Olie Brice: All It Was

Bassist Olie Brice convenes an all-star quartet on All It Was, bringing together pianist Alexander Hawkins, saxophonist Rachel Musson, and drummer Will Glaser. The ensemble's chemistry yields music that is both architecturally sound and fiercely spontaneous, balancing Brice's penchant for crafted frameworks with his immersion in the free-improvised tradition.

Brice has long navigated the space between structure and freedom—whether in chart-driven ensembles like Loz Speyer's Inner Space and Nick Malcolm's Out Front, or in open trios with Musson, Mikolaj Trzaska, Tobias Delius, and trumpeter Luis Vicente. All It Was represents the most persuasive fusion of these paths yet, six compositions that generate space rather than closure.

Unlike some albums led by drummers or bassists, which are positively self-effacing, Brice asserts his presence throughout. His wiry pizzicato is the thread that stitches the record together, at once muscular and lyrical. On the opener, "Listening Intently to Raptors," he locks into a surging riff with Glaser's cavorting percussion, setting the ensemble in motion with combustible energy.

Yet Brice's lyricism remains central: his introduction to "Morning Mourning," dedicated to his late father, unfolds in plaintive slurs and pregnant silences, establishing a mood of grave intimacy. Hawkins carries the theme with a wistful reading and a gorgeously reflective solo. But it is Brice's ability, together with Glaser, to maintain momentum even as they pull the time apart, which animates the repertoire time and again.

Musson proves a striking foil throughout, her burnished tenor tone splintered with murmurs, squeals, and sudden fragments. Always destined to start the second set of any performance, "After a Break," interleaves a pair of duets into a staccato theme that tantalizes without fully resolving. Brice and Musson's exchanges veer from breathy, vulnerable lyricism to caffeinated urgency, while Hawkins and Glaser punctuate with jagged clusters and rattling percussive declarations.

Hawkins, for his part, remains a marvel of balance: skewed comping one moment, fluid cascades the next. Nowhere is this clearer than on "A Rush of Memory Is All It Was," the freest cut of the set, written in homage to Cecil Taylor. Hawkins channels the dedicatee's combustible tension without mimicry, layering restless bass-register cells against glittering right-hand flurries. Even in its most abstract moments, the piece retains Brice's insistence on thematic threads, never abandoning coherence for chaos.

The closing "And We Dance on the Firm Earth" invokes a dirge-like line reminiscent of Charlie Haden's Liberation Music Orchestra. Musson's vibrato-laden call elicits a sharp piano response before the quartet collectively descends into hushed silence. The effect is elegiac yet unbowed—a fitting summation of Brice's vision.

Strong ideas surface on every track, but what distinguishes All It Was is the integration of personalities: four singular improvisers drawing from divergent directions yet finding common ground. It is, by any measure, Brice's most compelling statement to date.

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