Paul Motian
Tribute
Carlos Ward alto saxophone
Sam Brown acoustic and electric guitars
Paul Metzke electric guitar
Charlie Haden bass
Paul Motian percussion
Recorded May 1974, Generation Sound Studios, New York
Engineers: Tony May and Martin Wieland
Produced by Manfred Eicher
Paul Motian’s second ECM project finds the multitalented drummer/composer in comforting repose. Dispensing with the pianistic sound that obscured his earlier efforts, Motian pulls in the loose strands of guitarists Sam Brown and Paul Metzke to his ever-expanding loom. Bookending the set are two Brown/Haden/Motian trios. The flowering classical guitar and tenderly applied drumming of “Victoria” provide a magnetic backdrop for Carlos Ward’s smoldering alto, all the while developing into a snapshot of urban darkness. One imagines Brown sitting in a balcony, drawing from the squalor below (where Ward plays on a streetlit corner) a most soulful evocation of the night’s hidden messages. Clouds part, but reveal no stars, creeping toward the promise of morning. “Song For Ché” (Haden) is an even more somber tune. Ward’s absence makes room for Haden’s gorgeous solo as maracas slither by with the grace of a rattlesnake. Ornette Coleman’s “War Orphans” is the nucleus of the album. Soulfully rendered and lovingly arranged, it drifts in like the tide of history. Our frontman shines in “Tuesday Ends Saturday,” a more blatantly post-bop affair that slides briefly into brighter days. Amplified guitars converge like a doubled Marc Ribot before careening their separate ways, while heavy cymbal crashes from Motian threaten to drown out the other instruments (clear separation in the recording, however, ensures this never happens). Which leaves us with “Sod House,” a crepuscular and blurry moving image in which guitars ride a billowing wave of bass and drums.
Astute extemporization and melodic sensibility make this one of ECM’s most evocative first-decade releases. Motian finds songs in every instrument. He gives us little indication as to who or what the album is a tribute to, but I suspect it need be nothing more than a tribute to itself, and to the indomitable spirit of an art form that is forever unpacking itself.
Original cover
