge speed. “The Thing†devours an entire LP side, its gargantuan maw
rowed with sharp saxophone and string sonorities. Cellist Irene Aebi (no vocals here) is
especially impressive, slicing a pointillistic danse macabre against Kent Carter’s
lean but no less nettlesome bass patterns during several interludes. Lacy and Potts erase
their earlier distance, tangling in a ferocious fracas of twining multiphonics and straining
the tonal capabilities of their instruments. The results are some of the most raucous and
astringent Lacy on record, but temperately tuneful turns surface too. McGhie glues it all
together with assiduous attention to texture and dynamics. The sum beautifully juggles
the fervor of free jazz with the structured logic of chamber music. “La Motte-Picquet,†a
playful ditty penned in honor of Lacy’s favorite Parisian subway stop, clocks at mere three
plus minutes. An alternate take, one of only three uncovered in the entire Free America
series, presents a slightly altered aural perspective on the populous thoroughfare. The
quintet was less than a year old at the time of taping, but this album stands easily as one
of their best.
Roswell Rudd’s self-titled record represents one of the earliest recording session in the
America archive. Taped in Hilversum, Netherlands in early 1965 it personifies the
culmination of a previous year’s worth of intense activity. The trombonist had made
memorable contributions to the bands of Albert Ayler, Cecil Taylor and Archie Shepp and
in the process earned an estimable reputation that hasn’t diminished since. Assembling a
multi-national quartet comprised of Danish altoist John Tchicai, an old compatriot, Dutch
bassist Finn Von Eyben and South African expatriate Louis Moholo on drums, Rudd guides
the band through a program of original compositions capped by a brief, but gorgeous
rendering of Monk’s “Pannonica.†The bootleg fidelity is a bit washed out, but careful
remastering chisels out reasonably clear space for each player. Moholo’s liquid rhythms
morph from Spartan to dense on the opening “Respects,†bracketing the action with
patterns that resist registering a strict meter until a spate of tousled syncopations in the
final minutes. Rudd brings up the rear after solos from Tchicai and Von Eyben, singing
through his mouthpiece and working his slide with well-oiled aplomb. “Old Stuff,†a fine
slice of freebop, offers up more undiluted antics from the leader in a protracted spray of
vacillating smears and slurs. Tchicai’s “Jabulani†echoes African allegiances with Moholo
carving a choppy cadence and the horns cavorting atop. “Sweet Smells,†an extended
colloquy for the horns crammed with a fakebook’s worth of colorful counterpoint,
completes the set. While loose and roughshod in spots, this album packs in equal parts
charm and skill and ranks as an early laurel in Rudd’s still unfolding career.
Continue: Part 3
Discuss Verve's Free
America Series at the AAJ Bulletin Board.
Verve's Free America Series, Part 2-3
By Derek Taylor
Anthony Braxton
Saxophone Improvisations Series F
Verve/Free America
2005
Dave Burrell
After Love
Verve/Free America
2005
Emergency
Homage to Peace
Verve/Free America
2005
Steve Lacy
The Gap
Verve/Free America
2005
Roswell Rudd
Roswell Rudd
Verve/Free America
2005
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