Gjerstad Schlippenbach Narvesen: Seven Tracks

No messages. No allusions. Just pure music. Seven Tracks arrives stripped of extraneous signposts, its cuts identified only by duration and its content left to speak entirely for itself. Happily the utilitarian approach does not extend to the volatile freeform exchanges between veterans Norwegian reedman Frode Gjerstad and German pianist Alexander von Schlippenbach, and Gjerstad's younger countryman drummer Dag Magnus Narvesen. Pianist and drummer form a cohesive unit responsible for three albums in tandem. Drummer and reed player likewise have a pair of duet releases under their joint belts.

Narvesen, the common factor to the two duos, provides the glue that unites the group sonically across seven studio improvisations. His tappy clatter on skins and metal ensures punctuation and flow, as distinct from propulsion, but most importantly does not constrain progress in any direction. Gjerstad largely steers what narrative there is. His falsetto wavering conveys barely contained emotion, like a breaking voice. The effect is amplified by muffled tones and squeals that probe the spaces between notes, though at other times he seems more committed to total abstraction. No stranger to working with exploratory saxophonists after his years in the company of Evan Parker, Schlippenbach avoids the default dive under the bonnet in response, rather trading in scuttling rejoinders and percussive patterns that underpin the collective inquiry. 

The overall vibe is one of communal negotiation, although at times the interaction seems oblique. But sudden instances of echoing or mirroring affirm connection, exemplified by the way Schlippenbach absorbs a Gjerstad motif and repurposes it as the basis for his own trajectory towards the end of "00:05:27:199." The pianist represents the clearest link to the traditional values, with his rhythmic surges and Monkish turns of phrase, although they function more as foundation than a prompt. Nonetheless Schlippenbach and Narvesen also enjoy moments of playful confluence, like the intersection of tolling chords and cymbal attacks nearing the close of "00:07:03:964."

Such details illuminate an ongoing discourse distinguished by an adventurous compass and a confidence that, even without a map, brooks no hesitation.