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Some jazz musicians lean hard toward experimentation. A few fall over the rail. Trumpeter Graham Haynes seems to have been eaten alive by the exotic creature known as 'electronica'.
These two CDs are live recordings from a pair of gigs, one from the summer of '04 at the Upper West Side club Makor and the other last winter at the Sarajevo Jazz Festival. Although there are no beats, no melodies, in short, almost no discernible characteristics of music in any style, if the Sarajevans are content to include it in their jazz festival, then who are we to question its worthiness of the designation? The problem is, as 'jazz', it fails even the most basic requirements. But even as experimental music (which is what it actually is), Haynes' stab at electronica vanishes into the large, murky lagoon of this kind of stuff with nary a ripple.
Haynes' brand of electronic music is not grating, though far from pleasant . There are frissons of spring meadows and one passage (Reality Eclipsed) that sounds exactly like the inside of a lawn sprinkler. Ominous rumblings lead to spaced out trumpet notes that then get processed through a Jamba Juice shop full of effects. It'd make a great soundtrack to a spooky extraterrestrial flick.
I love jazz because it's so different than pop and has an emotional pull that other music does not have.
I was first exposed to jazz when I saw Dave Brubeck in 1974.
The first jazz record I bought was Bitches Brew by Miles Davis.