Kim Dae Hwan / Choi Sun Bae: Korean Fantasy

Korean Fantasy offers another fascinating insight into how free improvisation and jazz have flourished across the globe. This 1999 live date brings together percussionist Kim Dae Hwan and trumpeter Choi Sun Bae, two of the few practitioners in the East Asian country active on the adventurous scene at this time, although it was recorded in nearby Japan.

As part of its arrangement with the Japanese independent label Chap Chap Records, the Lithuanian NoBusiness imprint has issued the archival recording as part of an ongoing series including other equally captivating sessions featuring the pair. Both appear as part of a quartet on Arirang Fantasy (2018), and as part of a trio on Seido-Seishin (2023), while Bae also features in a further trio on Kami Fusen (2017).

The twosome joins in three extemporized duets. The first, the half-hour plus "FM-1," sets the stage for their interaction, although Bae introduces the piece alone. The trumpeter's engaging style, alternating minor key melody with extreme textures, lures in the unsuspecting listener. For the remainder of the cut, Bae enlists electronics to alter the sound of his horn. Nonetheless, the rapport between him and Hwan is obvious in the ensuing dialogue, which proceeds in a sequence of flurried retorts and rhythmic phrases. While Bae initially maintains the dichotomy between form and abstraction established by his intro, the circuitry gradually becomes more prominent in the swirling smears and echoing reverb.

Unlike in other situations, Hwan uses a jazz trap set rather than his customary array of percussive devices. Although he does not avail himself of the kick drum, he revels in crisp intricate hi-hat patterns that supplement an earthy drum throb though rarely with any hint of swing. But the pair's inclusive approach allows exceptions, as when Bae wields a harmonica for a bluesy interlude and Hwan responds with a burst of syncopation. Later the trumpet sketches what might be a standard ("My Funny Valentine" comes to mind), which morphs into the sort of pentatonic air that vaguely recalls a Scottish folk tune but might by the same token hark back to Korean tradition, before the piece ends as it began, in satisfying symmetry, with solo trumpet.

The final two tracks sustain the receptive give and take, though perhaps affording more space to Hwan's bombastic tattoo. They reveal a practice which still occasionally references the American playbook, but which increasingly looks inward for inspiration, and finds much there to sustain itself.

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