Paul Dunmall New Quartet: World Without

Amid the torrent of recordings that mark British saxophone legend Paul Dunmall's prolific creative output, World Without might have slipped beneath the radar. Recorded in 2021, the album bypasses preambles entirely: no themes, no heads, just immediate immersion into two expansive studio explorations that unfold with the confidence of deep familiarity.

Dunmall has long cultivated the art of intuitive interplay, and here he is joined by a unit that thrives on exactly that. Regular collaborators Irish bassist Dave Kane and drummer Miles Levin return, supplemented by young guitarist Steve Saunders, whose presence brings fresh slants without disturbing the quartet's established rapport. This is a band attuned to nuance as much as combustion—where roles dissolve into a single, responsive organism rather than a cycle of solos.

Kane emerges as a central figure throughout, signaled immediately in the opening stretch of "The Beauty In You," where he and Dunmall sound each other out in exchanges both pointillist and percussive. Similarly in the ramp up to "World Without," where his bowing buzzes and coils beneath the guitar's twang and thrum, igniting a subtle thrust. His tone is lean but assertive, carving space without grandstanding.

Dunmall nonetheless remains the gravitational force. His tenor work unfurls in extended, writhing lines that evolve with emotional clarity—sometimes mournful, sometimes ecstatic, always intent on forward motion. Each phrase seems born from the last, accumulating until they break into high-register cries that linger like vapor trails against a restless sky.

Saunders stays mostly in the pocket, coloring the ensemble with oblique commentary and angular interjections. In "The Beauty In You," he shadows Dunmall's trajectory closely; in "World Without," their tandem becomes a dialogue of jabs and swipes, shorn of rock cliché but full of tensile energy. His restraint, when he exercises it, is telling.

Levin's drumming, always alert, ranges from hushed brushwork to volatile churn. He fuels the collective dynamic without dominating it, knowing when to create transparency and when to propel the group toward catharsis. In one such moment, the closing title track escalates into a searing climax—a convulsive peak of shared momentum, Kane's walking bass supercharging Dunmall into the stratosphere—before parachuting to a whispered resolution. It's a satisfying arc, a reminder that in the best free improvisation, form is discovered, not imposed.

Comments