Results tagged “improvisation”

A classic Bill Frisell moment occurred very soon after the musicians took the dais affectionately called a stage in Annapolis' beloved Ram's Head sit-down club.

The 858 Quartet--Frisell, accompanied by violinist Jenny Scheinman, violist Eyvind Kang and cellist Hank Roberts, as well as his own trusty Fender Telecaster--entered to eager applause. As the string players settled themselves, Frisell approached the microphone and introduced each member in turn. After a pause he added, "And I'll be right back." The audience laughed and murmured awkwardly as he hurried back stage to retrieve a pick.
When Frisell returned, Kang whispered to him, "They want you to explain." Meaning, to explain where he just went.
Frozen in front of the microphone, Frisell asked, "I need to explain myself?", with a hint of sincere exasperation. The crowd laughed again. Frisell unfolded a piece of paper in his hand, as if about to read a prepared statement, then looked about the walls of the club. "The music is... (pregnant pause)... Well, I can't explain it!" More confused laughter, and Frisell sat down. I had already felt as if I had gotten my money's worth, and not a single note had been played.

Bill Frisell doesn't understand human beings, I don't think. He's a wholly separate kind of entity. He's quiet, extremely introverted, unapproachable. Mentally, he's plugged in elsewhere. And that is, of course, what makes his music so unique. Even the label "jazz guitarist" doesn't do Frisell justice, a misplaced synecdoche that fits him like a thrift store tuxedo. First, there's his musical style, which borrows just as much, if not more, from American indigenous musics such as folk, bluegrass, country, and rock as it does from blues and jazz and classical. Frisell has recorded covers of Bob Dylan, George Gershwin, Henry Mancini, Sam Cooke, Charles Ives, Willie Nelson, Gilberto Gil, Leadbelly, Stephen Foster and Madonna (he also contributed to the most recent album by the drone-metal group Earth, among other curious guests spots). America is often called a cultural melting pot, but few musicians actually serve up that stew.
But just as radical is his playing style. Frisell has pioneered an open-string style which has inspired many imitators and devotees in all walks of life. He employs an arsenal of loop, delay and effects pedals, sometimes choosing to spend his solo in a given tune by tweaking knobs rather than plucking notes. And when he does pick out a solo, it is still in defiance of the standard philosophy of weaving a new melody into the song, of exploring and expanding the harmonies. Instead, Frisell has a somewhat minimalist style, playing brief melodies or just single, sustained notes, waiting until the exact right moment to say the exact right thing. Listening to Frisell play is like sitting at the feet of a monk, waiting for him to open his mouth and bless you with pearls of wisdom.

Bill Frisell originally formed the 858 Quartet in 2002, to record a series of completely improvised pieces inspired by the paintings of Gerhard Richter. For this current tour the quartet performed a handful of extended pieces, some newly composed for the group and others radically re-worked from previous Frisell projects. Each piece began without apparent direction, and would end abruptly, but in between was electricity. The music would lurch and evolve from free-form, polytonal improvs to bluesy grooves before transfiguring into something else entirely; disjointed in the best way possible. The quartet displayed a wonderful rapport, coalescing ever more into one another as the concert progressed (a companion of mine noted how they even physically mover closer and closer). Eyvind Kang struggled initially with pitching but shook it off as he warmed up. He was at his best during his solos, when he would forsake his bow and engage in what could only be called pizzicato pandemonium. the veteran Hank Roberts looked like my high school geometry teacher but played with a punk rock attitude, hunching and grimacing and punishing his instrument. A pregnant Jenny Scheinman was the MVP, equally adept to play perfect support as to soar about in lyrical, emotional solos, echoed in her own fluid mannerisms. Frisell kept close to his pedals, focusing on textures and atmosphere for large portions of the evening. On the guitar he blended and took precious few (and regrettably quiet) solos, which indicated that he saw himself as a member of the group rather than its leader. The show lasted just over an hour, at which time the group encored with an energetic version of "Baba Drame" by the Malian guitar hero Boubacar Traoré, a Frisell favorite.

If you have an opportunity to see Bill Frisell play, 858 Quartet or otherwise, take it. You need to see him, flesh and blood and Telecaster, to even hope to understand who he is and how he does what he does. Don't just listen to me, because... well, I can't explain it.

[Wednesday] [Thursday]

I have friends, and some of them came with me to this High Zero concert. That's because the Saturday matinee is a unique show among these unique shows. It involves compositions... of course, ones that deal in experimental improvisation. This year's was comprised of two by local auteur Jenny Graf Sheppard. Both were hit and miss.

The first piece was titled "A Performance of Experimental Archeology by the Stone Carving Oraclestra". This involved five so-called "readings" by a quintet of veiled women dressed in white, ululating and moaning. They would culminate in a phrase made ominous by lack of context ("DO IT NOW") and splitting reverb. Then one would hit a rock with another rock, and hand it to the recipient of the reading. Between each reading a small group of High Zero musicians performed.
The performance, in addition to being overlong, suffered from a lack of focus. On one hand it strongly suggested a genuine attempt at divination and matters of the occult, but on the other there were more light-hearted elements that betrayed and muddled the presumed intent of the whole thing. Meanwhile, the vocalizations of the prophetesses were unimpressive in their experimental character. Some were more inventive than others, but unfortunately the main prophetess, who was also the loudest, was content with a small selection of whoops and moans. Also, the performance was riddled with minor but obvious goof, suggesting that the performance was not altogether planned very well. The better moments came during the group's interludes, however their music was not wholly different from the sets heard on any given High Zero evening. In the end, this piece was kind of asinine.

In order to prepare for the second piece, we were given an hour-long intermission. When we left the theater I wheedled my wife and friends into filling out their survey forms that were included with the programs. These get entered into a box, one is drawn at the end of the day's concert, and that person wins two copies of a special tenth-anniversary High Zero DVD. I wanted that DVD.

With lots of time to spare, we headed outside and around the way to an Ethiopian-operated cafe. We headed back with time to spare, and we used it hanging out front of the theatre at one of the High Jinx events called "Toys That Make Noise". Although it essentially consisted of a motorized singing doll (with a haunting resemblance to JonBenét Ramsey), I still wished I had brought a few of my daughter's kookier pseudo-musical toys and join in.

In time the theatre doors were opened, and we all quite literally entered into the second piece, "Threshold for Action and Sound". The need for such a long intermission was immediately clear: we were led through a gateway onto the theatre stage, which had been turned into a dining room by the placing of plastic-board tables, folding chairs and other atmospherics. Several musicians were scattered around the space, being clandestinely conducted by an unidentified man in one corner. We were going to have dinner, and our choices as we ate would determine the what's, who's and how's of the music. Two menus were offered, one vegan and one non-vegan, and they were segregated to stage right and stage left, respectively. As it happened, half our group went vegan and half went non. I went non.
We sat at a table with, as it turned out, several of the weekend's artists who were not performing in this piece. Across from me was Ms. Adorno, as well as others such as Bill Nace and Audrey Chen sat nearby as well. We were encouraged to pick the courses on our menu in any order, although we ended up simply going down the list. We had a bread and cheese course, servings of kimchi, deviled eggs, and finally tiramisu for dessert. I would like to point out that the food was not great, but I'll grant that its quality should be incidental to the success of the musical piece (also considering that this is a free meal at a shoestring performance event, one should not expect culinary excellence). Unfortunately, the music itself also became incidental, as unnoticeable as the humming of the ventilation system while we all ate, drank and were merry. It was a fabulous and unrepeatable experience, excitement and playful inhibition giving way to many shenanigans best left unlisted. The joy was in the time spent there, with like-minded folk. The music was ignored. And so it must also, like Sheppard's first piece, be deemed a failure. But thank you for a lovely time.

The drawing happened immediately after, in the lobby, and wouldn't you know it but one of my friend's name was called (actually, the one who needed the most wheedling). He gave me one copy of the DVD and kept the other. I felt as if I had just pulled of a bank heist.

By the time we were outside, another High Jinx was beginning. Someone read millennia-old Roman poetry, and attendees were encourages to move to the sounds. It was called "Latin Dance". We took the opportunity to bust a move or two.

Finally, it was time to go, and to say goodbye to High Zero for another year. As my wife and I walked back to our car, an audience member strolled ahead of us, intoning through a well-worn tuba. The spirit was in him, and now he was going out into the world, prophesying to all nations. I was comforted by that thought.

[Wednesday] [Saturday Matinee]

Back again, and this time with a good parking spot.

Thursday night at High Zero began with a Special Set from one of the festival's 10th Anniversary Artists. Her name is Olga Adorno, she is 71, she is from Nice, France, and she specializes in "spontaneous performance". That's quite a statement to make— I mean, isn't that what all these artists here do? Isn't that the point of the whole festival?
Turns out that Ms. Adorno, a woman who was pivotal in the 1960's New York beat scene and their notorious "happenings", didn't so much utilize the idea of improvisation (as the musicians did) as embody it. Every new moment in the (albeit onerous) 45-minute performance was palpable as Adorno chose how it would play out. It was ontology, manifested. That's all I can say; to describe the actual elements of her happening would cheapen it, and miss the point.

A non-intermission followed, then Group One began. This performance set the pace for a consistently great evening. The key to this group was an impeccable rapport. Each member was clearly attentive to his or her peers, and moved as a group from one idea to another. At times San Fran trumpeter Liz Alibee and Philly violinist (and member of experimental rock group Normal Love) Carlos Santiago would face off with staccato flourishes. Other times drummer Paul Neidhardt (and fellow UMBC music alum) and guitarist Bill Nace would match para-musical sound for para-musical sound (and as I suspected from the night before, I did indeed miss out on Nace's playing-- by laying the guitar flat on his lap and attacking it with foreign objects like crochet hooks and toothbrushes, and applying feedback liberally, he creates a rich symphony of distinct noises. He also played on Saturday, and in all the combined time that I watched him perform I don't think I ever saw him touch the strings with his bare hands).

Another solo set followed, by Magali Babin. She performed the night before, but to recap: she's from Québec and her instrument is "amplified metal". This appeared to involve pairing up various metal objects-- tinfoil, ball bearings, mixing bowls-- with various types of mics-- contact primarily, but also pickups and more traditional types-- and also various digital processing-- looping, reverb, pitch-bending. An art so focused on the tiniest details of timbre and the slightest changes between them did not work well in a group setting, so a solo set had great prospect. While Babin lacked a serious inventiveness (or perhaps it was more a problem of execution), she still achieved some lush moments. And overall, I should add, a more subdued performance helped the course of the evening move along without exhausting itself.

Group Two followed closely in the footsteps of Group One, with less effective results. Drummer Tony Buck, from Berlin, was solid, implementing all types of gear, orthodox and not, to create sounds from his set, yet he also showed serious chops during passages of more traditional playing. Arrington de Dionyso (leader of the group Old Time Relijun) played bass clarinet with the fervor, and spasticity, of a jazz player. The hitch may have been local artist Audrey Chen. While her cello techniques were interesting, she spent equal time laboring through harsh, histrionic vocals. Her efforts weren't bad, strictly, but when compared to other musicians who specialize in avant-garde voice (Jaap Blonk was a highlight of last year's festival), she appeared uninspired. Still, the group hung together well, and even achieved two separate collective stops, the four-minute-mile of group free improvisation.

Group Three capped off the night, starting later than when the night before ended. This group was unusual in that it appeared to have been more deliberately formed, for it was comprised of five horns and reeds players (John Berndt on alto, Liz Alibee on trumpet, Rose Hammer Burt on baritone, Samuel Burt on Bb and bass clarinets, John Eaton on alto) and one drummer (the wunderkind Chris Corsano). The result inevitably skirted free-jazz terrain, but the players consciously moved beyond the Ornette tradition and kept the music grounded in the avant-garde. The music began with an excited blast from Berndt and everyone followed suit, which was already a refreshing departure from the usual process of timid looks about the stage giving way to hesitant squeaks and blurps. As it happened, Berndt often appeared to be leading the group in a certain direction, but being one of the founders of the festival he knew exactly what was needed (Berndt also founded the emindent Baltimore design firm The Berndt Group. It's always strange to remember that these crazy cats often have straight-laced day jobs). Another unique aspect of this set was the absence electronic sounds-- all the performers worked with acoustic instruments. And I would be foolish not to mention the talents of Corsano, who was simply all over the place. And when the time came, the it all ended perfectly, with the tiniest of reprisals and then silence.

It was past midnight, and I headed home wondering what surprises would come alive at the special Saturday matinee show.

[Thursday] [Saturday Matinee]

This weekend is the tenth anniversary of one of the most exciting and unique musical events in the world, and by that measure that makes it one of the best reasons to live near Baltimore. It is the High Zero Festival of Experimental Improvised Music.

So, here's the rundown. For one extended weekend in September a group of several dozen musicians from near and far assemble to play sets of completely improvised music. The performers, their disciplines and their aesthetics all vary greatly. These concerts take place every night, plus a special matinee show on Saturday. But that's not all; the weekend also includes an opening night event with special performances; several scheduled talks, lectures and master classes by the musicians at local colleges and other organizations; and finally the highly radical and often dangerous High Jinx, which speaks for itself. By the way, the whole thing is produced by the Red Room Collective, who work very hard to prove that Baltimore is among the most vibrant cities in the world for new music.

So that's the gist of it. I wish I had posted all that before hand, so that I could just get right to the recap of the first night. Fortunately, we can get to that presently.................

I arrived late, because I couldn't find my earplugs. These are special, high-end earplugs that are designed to reduce all frequencies relatively evenly, so that the sound quality is not compromised. I usually bring them to concerts (as a piano tuner, protection is critical), and I learned last year that the sounds at High Zero are just as threatening. Anyway, I didn't find them, and I was running late. The low point of the evening was shelling out $11 for parking, because I didn't have the luxury of searching for a spot on the street.

Upstairs in the Theatre Project, all manner of so-called "humans" were mingling. Joy and contentment was in the air. This is where you go to be yourself, but only once a year.

The theatre is small and stubborn, all black with steeply tiered seats. I like to sit in the second row... close, but not too close. You never really know.

The show began, as usual, with a solo set. Tom Boram is half of Baltimore's experimental electronic duo Leprechaun Catering. He is older than he looks, with shaggy black hair and beard (with a pinch of pepper), and he wore a red-and-black ensemble with a tailcoat. His listed instruments were "synthesizer, voice", and neither were played. Boram began with a soft, largo click. He began to tap dance (yes, he was wearing tap shoes). He hopped sprightly around the stage, then crossed in front of his setup, revealing that mics had been planted in the area to catch the taps, transfer them to his ranks of circuit patches where they would be processed with effects. It became a rich melody of acoustic dance and digital glitch. He soon settled down to an upright studio piano, opened to reveal how the strings had been prepared. This also ran through his rig and treated with effects, further exponentially removing the original piano tone. Notes knocked, swooped, yelped. Balloons were taped to the top lid of the piano, and Boram would occasionally grab a pin and attack, bursting several in one swipe.
It was over all too quickly: that's my only complaint. This was the perfect way to begin the festival weekend, with something even veterans could not expect.

Boram's setup was struck, and Group One began without intermission. It was a pretty good performance, but never quite took off. Pedal steel guitarist Susan Alcorn had some unique ideas, but did very little beyond soft textural contributions. Canadian Magali Babin played "amplified metal", but the subtleties were mostly lost among her peers. Rose Hammer Burt was a more traditional free improviser on baritone and soprano saxes, which actually came as a refreshing change of pace. Robert van Heumann, from Amsterdam, was the most interesting performer, but I had philosophical reservations about it. His tools were a laptop, small mixing boards and an adapted joystick. His modus operandi was to take the sounds produced by the other musicians (he must've been patched into the soundboard), process them and replay them. It was always a surprise to hear a quick flurry of sax notes, then a second later hear that same flurry, distorted or echoed or shifted in pitch. It was live, improvised sampling; it was meta-improv. But is that OK? After all, he is simply taking the ideas that the others had already stated and putting it in his own voice. I suppose that's pretty much the same argument against sampling in general, but for some reason it only began to bother me in the moment. I suppose part of the problem was that it reminded me of a bratty kid, repeating what you said back to you in a whiny, mocking voice, his face a scrunched with resentment.

Group Two took the stage after an intermission, and proceeded to drag the evening down further. All three musicians did a respectable job. Guitarist Carson Gerhart indulged in several homemade effects pedals and other instruments. Electronicist Michael Muniak (boyfriend of a friend of a friend), sat in the middle, arrayed with devices that toiled in non-melodic noises. Philly-based trombonist Dan Blacksberg favored extended techniques over simple atonality. The problem seemed to be that the three never really coalesced into a trio, and it felt as if they struggled to find a point to their playing. At one point, Blacksberg accidentally dropped his Harmon mute while manipulating it in the bell, and although he played on as if nothing happened, that unplanned action seemed to shock and invigorate the group. If even for just a bit, an electricity ran through us all. Sometimes circumstances beyond one's control are necessary for development.

A matter of seconds into Group Three's performance, it was clear that they would be the best performance of the night. It was a stellar group, and all local folk. The VIP was M.C. Schmidt, who with his life partner Drew Daniel make up the acclaimed experimental electronic duo (yeah, another one) Matmos. Last year they moved here from LA, and we are pleased as punch that they have assimilated themselves into the local scene, despite already having an international audience. Schmidt was a kitchen sink player. He moved recklessly between vocalizations, goofy synthesizers and live sound effects. He put marbles in his mouth and dribbled them into a steel thermos, and cleverly varied the act to achieve more than one sound. He conducted half of an argument. He pushed things off his table. (This makes sense, since foley recordings and musiqué concrete are Matmos' forté.)
The other two musicians worked hard to keep up; John Eaton was less interested in his alto sax than in the pickup mic inside, and Alessandro Bosetti used his laptop and homemade keyboard to play snippets of foreign language plays and poems (I think). Ideas were going everywhere, like marbles scattering across the floor, which also happened.
During the intermission before the last set, one of the performers, Ric Royer, handed out a sheet titled "You Will Play Too". Here is an excerpt:

It has been said that the audience that connects with 'this kind of music' is an audience that projects themselves into the set... As my contribution to this set, I am not only testing this hypothesis, but the audience to go one step further in their level of engagement: I am asking you to perform.

On the back of the sheet was a list of fifteen instructions, "some more open to interpretation than others." Royer had corresponding numbered placards, and would be holding them up during the performance. I was so down for this.
Also during the intermission, M.C. Schmidt took a seat next to me. I took the opportunity to thank him for his performance, and to also tell him that I am a big fan of Matmos. A personal highlight.

When Group Four took the stage, Royer sat at a table in the middle. Reclining in his chair, his legs crossed, he waited eagerly and with visible mischief for the right moments in which to brandish his numbers. We all did, too. 11, we made kissing sounds. 7, we pounded our hands and feet on anything nearby. 1, we began humming, and slowly crescendoed into a positive din. 5, we whispered. 9, we all switched seats. 13, the instructions were simply "O", and I decided to shout it in various inflections (Oh? Oh. Ooooooo!! Ooooohhhffff.... O, ho ho ho HO!!!)
A friend recently told me that he doesn't enjoy improv concerts, not because he can't tolerate the music, but because he wants so much to join in that he's uncomfortable being just an audience member. This made sense to me, and while I still greatly enjoy attending these concerts, I often felt that tug of creative self-expression, the exhibitionist's drive. For this, the opportunity to participate in the music for Group Four was more than welcome: it was cathartic. All the same, I couldn't help but feel there were some fundamental problems with the act of making the audience into a participating performer. In essence, the two are mutually exclusive. One engages and appreciates music differently when one is creating it and when one is observing its creation. One listens differently, as well. When I became a conduit of sounds, my attention was mainly focused on my job, and I became less aware of the music coming from the performers onstage. Perhaps you've noticed that thus far I haven't even mention who the others were (one was Robert van Heumann again, the other was a guitarist names Bill Nace, of whose intriguing approach I could only barely be aware). So while I enjoyed getting a chance to make some music, it gave me an appreciation for the times when I remain an audience member.

The set, and the night was over all too quickly. I drove home blasting jazz on NPR.

Later that night, as my eyes fluttered behind their lids, I improvised my own reality of how Thursday night would be.