Allison Miller's Boom Tic Boom
Philadelphia Art Alliance
Ars Nova Workshop
May 13, 2016 Allison Miller
's Boom Tic Boom plays jazz, but the woman herself is hardly a jazz drummer. Though she can swing and improvise like nobody's business, Miller seems equally at home with the grooves of funk and Latin, or evenGod forbidthe fist-pumping, downbeat-loving attitude of rock and roll. To be sure, any jazz drummer with a shred of notoriety will likely have the facility and range to adopt the comparatively simple patterns of most other genres. The difference with Allison Miller is that she's actually willing to do so. Miller is truly multi-genre musician because she approaches popular music forms with the same respect and ownership that she gives to her distinctive work within the jazz idiom. It takes confidence for a performer of her caliber to spend more than a token amount of time on rhythms that don't leave the listener's head spinning, and Miller does so with the utmost taste and creativity.
The drummer's open-mindedness allows her to flit between styles with the frequency and nonchalance of a teenager scrolling through Instagram filters. Her chimeric approach makes many tracks on the group's latest album, Otis Was a Polar Bear
, feel like suites with distinct movements strung together in a logical but unpredictable progression, and this wildly amped up the group's performance appeal. In concert Boom Tic Boom played pieces exclusively from Otis
(covering every tune but one), but the spontaneous formation of the segments within each song made the compositions unique to the moment, like pages from a coloring book filled in with different shades each night.
Boom Tic Boom's assortment of eccentric musicians (all of whom lead their own groups) parallels its stylistic diversity. Given the intensity of each musical personality, the group seems more like a collective than a band. The concert sequentially highlighted each individual, presenting every component of the group's sound so that the audience could better appreciate the vibrant cocktail that the musicians produced in conversation with one another. Boom Tic Boom's present lineup is its most compelling to date because, to put it bluntly, the band is bursting at the seams with weirdness. In the intimate and informal venue of the Philadelphia Art Alliance, with wide-eyed audience members clustered on benches and folding chairs, the musicians played even more boldly than on record, fully embracing their idiosyncratic voices without the constraint of a 50 minute time-limit.
Cornet player Kirk Knuffke
was the first to stretch out, crooning the arrhythmic melody of "Lullaby for Cookie," with a warm, breathy tone. The "cookie" in question is Miller's new child (who was still "in the oven" when she wrote the tune), but the song is much more earnest, heavy, and emotive than the cute title suggests. Piano, bass, violin, and clarinet wove a droning pillow of harmony, washed over by gentle waves of hissing cymbals. Knuffke eased into the repeated theme as if the sound were pouring out of him, accentuating each pastoral chord change with a lyrical crescendo. The song collected the musicians and focused the audience, serving as the opening ceremony for a performance fueled by the leader's newfound maternal passion.
Reading the room, Miller used the audience's state of attentive tranquility as a launching point for the raucous "Hi-T." She announced the change of pace with a swelling snare buzz followed by a crack that seemed to spank bassist Todd Sickafoose
into a surging groove of fat, powerful notes. The ensemble deftly skipped through a punchy five-part counterpoint section before opening up for Myra Melford
's shockingly unbridled piano solo.
Melford is best known for her intrepid experimentalism (leading a quintet with the likes of Tyshawn Sorey
and Liberty Ellman
), and in that context the sheer vigor of her playing is somewhat overshadowed by the group's staggering complexity. With Allison Miller, however, the pianist casts away all erudite pursuits and taps her sublime, bluesy ferocity, attacking the keyboard like a lioness. Melford struck with enough passion to make her bounce on her seat, like a McCoy Tyner
with two left hands. On "Pig in a Sidecar" she built tension by speeding up until it felt like the song was about to explode, before rescuing the audience at the last second. Toward the end of the show Melford illustrated the album's title track with Monk-like jabs and guttural rumbles: brilliant and visceral throughout.