The Park Avenue Armory
March 14, 2018
The composer and keyboardist Alvin Curran
was born in Providence, Rhode Island, and is now a sprightly 79 years old. His work with Musica Elettronica Viva in Rome, from 1966 onwards, is of most interest to followers of improvised music. Curran created electroacoustic pieces with Steve Lacy
, Richard Teitelbaum
and Frederic Rzewski
. The majority of his work, however, has been composed, although usually sounding like spontaneity is still allowed, and freedom to move is integral to the construction.
His appearance as part of the Artists Studio series at The Park Avenue Armory, in NYC's Upper East Side, found Curran mostly at the sampling keyboard, but he also revealed his sideline as a soloist on the shofar, a Jewish ceremonial horn (and we do mean horn, in the literal sense: a long, curly ram's headpiece) (actually, Curran revealed that his own horn is, unusually, from an East African kudu, an antelope variant). Of course, said shofar was subject to electronic interference. Curran elected to present multiple compositions, but woven into each other as a seamless alternative medley, a 'greatest hits' of the avant-garde. He called it The Alvin Curran Fake Book
. This was self-published by his wife, Susan Levenstein, in 2015. Curran describes this as the world of 'might and could...' composition subject to improvisation.
The newly restored Veterans Room, with its elaborate decorative trimmings, was an ideal location for this future-arcane ancient-moderne music. "Shofar Shoals" involved didgeridu-type drone-calls, sent into a pair of collecting microphones, to magnify their interior rumblings, their spittle-clicks, their scribbles and blips, as the level sonics were interrupted by lip-breaks, breath-changes and momentary pauses. It was a simple source, steadily complicated via magnification, exaggeration and accumulation. A high pitched whine evolved. Where was that coming from? Like a permanently squeaking door-hinge. High reeds and low tuba were simultaneously suggested. Somehow, there were also episodes from "Octograms," "Endangered Species," "Era Ora" and "Unstandard Time."
Curran placed the shofar inside his acoustic piano, plucking strings and plinking odd keyboard notes, whilst an electronic pattern continued to tangle, until Curran triggered an outburst of electro-scuzz, littered with stray voice snatches. This was already way better than his gig at the Whitney Museum in 2016. Turning to his synth-keyboard, Curran bled chimp sounds into prayer-song, just some of the many samples housed within its entrails. The shofar returned, sounds piling up in a dense collage, foghorns heralding creature-of-the-deep grumbling, then cutting to a phantasmagoria of clipped hip-hop beats, sliced and diced as part of the barrage. It's as though Curran was sampling the samples, in a never-ceasing evolution of aural magnification.
The electronics cut out, and Curran returned to the acoustic piano, cockroaching about thoughtfully, but it wasn't long before one hand was pulled uncontrollably across to the synth again, his main addictive device, making a scraping sound, matched with a plaintive whining call, continuing with a driving piano part. The entire set was suite-like in formation, with Curran continually exploring new relationships, and smearing fresh layers of urban waste onto his classicist canvas.
David Tronzo/John Medeski/Ben Perowsky
March 15, 2018
When NYC drummer Ben Perowsky
's five-night residency began, The Stone had been fully open for nearly two weeks in its fresh location at The New School in Greenwich Village. There had been a partial diary in operation for around nine months, during the last days of the original Stone in Alphabet City. Perowsky's gig with keyboardist John Medeski
and guitarist David Tronzo
was a highlight in an already strong programme, representing the latter's rare showing in the city since moving away, just over a decade ago. Therefore, it wasn't so surprising that the set reached full capacity within minutes of the doors opening.
The trio began with some swirling abstraction, a marshalling of forces, with Tronzo on wobbling slide, sometimes providing basslines. Medeski skated lightly at the high end of his Hammond organ, and Perowsky admired the nine or ten cowbells arrayed across his kit in order of size. Slowly, a propulsive jazz groove arrived, with its roots in the 1960s and its high feelers in the now-zone. Medeski gushed complexity, and Perowsky used his small extra side-tom and foot-operated woodblock. He produced an aggressive timbales-type sound on his snare, and worked his long, unusually tubular bass drum, looking like it could naturally be boomed within a samba setting.