Sergio Armaroli Quintet: Follow A Very Heavy Person

Time, as a concept, transforms into an endless playground in the hands of Sergio Armaroli. In Follow A Very Heavy Person, the quintet expands upon the foundations laid in Introducing A Very Heavy Person, delving deeper into the sonic and philosophical dimensions of John Cage and Kenneth Patchen's 1942 experimental radio play, The City Wears A Slouch Hat. Emerging from the same recording session, this second volume extends and reinvents its predecessor's exploration of simultaneity, improvisation and the ephemeral nature of sound. Here, Armaroli and his ensemble operate not just as musicians but as architects of an imagined reality, bending time and perception through the alchemy of sound.

Armaroli's approach is both visceral and abstract, using music as a bridge between sensory experience and existential inquiry. His quintet functions like a time machine, seamlessly shifting between decades, emotions and textures. In this fluid space, echoes of the past ripple into the future, and moments collapse into one another. The result is an immersive listening experience that defies linearity, drawing the audience into a boundless, ever-unfolding sonic landscape.

A central force in this odyssey is Steve Piccolo, who reprises his role as the narrator—a contemporary counterpoint to Patchen's enigmatic The Voice. Yet, rather than adhering to a predefined script, Piccolo engages in spontaneous vocal improvisation, his words emerging like fragments of an overheard dream. His monologues pull from the collective unconscious. In one moment, he describes a "violent gasp when plunging into icy waters"; in another, a "dog softly barking while dreaming" or a "long thin spring extending and contracting with the opening and closing of a backyard screen door." These poetic utterances serve as launching points for the ensemble, each phrase igniting a chain reaction of musical responses, transforming spoken word into an ever-shifting sonic tapestry.

The quintet thrives within this interplay, dissolving the boundaries between text and music. Rather than mere accompaniment, the instruments breathe life into Piccolo's words, shaping and reshaping them in real time. Elliott Sharp's guitar and soprano saxophone melodies emerge like tendrils of light, cutting through John Edwards' deep, resonant basslines. Mark Sanders' percussion oscillates between delicate cymbal whispers and thunderous eruptions, grounding the ensemble's flights of abstraction. Armaroli himself wields the vibraphone with masterful precision, its shimmering resonance acting as both anchor and catalyst, providing a sense of cohesion amid the quintet's ceaseless evolution.

Imagine a graphic novel stripped of its imagery, leaving only the skeletal essence of movement, mood and rhythm. The music invites the listener to become an active participant in the storytelling process, filling in the gaps with their own imagination. Each track is a sonic vignette, a snapshot of a fleeting moment—suggestive yet open-ended, elusive yet deeply evocative.

This effect is particularly evident in pieces like "Squeal of Servomechanism When Steering a Car" and "Suppressing a Sneeze." Each title evokes a precise moment, yet within the music, these moments expand, distort, and reconfigure themselves into something larger and more profound. Piccolo's voice drifts through these compositions like an apparition, his words hovering at the threshold between presence and absence. His phrases dissolve entirely into the instrumental interplay, as if carried off into the ether, leaving only the lingering impression of their meaning.

For this ensemble, improvisation is more than a technique—it is a worldview. Armaroli has constructed a framework that thrives on unpredictability. Each track becomes an experiment in real-time composition, where musicians surrender to the unknown and trust the moment. They create a space where every note, every silence and every unexpected turn feels alive with possibility.

Underlying all of this is the central theme of time—or rather, the dismantling of time as a fixed construct. If Introducing A Very Heavy Person posed the question, "What if time is not linear?" then Follow A Very Heavy Person expands that premise further, unbinding itself from conventional chronology altogether. The music unfolds as if existing outside of temporal constraints, allowing moments to stretch and contract, past and future to blur into an eternal present. It is a meditation on the fluidity of experience, an exploration of how perception and memory shape the way we navigate sound and meaning.

One of the album's most haunting pieces, "Loud Mother-Daughter Arguments in Public Places," encapsulates this theme with striking clarity. A sparse and spectral composition, it juxtaposes Piccolo's fragmented monologues with cascading vibraphone and spectral guitar harmonics. As the track fades into silence, it leaves the listener suspended in a space between resolution and anticipation, reinforcing the notion that time is not something to be measured but something to be felt.

Follow A Very Heavy Person is more than an album—it is an experience, an inquiry, an adventure into the unknown, defying easy categorization and existing in the liminal space between music, poetry and philosophy. Armaroli and his quintet have crafted something truly singular—a journey through sound that is both timeless and profoundly rooted in the ephemeral beauty of the present moment.

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