Paul Motian Trio
It Should’ve Happened A Long Time Ago
Paul Motian drums, percussion
Bill Frisell guitar, guitar synthesizer
Joe Lovano tenor saxophone
Recorded July 1984 at Tonstudio Bauer, Ludwigsburg
Engineer: Martin Wieland
Produced by Manfred Eicher
It was by sheer coincidence that I first heard It Should’ve Happened A Long Time Ago on the very day I later learned of its leader’s death. The title, therefore, will always be a poignant one for me, as if to say: You should’ve seen him while you still had the chance. And while it saddens me to have to add Paul Motian to the ever-growing list of uncompromising artists I will never experience firsthand (Montserrat Figueras would die one day later), I also feel fortunate to have encountered this awe-inspiring album so late in the game. New music has tended to come into my life only at such times as I’ve been prepared for it, and this album is no exception, for had I heard it even a few years ago I might never have given it a second listen. Suffice it to say when I heard it on 22 November 2011, it left an indelible mark, rendered more like an emotional tattoo by the sad news that followed it.
The cast of ISHHALTA is rounded out by guitarist Bill Frisell and saxophonist Joe Lovano, both just coming into their own at the time of this recording (1984). Lovano’s fluid tenor proves a superb complement to Frisell’s briny swells, positively singing with a dark amethyst tone in the opening title cut. “Fiasco,” on the other hand, foregrounds Frisell, who sounds for all like a synth in its death throes (all the while making it sing). Meanwhile, Lovano stills this discomfort with heavy inoculations of medical wisdom. This is followed by a gorgeous reprise of “Conception Vessel” that depicts the changes Motian had undergone since the selfsame masterpiece had been laid down twelve years before. One finds here a more internal evocation thereof, brought to the simmer of bubbling lava by Frisell’s quiet heat and Lovano’s pockets of air.
Like the album as a whole, “Introduction” is another dip inward. This somber solo from Frisell also opens us into the resplendent territories of “India.” Motian paints a stunning picture, which with each sparkling step brings us closer to its melodic core, traced in relief by Lovano’s lilting horn. “In The Year Of The Dragon” indeed slinks and curls like the long, scaled creature of myth, cutting rhythms across the sky with every whip of its tail. The smooth licks of Lovano’s sax are like the glint of an eye trained curiously ahead, even as its energy radiates through the fields and villages below. Frisell’s pliant guitar is at once straight-edged and ess-curved. We end with “Two Women From Padua,” which features some delicate popping from Lovano over Frisell’s breaking circuits. This proves a mere preamble for more gossamer spreads of sound. Lovano crawls like a spider along Frisell’s webs, strung between those raspy branches of Motian’s drums.
Despite the occasional burst of abstraction, this is a thoroughly relaxing album and one easy to get lost in. The musicians’ talents are affirmed in their restraint. While this may not be the frontman’s most brilliant album, the Motian experience was never about “brilliance,” but rather about openness to the darker corners of the ever-evolving psyche known as jazz. Now that he is gone, may that darkness welcome him into peaceful rest.
