FTW, 12.30.2021

End of the year is upon us, and not a lot has changed. Climate chickens coming home to roost, new twists to a pandemic that shows no signs of abating, and looming threats to democracy, and a society in denial to all of the above give life a persistent sense of dread. As I wrote at the beginning of the year, in such a world, writing about music seems silly. But my new mantra is "We do what we can, when we can." Since May, I've been a Democratic precinct chair -- who'd claim to be one who wasn't, in Texas? -- figuring that even with my diminished physical capacity, anything you can do to push the arc of history in the correct direction is better than nothing. And I write about music because, as I've previously stated, it's like a nervous habit with me, and it pleases me to pull people's coats (the few who read this stuff) to stuff I care about. So, a few things that have made my year tol'able in 2021:

Pyroclastic Records: The label run by estimable Canadian pianist Kris Davis has become one of my trademarks of quality for jazz and experimental sounds, many of them produced by David Breskin. This year's crop included Cave of Winds, the great record I've been waiting for from saxophonist Tony Malaby; Searching for the Disappeared Hour, a duo of pianist Silvie Courvoisier and guitarist Mary Halvorson; 60 x Sixty, online-only miniatures from my favorite keyboard artist of the moment, Craig Taborn; and Path of Seven Colors, drummer Ches Smith's exploration of Haitian Vodou music. I'm looking forward to hearing Smith's quartet with Bill Frisell, Mat Maneri, and Taborn next year.

Nick Didkovsky: My favorite guitarist of the moment, the Brooklyn-based veteran of Doctor Nerve and Fred Frith's Guitar Quartet started the year with the release of Eris 136199's Peculiar Velocities (improv trio with guitarist Han-earl Park and saxophonist Catherine Sikora). He followed it up with CHORD IV, the latest (and best, IMO) edition of his ongoing exploration of heavy guitar texture (in tandem with Tom Marsan); Screaming into the Yawning Vacuum of Victory, Beefheartian duets with his former Frith Quartet bandmate Mark Howell; and a reissue of Now I Do This, Didkovsky's highly experimental debut solo recording from 1982. (Full disclosure: Nick also facilitated my purchase of a Harmony Silvertone 1478, my perpetual "axe that got away," and I've spent many hours since this summer rediscovering its sonic oddities. Evidence below.)

Wadada Leo Smith: Since retiring from academia, the eminent trumpeter-composer has continued the outpouring of creativity that began with 2012's Ten Freedom Summers. Much of this output has been documented by the Finnish TUM label, whose releases this year included Wadada's Love Sonnet for Billie Holiday (trio with Vijay Iyer and Jack DeJohnette), Chicago Symphonies (with his Great Lakes Quartet: Henry Threadgill, John Lindberg, and DeJohnette, with a ringer in for Threadgill on the last disc), Sacred Ceremonies (duets and trio with the late Milford Graves and Bill Laswell), and Trumpet (self-explanatory). Next year's release schedule includes String Quartets No. 1-12 and Emerald Duets (with Pheeroan akLaff, Han Bennink, Andrew Cyrille, and DeJohnette). Not bad for a cat who just turned 80!

Smog Veil: The end of 2021 brought news of the demise of one of my favorite indie labels, whose sterling documentation of the '70s Northern Ohio rock underground included blues (Mr. Stress, the Schwartz-Fox Blues Crusade), experimental music (Hy Maya, Robert Bensick Band, Allen Ravenstine), and my release of the millennium so far, the long awaited Peter Laughner box (which activated folk-blues pleasure centers, as well as proto-punk ones). [ADDENDUM: The plucky label also released crucial latter-day sides by Buckeyes X___X, Chris Butler/Ralph Carney, and Harvey Gold.] It's a pity that their final release, Jimmy Ley's No Excuses, No Regrets, was digital-only; Jimmy's treasured memorabilia and Nick Blakey's always excellent liner notes deserved better. Adios.

King Crimson: The repertory version of the prog rock monsters, which was wish-fulfilling when I saw them in Dallas in 2017, made its "completion tour" in 2021, visiting the US and Japan for what will evidently be the last time. While I missed their Fort Worth stop because of Covid, reading evil genius Robert Fripp's online musings has been one of the things that made social media, with all its flaws, a worthwhile diversion for me. (Plus his teatime vids with his wife are a hoot. Toyah seems to have affected Robert in the same way Laurie affected Uncle Lou, bless them all.) I hope he writes a book. Having found the band dynamic that he'd always sought in this final lineup, Fripp saw fit to call it complete rather than trying to drag it out until the moment passed. He now says he's getting his affairs in order, an age-appropriate activity for a septuagenarian. 

Speaking of which, the latest Covid spike, fueled by Omicron but who knows really (we'll hopefully know more by the end of next month), is taking its toll. Eleven people I know have tested positive in the last week, and regardless what the national Democratic party says, I'm postponing the canvassing I was planning to do this week. Because I didn't meet my wife till late, and I'm a greedy bastard. Stay safe and well, and here's hoping against hope for a better 2022 -- when I may, against all odds, be writing again for publication. Film, as they say, at 11.

OGJB Quartet's "Ode to O," Cyrille/Parker/Rava's "2 Blues for Cecil"

This year is the first one where aging really hit me like a ton of bricks. Not just in my own loss of physical capacity, but in the passing of so many of the figures of my time here. In a single week this month, we lost esteemed scribe Greg Tate, bebop piano exemplar Barry Harris, and reggae bass touchstone Robbie Shakespeare. I get that our time is ending, but damn. First bell hooks, now Joan Didion? Mercy!

The last decade has seen the passing of the two musicians who, forced to choose, I'd name as the greatest of the era: Ornette Coleman in 2015, Cecil Taylor in 2018. Ornette's music continues to be played: his electric band Prime Time reunited, with an all-star front line, for a fest in San Francisco in 2017; Tim Berne's Ornette-and-associates tribute band Broken Shadows released their debut disc on Intakt this year. Cecil's idiosyncratic approach to band leadership makes his ensemble works challenging to replicate; his force-of-nature pianistics are inimitable. But he too has his inheritors. Now Finnish label TUM Records -- whose documentation of octogenarian Wadada Leo Smith's recent outburst of creativity we've been following with great interest -- is poised to drop two new recordings dedicated to those free jazz originators.

Ode to O is the second outing for the quartet of Oliver Lake, Graham Haynes, Joe Fonda, and Barry Altschul. Each member of the OGJB Quartet has his own illustrious history: Lake with the Black Artists Group, World Saxophone Quartet, and Trio 3; Haynes with Steve Coleman's Five Elements, Butch Morris, and Vijay Iyer; Fonda with the Fonda/Stevens Group and Anthony Braxton; Altschul as drummer of choice for Paul Bley, Chick Corea, Braxton, and Sam Rivers during crucial periods. The members of the trio on 2 Blues for Cecil have similarly distinguished backgrounds, with the commonality of having worked with Taylor: Andrew Cyrille occupying the drum chair in the pianist's Unit from 1964 to 1975, William Parker as the Unit's bassist from 1980 to 1991, and Enrico Rava playing trumpet in Taylor's '80s orchestras.

Lake previously paid tribute to a primary influence, Coleman's contemporary Eric Dolphy, on his albums Prophet (1981), Virtual Reality (Total Escapism) (1992), and Dedicated to Dolphy (1996). The OGJB Quartet's instrumentation mirrors that of the "classic" Ornette Coleman quartet, and on Lake's composition "Justice," they employ some of that storied unit's signature strategies -- slowly unfolding melody over tumbling rhythm section, sparring simultaneous soloing from the horns, setting the stage for individual statements. 

Fonda's "Me Without Bela" -- the title refers to another piece that juxtaposed the bassist's writing with parts of Bartok's String Quartets -- occupies the same ruminative space as Ornette's "Beauty is a Rare Thing," until Altschul introduces a pulse midway through. The rhythm section mates have worked together since 2003 in trios with Billy Bang and Jon Irabagon. Altschul's "Da Bang" -- a dedication to the late violinist which opens with a drum solo demonstrating its composer's broad textural palette -- is a showcase for their telepathic swing. Besides rendering homage to the past, Ode to O also has eyes squarely on the future, as when cornetist Haynes adds live electronics to the mix on his composition "The Other Side" and the collective improvisation "OGJB #4." 

In contrast, 2 Blues for Cecil takes its tribute less literally. In the deliberately sparse sound of the trumpet-fronted trio, there's a palpable absence -- the cavernous sound of Cecil's "88 tuned drums." Having lately led a trio and two quartet dates for ECM with collaborators including Bill Frisell, Wadada Leo Smith, and Richard Teitelbaum, Cyrille remains a polyrhythmic wonder, and his active dialogue with the accomplished and prolific Parker's deep song opens up myriad possibilities for Rava (heard here on flugelhorn) and his solitary, searching sound. When the three improvise collectively, as they do on two takes of the title tune, they embody the spirit, if not the letter, of Taylor's creativity. It's tempting but trite to say he'd have wanted nothing more -- but surely, from these musicians, we should expect nothing less. So when they close the album by briefly essaying "My Funny Valentine" -- the kind of Tin Pan Alley fodder Cecil abandoned with 1959's Love for Sale -- Whitney Balliett's "sound of surprise" is still palpable.

Fred Hersch's "Breath By Breath"

Fred Hersch (b. 1955) is part of the last generation of jazzers to learn their trade the old-school way, on the stand from the old guys (almost always guys, back then), before the flowering of jazz academia. Having spent those halcyon '70s days acquiring my Jazz 101 knowledge (and focusing on post-Kind of Blue developments), I remained unaware of Hersch's achievements until reading Ethan Iverson's interview with him a few years back. 

This new release is of particular interest to me because of its origins in Hersch's longtime practice of mindfulness meditation, which I took up this year -- at first via remote livestreams, but gradually working to integrate the practice into my daily activities. As Hersch says, "Meditation is not about emptying your mind; it's about observation. The phrase I like to use is, 'relax, allow and observe.' When I meditate it’s about recognizing sensations or thoughts as they come in and out, observing them and realizing that they're just phenomena." It's a useful tool when one is struggling with a mind that won't stop racing in response to the torrent of stimuli with which we're deluged daily. 

For the sessions that produced Breath By Breath (due for a January 7 release on Palmetto), Hersch's trio (currently bassist Drew Gress and drummer Jochen Rueckert) was joined in the studio by the Crosby Street String Quartet so the players could respond to each other in real time. There's precedent for this in Hersch's oeuvre; for the 2010 multimedia theater piece My Coma Dreams, inspired by two months he spent in a medically induced coma (after which he had to relearn how to play the piano, among other things), his trio was augmented by four horns and three strings, as well as a singing actor. (Hersch has also used a large ensemble with vocalists to perform his settings of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass.)

Some of Hersch's string writing has the lush, romantic feel of '40s movie soundtracks -- and indeed, the composer pays homage to his Romantic roots with the closing "Pastorale." The eight-part "Sati Suite" has movements which refer to different aspects of meditative experience, but don't follow the sequence of a sit. On "Awakened Heart," the strings set the stage for the lyrical warmth of Hersch's solo voice (in the Bill Evans-Paul Bley manner), then on the title track, they frame solo statements by bassist Gress and the leader. Pointillistic pizzicatos create tension on "Monkey Mind," while "Rising, Falling" has the flow of the rhythm of breath it represents. The elements fuse most seamlessly on "Mara," named for the god that tempted Buddha, and the waltz "Worldly Winds." 

While I'm not one who likes to listen to music while I sit, I'll be happy to have Breath By Breath on hand to set the mood for contemplative days.

Tony Malaby's "The Cave of Winds" and Monder/Malaby/Rainey's "Live at the 55 Bar"

As the '50s -- decade of Sonny Rollins' meteoric rise through the ranks of jazz saxophonists -- gave way to the '60s, Rollins sought to assuage his resultant existential/spiritual crisis by practicing for hours daily on the walkway of the Williamsburg Bridge. When he returned to performing, he celebrated this period by recording an album with a guitar quartet: The Bridge. 

Sometimes, history repeats itself in funny ways. While the first pandemic year drove other musos to livestream living room concerts or undertake remote collaborations, the sociable saxman Tony Malaby took a page from Rollins' book, with a difference. Rather than practicing alone, Malaby hosted small group jams with a revolving cast of players beneath a turnpike overpass near his New Jersey home. For the studio sessions that produced The Cave of Winds, which drops January 7 on Pyroclastic, Malaby composed material inspired by that physical and metaphorical space. 

He then reconvened the rhythm section from 2000's Sabino, his debut outing as leader -- bassist Michael Formanek and drummer Tom Rainey -- with another frequent collaborator, guitarist Ben Monder, in place of Sabino's Marc Ducret. Prior to the first Covid lockdown, Malaby and Rainey had joined Monder on his recurring gig at NYC's storied Bar 55 for an expansive set of droning, groaning, free-floating architectonics, which Sunnyside just released as Live at the 55 Bar. Malaby's at his most exploratory here, and Rainey shows his sensitivity as a responsive accompanist. The dark mystery of the sounds Monder coaxes from his semi-hollow Ibanez and arsenal of effects -- now atmospheric, now aggressive -- recalls John Abercrombie in his '70s ECM heyday, but with a harder edge.

The Cave of Winds, however, is Something Entahrly Other. Malaby's pandemic year got him back into playing standard jazz repertoire, which is reflected in the album's opening and closing selections: "Corinthian Leather" extrapolates on "Woody 'n' You," while "Just Me, Just Me" borrows its chord changes from "Just You, Just Me." The musicians apply forward-thinking interpretations to the traditional material, which perhaps makes it fitting that following the recording, Malaby decamped from New York to accept an engagement on the faculty at Berklee in Boston.

In between those two nods to '50s progenitors, "Recrudescence," "Insect Ward," and the title track are more amorphous improvisations that weave their way through multifarious dynamic shifts. "Scratch the Horse" features Monder at his most prog-metallic (reminiscent of his role in Dan Weiss' Starebaby), while "Life Coach" is a duet for Malaby and Rainey, dedicated to their ex-bandleader, bassist Mark Helias. A reminder that this music thrives on the give and take between musicians, regardless of the physical setting where it goes down.