Ches Smith's "Interpret It Well"

I've long thought of Ches Smith as "Mary Halvorson's drummer," but he's also had ongoing side musician gigs with Tim Berne, Marc Ribot, and John Zorn. I was impressed by the first outing from his band These Arches, 2010's Finally Out of My Hands. Since then, he's released two more albums with that band (whose latest lineup includes both Halvorson and Berne), and another four of solo percussion/electronics under the rubric Congs for Brums. His strengths as a composer and conceptualist came to the fore in last year's foray into Haitian vodou music, Path of Seven Colors. 

But what had me anticipating this album was the knowledge producer David Breskin had shared that guitar icon Bill Frisell was on board, alongside the trio from Smith's 2016 ECM release The Bell (pianist Craig Taborn and violist Mat Maneri). Not only that: Frisell had been using electronic effects in a way he hadn't since the '80s -- a tantalizing prospect for anyone with the fond memory of Frisell's sound on his own Lookout for Hope, as well as his service as a color in the palettes of the aforementioned Mr. Berne, Power Tools, and Paul Motian, among others.

Now I hold Interpret It Well in my hands, replete with illustration by SST Records eminence Raymond Pettibon, and while there's nothing on the album as jarring as the torrent of skronk Frisell once unleashed to open Berne's Fulton Street Maul, the guitarist's approach here is knottier and more aggressive than the unadorned melodicism that's become his trademark in recent years. That said, the taste with which he now employs his tools is emblematic of the entire project.

Smith himself is the most self-effacing of leaders, moving between vibes and drums as the music demands but always playing inside the compositions, never needing to dominate the proceedings -- although the participants serve his composer's intent at all times. The seven pieces comprising Interpret It Well use shifting dynamics to build powerful moods, awash in crystalline textures and shimmering tonalities. On the title track, for instance, echolalic repetition gives way to intertwining and blending melodic voices, a driving ostinato with blazing solos all around, and even a moment of rock-like forward motion before shuddering to a conclusion. 

"Mixed Metaphor" begins with a four-way conversation of chiming melody before another ostinato sets up a series of solo turns, with Maneri soaring above Taborn's sturdy foundation, gradually building intensity until the pianist allows himself to cut loose. "Clear Major" is the album's apogee -- a masterpiece of tension and release where engaging themes alternate with compelling free sections, finally resolving to tranquil beauty. Breskin's longtime collaborator Ron Saint Germain captures the musicians' interaction with breathtaking clarity and immediacy. A record that demands repeated listens, and yet another reason why Kris Davis's Pyroclastic has become a favorite label at my house.