Jan Garbarek tenor and bass saxophones, flute
Bobo Stenson piano, electric piano
Terje Rypdal guitar
Arild Andersen bass
Jon Christensen percussion
Recorded on April 14/15, 1971, at the Arne Bendiksen Studio, Oslo
Engineer: Jan Erik Kongshaug
Produced by Manfred Eicher
One could hardly ask for a more dynamic super group than that assembled on Sart, Garbarek’s second album for ECM, though the results will certainly please some more than others. I cannot help but be impressed by these young musicians’ intense desire to lay down new paths. Four of the album’s six compositions are by Garbarek. The first of these is the title cut, which is more than one-third the album’s total length. After an eclectic swirl of wah-pedaled guitar riffs, sweeping pianistic gestures, fluttering drums, and erratic bass lines, Garbarek’s entrance alerts us with all the import of an emergency siren. It’s an intriguing start to an intriguing album, evoking at one moment a 70s action film soundtrack and the next a clandestinely recorded late-night jam session. “Fountain Of Tears Parts I & II” forges a harsher sound before swapping reed for flute. With the support of Stenson’s electric piano, Garbarek slathers on the sonority for a striking change of atmosphere. In “Song Of Space,” sax and guitar double one another almost mockingly before Rypdal hops a more intense train of thought, in the process providing some of the most epic moments on the album. Garbarek is only too happy to go along for the ride, sustaining his sound into more electronic territory. “Irr” turns Andersen’s quick-fingered opening statement into a full-fledged narrative, along with some enjoyable adlibbing from Garbarek and Stenson. Anderson and Rypdal round out the set with respective tunes of their own. “Close Enough For Jazz” is a brief interlude for bass and sax full of unrequited desire, while “Lontano” finishes with Rypdal’s meditative, twang-ridden charm.
More expressive than melodic, per se, this is engaging free jazz that’s constantly looking to debate with us. This is the sense of play through which it thrives. At times, the music is so spread out that one has difficulty knowing if and when a “solo” occurs. Regardless, Garbarek’s playing is convoluted, but also carefully thought out. As in so much of this earlier work, he tends toward a sobbing, wailing quality that adds plenty of weight to relatively airy backdrops. This is music with patience that demands just as much from the listener. It lives on the edge of its own demise, always managing to muster one final declaration before it expires.
