Trio of Bloom

As Butch Cassidy once asked the Sundance Kid, "Who are those guys?"

Craig Taborn just might be the most underrated keyboard artist of his generation, being equally adept on acoustic piano (dig his albums Avenging Angel and Chants) and its electronic variants (check out his Junk Magic project). While he's constantly in demand as a side musician, Taborn has made fewer recordings as a leader or co-leader than any other pianist of comparable stature, which makes outings like this one Events. Nels Cline has been earning a payday with marquee alt-rockers Wilco for a couple of decades now, which enables him to take on the projects he wants, ranging from experimental improv to jazz traditionalism; my faves in his catalog include Coward and Lovers. Marcus Gilmore is a masterfully grooving and swinging drummer, proudly carrying on the heritage of his grandfather, Roy Haynes, in his work with Vijay Iyer and Patricia Brennan, among others. 

Together, they are the Trio of Bloom, whose self-titled debut drops on September 26 -- a band name that refers to the Trio of Doom, a one-off 1979 collaboration between John McLaughlin, Tony Williams, and Jaco Pastorius. It's a fitting moniker for a group that exemplifies and expands on all that was best about fusion jazz before it became fodder for the marketplace and the academy. For someone like your humble chronicler o' events, who teethed on the taut tension-release of early fusion (before the genre deteriorated into showy chops-mongering and list-of-names-on-the-jacket marketing), the compositional acumen of Weather Report, and the ethereal lyricism of '70s ECM Records, this album hits like a candygram from the gods. 

Trio of Bloom kicks off with a blazing cover of "Nightwhistlers," a Ronald Shannon Jackson composition from Eye On You, the 1981 debut from Shannon's Decoding Society. Between them, Taborn and Cline marshal an impressive array of electronic textures, with Taborn conjuring the spirit of Bitches Brew-era Chick Corea, while Cline delves deep into his Mahavishnu/John Abercrombie bag. Taborn's "Unreal Light" was the second single release from the album. It starts with a kind of celestial invocation before Taborn introduces an Afrobeat syncopation, then Cline and the composer overlay contrasting ostinatos which serve as a springboard for their solo statements and the lovely melodic theme. At this point, Cline's signature sound world is as distinctive as Hendrix's, and it's always a delight to hear him employ it in service of another creative composer's vision.

The lushly lyrical "Breath" sets the stage for Cline's "Queen King," the album's first single and a tasty slice of fusion funk featuring a NOLA groove and the composer on both bass and electric 12-string -- providing a sterling example of why album producer David Breskin is so fond of Cline's work on the latter instrument (in this case borrowed from Brandon Seabrook), including an epically unhinged solo. Taborn's deft attack on electronic keys is a highlight of this track -- sort of a bridge between organ trio funk (for what was the original Lifetime but an organ trio?) and Chick at his most cosmic. 

A dreamlike foray into Wayne Shorter's "Diana" (from his 1975 Brazilian excursion Native Dancer) follows, leading into the hypnotic electronica of "Bloomers," undergirded by a galloping hi-hat-and-snare groove from Gilmore. "Eye Shadow Eye" begins with a ruminative acoustic piano interlude from Taborn before Cline introduces the Jobim-esque melody over organ chords. Both men take languid solos before the scene changes to a Bitches Brew-inspired groove, propelled by Gilmore's loose-limbed funk. An album high spot.

"Why Canada" opens with frenetic drumming, over which the tonal instruments interject stabbing chords and dissonant lines. "Forge" works off a moody, Mahavishnu-esque chord progression, with Gilmore steadily building the tension as it goes. From there, the trio segues seamlessly into a "Sssh/Peaceful"-esque take on Norwegian guitarist Terje Rypdal's "Bend It." Then the succinct "Gone Bust" ends it. Heading into the home stretch of 2025, I'll go out on a limb and say you won't hear a better record than Trio of Bloom this year. So there.

Denton, 8.17.2025

On the ride up to Denton, the brownish pall in the air was noticeable. We've had 15 days of unhealthy air in the 817, and the skies reminded me of the way Abilene used to look when the dust was so thick it would blow under the door to our house. I was on my ass for weeks with respiratory problems in '67 and '70. After that I reckoned I'd grown out of them, but in retrospect, Nixon stood up the EPA in December '70, so there's that. At least now I have an albuterol inhaler and docs who aren't afraid to prescribe a dose pack of steroids when things get acute. With the EPA gutted by DOGE and the current regime, I expect this to get worse. Maybe time to start masking again.

The curtain raiser at Rubber Gloves Rehearsal Studios for Porous Sonorous, impresario extraordinaire Ernesto Montiel's new series of migratory creative music events, featured three stunning collaborative sets, with Chad Withers' curated short films (Short Attention Span Theater) screening in the intervals. In between I inhaled a smoked turkey sammie from the estimable Render Texas Delicatessen food truck, which on this occasion I upgraded with a side of green and red grapes that were enormous, crisp, and delicious. And this morning I'm listening to the late Dennis Gonzalez's album Welcome To Us after hearing it last night on the house music Ernesto curated under his Mutarrancho DJ guise.

Opening set was a collaboration between the duo Ruptured Implant (that's Rachel Weaver on voice and electronics, Kristina Smith on voice, instruments, and objects) and Louise Fristensky on "Mooglet." The Ruptured Implant musicians have a nice synergy, and on this occasion, Smith's untreated voice came to the fore as she wove a narrative of personal malaise and chronic pain, adding a collection of pharmaceutical bottles (real ones from her medicine chest) to her regular array of accordion and bass guitar. It was a bold gesture of self-revelation, and her collaborators responded with deep listening and sonic accompaniment that lifted up her powerful words.

Like everyone else in Fort Worth, I play guitar, and I am superannuated enough to make Yardbirds/Who comparisons in my head every time I see an experimental guitarist put a violin bow on strings, or crouch down in front of an amp to get feedback. But Baton Rouge-based axe-slinger Hal Lambert is a cat of a different stripe. To begin with, the base tone from his modded Fender (equipped with P-90 and humbucking pickups) is rich and warm, so when he starts looping layers of texture, the impact is like floating on waves of harmonic goodness.

His dialogue with drummer Joshua Canate (Trio Glossia, Flesh Narc, Same Brain) wended its way through several movements, the two musicians creating parallel streams that coalesced beautifully but briefly at times (my favorite: after Hal broke a string and was applying a screwdriver to the remaining ones and Joshua started matching his rhythm on cymbals). Climactically, Joshua knocked one of his cymbal stands into the overhead mic stand, then proceeded to deconstruct the rest of his kit in a manner I once saw employed by Tatsuya Nakatani at RBC (except in Tatsuya's case the entire percussion rig collapsed; game over!).

NB: Trio Glossia will be sharing two bills in September with my other favorite band, Monks of Saturnalia. September 5 will find the two units at Texas Theatre celebrating Trio Glossia leader/drummer/vibraphonist Stefan Gonzalez's 40th birthday, while September 20, they'll be at Full City Rooster on the occasion of Monks' abbot Gregg Prickett's 60th. Don't you dare miss either date.

The closing set teamed Monte Espina (Ernesto on guitar and objects, Miguel Espinel on drums, small instruments, and electronics) with guitarist Justin Lemons in a set that highlighted Miguel's multi-instrumental versatility and penchant for always finding the right sound to compliment Ernesto's volcanic/tectonic rumblings and, in this instance, Lemons' textural and rhythmic interjections. A passing train -- the rite of passage for all Gloves performers -- drew the performers into a lengthy crescendo that climaxed their set and the evening, and I had to jet in a hurry because I've been waking at 5am and I could feel sleep beckoning (made it home okay, obviously). I'm expecting great things from this series; this was an auspicious opening. Kudos to all involved, including sound tech Aubrey Seaton, who always makes everyone sound their best.

Autobiographical fragment (for my 50th high school anniversary, which I'm not attending)

Wow, 50 years! Where'd the time go? I moved to Texas in June '78 and bounced around between Dallas, Fort Worth -- adopted home since '78, when I moved here to open a record store that stayed open 25 years under four different companies -- Austin, Aspen, and Memphis, where I lost my job in January '82. My future ex-wife was expecting, so I moved her back to Fort Worth and joined the US Air Force for ten years, seven months, and 13 days active duty, nine years and change Reserve. We thought we won the Cold War in '91; didn't see what was coming.

Out of uniform and back in Fort Worth, I spent nine years ('93-'02) as a tech writer for RadioShack (who would claim to be one who wasn't?), was a freelance journalist, worked in online advertising (evil, didn't realize how much so till later), spent five years as a grocery clerk, had a nice second childhood playing guitar in rock, blues, and experimental bands from '97-'12, then was the primary caregiver for a medically fragile, multi-disabled grandson from 2012 until his passing in 2017...the most meaningful and important work I have ever done. Remarried in 2005 and living my best life for 20 years and counting. 

I was diagnosed with Stage 3 heart failure in 2018 (the boy's death literally broke my heart); beat it with the help of a great heart doc (nice Japanese boy from DC) and DOING WHAT HE TOLD ME TO DO. In good health the last two years, I am betting the chips I have left that engagement and solidarity can beat ignorance and apathy to save our democracy. I figure the odds are 50/50. Action is the antidote to despair. Be well!