Keith Jarrett: Belonging (ECM 1050)

| Tyran Grillo

ECM 1050

Keith Jarrett
Belonging

Keith Jarrett piano
Jan Garbarek tenor and soprano saxophones
Palle Danielsson bass
Jon Christensen drums
Recorded April 24 and 25, 1974 at Arne Bendiksen Studio, Oslo
Engineer: Jan Erik Kongshaug
Produced by Manfred Eicher

From beginning to end we are treated to a mélange of moods in this, the first effort from Keith Jarrett and his European quartet. Compositionally astute and clearly the work of steadied hands, Belonging finds each musician in fine form. Whether it is Garbarek’s punctilious doubling in the buoyant “Spiral Dance,” Danielsson’s mellifluous bass solo in “Blossom,” or Christensen’s rollicking snare in “The Windup,” everyone gets their moment in the spotlight. Jarrett’s fingerwork is, of course, superb throughout, but it is the energy underlying his playing—the very spirit of his pianism—that really seems to drive things forward. The album is zigzagged, fading adeptly from head-shaking abandon to heavy darkness from one cut to the next. Ballads make up the longest passages on Belonging and seem to turn ever inward within the confines of their own emotional borders. For the most part, sax and piano are explicitly unified, as if trekking on either side of the same divide, although sometimes they seem to look in opposite directions, as if involved in a long-running debate, unsure of whether reconciliation can be had in the throes of so much dialogue. Jarrett’s jilted approach is well suited to these down-tempo moments while the bass gently asserts its tremulous presence in the background. Garbarek’s sudden entrances weave a dense stratosphere of brassy elegance. “’Long As You Know You’re Living Yours” is pure Jarrett and provides Garbarek with plenty of space to run amok with his screeching serenade. The title cut is another ballad, this one of a different shade than the rest; not an alleyway, but a brief lapse into self-pity. As the album’s center, it also encapsulates a core theme: this music evokes a past from which one cannot escape or, more positively, simply a sense of belonging as the title would imply, the inescapability of one’s roots in place and time. Overall, this is an essential example of what ECM can do when it throws a handful of singular talents into a studio.

<< Keith Jarrett: Luminessence (ECM 1049)
>> The Gary Burton Quintet with Eberhard Weber: Ring (ECM 1051)

Pat Metheny: American Garage (ECM 1155)

| Tyran Grillo

ECM 1155

Pat Metheny Group
American Garage

Pat Metheny guitars
Lyle Mays piano, oberheim, autoharp, organ
Mark Egan bass
Dan Gottlieb drums
Recorded June 1979 at Longview Farm, North Brookfield, Massachusetts
Engineer: Kent Nebergall
Produced by Pat Metheny

With American Garage, the Pat Metheny Group solidified its signature sound. This album, the group’s second, took the Number 1 spot on the 1980 Billboard Jazz chart and spawned a legion of followers. Its virtuosic blend of jazz and roots rock evokes the heartland like no other and has withstood its own commercial success relatively unscathed.

The album opens with a wide view of the open road, and we are in the passenger seat. Metheny’s glistening guitar licks take the wheel, relishing the roar of Lyle Mays’s lively keyboard support under the hood. With Dan Gottlieb’s proclamatory drums and Mark Egan’s sinuous bass in the back seat, we’re good to go. Together, this quartet of talented musicians creates the ultimate musical road trip. There is a beautiful interplay between guitar and bass in the first track, swelling into a verdant wash of backwater splendor. The tone here is almost painfully nostalgic (all the more so for the album’s historicity), as if yearning for something that is only as real as its remembrance. As the car speeds along its journey, we see our collective past just beyond the windshield, somehow within reach. But we also know that as soon as we pull over and step out of the car, there will be nothing to grasp, to hold close, to stow in the trunk or in the glove compartment of our desires. There is only the empty air, the cloudless sky, and the sun beating down upon our backs, as if to say: “You’ve still got miles to go.” But neither do we care, because there is an unbridled joy to the process of travel.

“Airstream” feels undoubtedly like summer, a time of year when obligations melt in the heat along with our inhibitions. The only thing that seems real is the lack of definitive answers, the endless possibility that such freedom entails and which brings us closer to self-realization. It is our most formative season; one in which we observe, live, and learn at our own pace. Metheny captures this free spirit so clearly in his playing. Chord progressions roll off his fingers like change into eager hands at a lemonade stand, and we are reminded of those little moments of independence and security in which, from the merest clinking of coins, we came to assert our agency in a growing awareness of economy. We think also of young love that, while unrequited, also gave us a brief taste of a life lived without obligation. As the track fades out, it leaves behind a trace of itself, a memento of years never forgotten.

“The Search” is the soundtrack for a movie of the mind, a flashback that looks only forward. Alluring piano work lifts the spirits, ruffling the edges of our attention like linen flapping on a clothesline. We bask in the humid air, even as squalls threaten to break upon the horizon. Lusciously harmonized guitar lines blossom in the morning sun with the promise of a new journey.

The title track sounds like a theme song for a show that can never materialize, for its images are supplied by memories. We begin to recognize the value of those times when the self had yet to be formed but during which the future seemed so bright. And no matter how jaded we have become in our lowest points of adulthood, Metheny is here to remind us that it is precisely in these artifacts of sound that we can preserve our tired hopes.

The last track of this all-too-short album is called “The Epic,” and like its title it has an extensive tale to tell. Metheny and Mays both deliver with the most inspired improvisations on the album, drifting across the plains like steel-stringed tumbleweeds. We are driven through an entire day and night of travel. We find ourselves in vast stretches of daylight, but also experience nocturnal visions, wrapped in a sleeping bag under a canopy of stars in the dying embers of a campfire exhaling hot orange into the darkness. Their crackling fills our ears with a cacophony of sound, easing us into the lull of dreams. And in those dreams we relive the entire journey that got us to where we are now. We are drifters, alone and free of earthly bonds, loving every second of life’s uncertainty.

In spite of the album’s title, we always seem to be far from home. Metheny’s compositional talents are given ample breathing room as he crafts rustic yet elegant evocations of a lost America. There’s a small-town feel to the proceedings, a backwater purity that beckons throughout. It is the innocence of a bygone era, which remains here and there in small pockets. And it is through these musical lineages that we string those pockets together with shimmering synchronicity. Like a conceptual jukebox, each leg of the journey that is American Garage spindles a new record into our attentions. The precision of Metheny and his group is extraordinarily clean, shaken dry and stripped of all excess.

Some people say that in every journey half the fun is in getting there. American Garage says all the fun is in knowing that there is no “there” to get to.

Listen to this album on vinyl if you can (ECM has announced a new 180g pressing for 2010). For the technologically unable, the CD will have to suffice. And while the CD may not replicate the experience in quite the same way, at the very least one can get a slightly clouded view through this classic side-door window.

<< Old And New Dreams: s/t (ECM 1154)
>> Kenny Wheeler: around 6 (ECM 1156)

Steve Reich: Tehillim (ECM New Series 1215)

| Tyran Grillo

Steve Reich
Tehillim

Pamela Wood voice
Cheryl Bensman voice
Rebecca Armstrong voice
Jay Clayton voice
Bob Becker percussion
Russ Hartenberger percussion
Garry Kvistad percussion
Steve Reich percussion
Gary Schall percussion
Glen Velez percussion
Virgil Blackwell clarinet, flute
Mort Silver clarinet, piccolo
Vivian Burdick oboe
Ellen Bardekoff English horn
Edmund Niemann electric organ
Nurit Tilles electric organ
Shem Guibbory violin
Robert Chausow violin
Ruth Siegler viola
Chris Finckel cello
Lewis Paer bass
George Manahan conductor
Recorded October 1981 at Tonstudio Bauer, Ludwigsburg
Engineer: Martin Wieland
Produced by Manfred Eicher

Human languages are contrived, insofar as they have undergone extensive sociopolitical reshaping. In Steve Reich’s Tehillim, however, words take on a self-sustaining feel, deeply rooted as they are in the nutrient-rich soil of the composer’s instrumental configuration, and serve to dictate the rhythmic and dynamic flow of a seminal shift in American “minimalism.” Being the first document of this new path in Reich’s personal and professional development, this recording matches an endearing trepidation to every practiced gesture. The music therein, says Reich, may be “heard as traditional and new at the same time,” as it was both a way for him to explore his Jewish roots while weaving a fresh brand of secularism into the many liturgical threads at his feet. At just under 30 minutes, Tehillim is but a fleeting unraveling of that very fabric.

Tehillim, meaning “praises” and referring to the Hebrew Book of Psalms from which it borrows its texts, is more than a remarkable work. It is also a work of remarks. The scoring is deceptively simple, built around a core of drum and clapping before introducing a female voice doubled by clarinet. This opens into a series of four-part canons against a backdrop of electric organs and maraca. Each melodic line—human and instrumental alike—moves distinctly, unaffected by the trappings of vibrato or other flourishes, as an imitative counterpoint works its way into the smoke of this short-burning votive candle. Part II carries the women’s voices into higher elevations in which the passage of time is marked by a light interplay of drums. Part III is the slowest of the four, ebbing and flowing with a breath’s involuntary precision. Like the most engaging of Gavin Bryars’s ensemble pieces, this section pulses with the quiet splendor of a deep-sea organism. The final part opens our eyes again to sunlight. With the barest assortment of auditory keys, it unlocks just enough doors to usher us into a more personal understanding of exultation. It can be no coincidence, then, that the derivation of the title—Hey, Lamed, Lamed (HLL)—also forms the root for “hallelujah.” And so, when the hallelujahs that close the piece spring up like so much plant life, they seem to forage even deeper into their origins. Tehillim is the Tree of Life feeding off itself, bathing in the spores of the Word made flesh.

Bill Connors: Theme To The Gaurdian (ECM 1057)

| Tyran Grillo

ECM 1057

Bill Connors
Theme To The Gaurdian

Bill Connors guitar
Recorded November 1974 at Arne Bendiksen Studio, Oslo
Engineer: Jan Erik Kongshaug
Produced by Manfred Eicher

Guitarist Bill Connors famously left Chick Corea’s Return to Forever outfit (for which he had provided dynamic electric stylings) in 1974, making the switch to acoustic and recording this, his first solo album. Not one year later he would launch into an intensive period of self-directed study, making Theme To The Gaurdian an even more remarkable effort for the fact that he had had virtually no classical training to speak of before stepping into the studio. Using a technique and mood all his own, Connors overdubs his way through a soothing and soulful set of guitar-scapes. With a gossamer sound, he works his strings with gentle assurance. The melodic lines are purpose-driven and secure, all the while elastic enough to bear the weight of their implications. The rhythms are generally laid back, the leads as bright as they are ephemeral. Time seems to slow down, waiting for a chime that never sounds to snap itself back into awareness. While listening to this album, every track bleeds into the next, so that the end leaves one with a blurry memory of something beautiful. The recording is buttery soft, just close enough to hear every finger scraping on strings while far enough away to court reverb’s gentler incarnations. Connors’s legato stylings are sure to sooth and inspire and will complement any Ralph Towner solos in one’s collection in need of some righteous companionship.

At only 40 minutes long, this is an album you will want to listen to again the moment it ends.

<< Ralph Towner/Gary Burton: Matchbook (ECM 1056)
>> Steve Kuhn: ECSTASY (ECM 1058)

Edward Vesala: Nan Madol (ECM 1077)

| Tyran Grillo

ECM 1077

Edward Vesala
Nan Madol

Edward Vesala drums, percussion, harp, flutes
Juhani Aaltonen saxophones, bells, flutes, voice
Sakari Kukko flute
Seppo Paakkunainen flute, soprano saxophone
Pentti Lahti soprano saxophone, bass clarinet
Charlie Mariano alto saxophone, flute, nagaswaram
Elisabeth Leistola harp
Recorded April 25/26, 1974 at Alppi Studio, Helsinki
Engineer: Harry Bergman
An ECM Production

If jazz was ever meant to be a religion, its prayers might sound something like Nan Madol. The title means “spaces between,” and no description of this music could be more apt. The album is an eclectic mandala of drones, eruptions of ecstatic liberation, and snatches of melody from both near and far. Influences range from Japanese folk melodies to Alpine herding calls, and all of them strung by a powerful understatement of continuity.

We open our eyes to find ourselves in a field at night in which a nearby forest looms with untold life. Soprano sax verses mingle with the shawm-like nagaswaram, dripping with the luscious slowness of honey from a broken hive as abstract solos bounce over a corroded surface of ever-so-slightly detuned harps. We proceed from meditation to incantation, calling upon the sounds of spirits rather than the spirits of sound. Melodies drag, are picked up, only to drag again: the final paroxysms of a dying organism laid bare for our imaginations. Motifs flit in and out of earshot like radio transmissions struggling to hang on. The instruments weep as if the entire album were nothing but a cathartic ritual. On the surface, the musicians seem unaware of each other, all the while reveling in their secret synergy far beyond the threshold of audibility. This is music on its own plane and we must approach it as we are. There is no middle ground, no meeting point to be had.

Nan Madol JAPO
Original JAPO cover

This may not be “fun” album to listen to, and certainly not an easy one to describe, but it is rewarding in more metaphysical ways. Far from a jazz album to tap one’s foot to, it is instead a free-form surrender to the possibilities of automatic music. Its mood is inward while its exposition is extroverted and full of exquisite contradictions. If nothing else, the stunning “Areous Vlor Ta” will leave you breathless and vulnerable to the grand Return that brings the listener full circle to where it all began.

<< Barre Phillips: Mountainscapes (ECM 1076)
>> Enrico Rava: The Plot (ECM 1078)

Keith Jarrett: Solo Concerts Bremen/Lausanne (ECM 1035-37)

| Tyran Grillo

ECM 1035-37

Keith Jarrett
Solo Concerts Bremen/Lausanne

Keith Jarrett piano
Recorded July 12, 1973, Kleiner Sendsaal, Radio Bremen
and March 20, 1973, Salle de Spectacles D’Epalinges, Lausanne
Engineers: Kurt Rapp and Martin Wieland
Produced by Manfred Eicher and Keith Jarrett

In his timeless solo concerts, Jarrett displays the uncanny ability to drop himself into a piece of improvised music as if it has been playing invisibly in the ether all along, requiring him only to pick up from whichever measure he encounters and leave the music to continue on after he has left the stage. This album predates Jarrett’s Köln concert by just two years and was the one that really put him on the map before that legendary successor. Yet we cannot simply say that Jarrett is channeling the cosmos and leave it at that, for he inhabits a melodic space that is tangible, his own. Though filed under jazz, this music is something far more than any generic summary could express. Still, I persist in trying.

The work in Bremen feels to me like travel. In Part I, we run through many modes of transportation: from air to earth to rail, we are given a glimpse of new places and spaces (both inner and outer). We don’t so much physically as emotionally go there, feeling our way through unfamiliar territory as if it were our very home. Part II has a more decidedly gospel feel to it, rushing headlong into an ecstatic communion. For nearly 45 minutes, Jarrett manages to ride a wave of endless creative fervor as if every moment were not the last, but the first. Just then, halfway through, the mood darkens. Until now we have been heading for the sun when suddenly we are looking back to the earth, thinking of all that we would miss: the sensation of water trickling through our fingers, kisses upon our children’s foreheads, the rustling of wind blowing through our back yards. With a mere gathering of notes, Jarrett manages to imagine a lifetime’s worth of memories, departing at last with an exultant resignation, perhaps even rebirth.

Lausanne, on the other hand, crosses the previous series of vertical strokes with horizontal ones. Every time Jarrett slips into another intersection, he locks himself into a new idea until its beauty becomes too much for him and he must move on. “Transcendent” doesn’t even begin to describe the effect, for it is also confrontational, painful, and transportative. For the latter portion of the Lausanne solo, Jarrett ventures inside the piano, slapping and plucking his way through a percussive and surreal call-and-response and, eventually, a frenzied fade into silence.

Of all of Jarrett’s solo piano recordings, I love the sound of this piano over the rest. Whatever instrument he is playing here seems to let go of any and all inhibitions in his presence and shines steadily like a planet in its higher regions. Jarrett plays with unparalleled diction. Like any great orator, he means to ensure that we understand every word through his delivery, and for that he has chosen the perfect mouthpiece.

<< Keith Jarrett: In The Light (ECM 1033/34)
>> Art Lande/Jan Garbarek: Red Lanta (ECM 1038)

Ralph Towner: Solstice (ECM 1060)

| Tyran Grillo

ECM 1060

Ralph Towner
Solstice

Ralph Towner 12-string and classical guitars, piano
Jan Garbarek tenor and soprano saxophones, flute
Eberhard Weber bass, cello
Jon Christensen drums, percussion
Recorded December 1974 at Arne Bendiksen Studio, Oslo
Engineer: Jan Erik Kongshaug
Produced by Manfred Eicher

This is arguably the first recording to fully flesh out the aural expanse for which ECM has come to be known. Although I am well aware of the immense groundswell of musical activity that was the 1970s, certainly an album like this was a refreshing and altogether mind-altering experience for those fortunate enough to be young musical explorers at the time. Featuring a lineup of musicians who would go on to weave ECM’s significance into the fabric of time, Solstice is a tour de force of musicianship, writing, arrangement, and recording.

Each track is brimming with life and features the sensitive application of a variety of instrumental combinations and studio savvy. “Oceanus” showcases Garbarek in his prime, soaring with an unbridled emotional register. As always, Towner’s 12-string speaks in 360 degrees. Superb drumming from Christensen complements lush melodic lines from Weber, who stretches a melodic cello into infinity while his bass arises like the conical aftereffect of a water droplet. “Visitation” clouds this ardor in a nocturnal vision filled with laughing spirits. “Drifting Petals” is a slow progression, a timid look out onto a dusty plain where the promise of freedom looms larger than the possibility of danger. But then an elder’s advice rings in our ears and pushes us onward. Feet move of their volition and pull us into the ever-receding horizon as the first drops of a squall streak across our foreheads. Towner proves again that his piano musings are not to be taken lightly, as they make for one of the most evocative tracks on the album. A transcendental 12-string solo (with gentle dimensional support from Weber) opens “Nimbus,” soon blossoming into a flourish of flutes, drums, and a bowed bass that cries with the grating fluidity of a sarangi. Garbarek’s sax joins in the fray and lets loose its harmonious fire. The deftly overdubbed flutes return, spreading their wings for a few moments before fluttering off into the distance. “Winter Solstice,” “Piscean Dance,” and “Red and Black” comprise a triptych of duets: the first for classical guitar and sax, the second a prime jam for 12-string and drums, and the third for 12-string and bass. “Sand” ends our cosmic journey with one of Garbarek’s deepest meditations for sax set to the strangely compelling ululations of Christensen’s flexatone lolling about in the background.

Melodically robust while structurally yielding, this is an album to be treasured and is a must-listen for anyone desiring to know what ECM is all about. An astounding meeting of musical minds if there ever was one.

<< Arild Andersen: Clouds In My Head (ECM 1059)
>> Abercrombie/Holland/DeJohnnette: Gateway (ECM 1061)

Ralph Towner: Diary (ECM 1032)

| Tyran Grillo

1032 X

Ralph Towner
Diary

Ralph Towner 12-string and classical guitar, piano, gongs
Recorded April 4 and 5, 1973
Engineers: Kurt Rapp and Martin Wieland
Produced by Manfred Eicher

This is about as intimate as music gets. Diary features Towner on guitars and piano via overdubs, creating a layered sound that is at once dialectical and univocal. The recording gives Towner vast space in which to work, pushing his reach ever skyward. His guitar lines drip like liquid mercury, beading apart and reforming in continually novel ways. As with much of Towner’s work, Diary gives us a series of pictures, or perhaps even an array of lenses through which to view the same scene from different perspectives or times. “Icarus” is a resplendent duo for 12-string guitar and piano that erupts into a stunning passage of plucked harmonics accompanied by bursts of piano improvisation. Though one of Towner’s most beloved compositions, nowhere else does it sparkle with such effervescence. “Mon Enfant,” a traditional tune and the only non-original in this set, is lovingly arranged for the temperate give of nylon. “Ogden Road” is another 12-string/piano number, the scope and feel of which seem to presage the epic tendencies of Steve Tibbetts. “Erg” is an invigorating piece for two guitars, one of which Towner scrapes, jangles, and taps to furnish a uniquely rhythmic backdrop. As coda we have the lovely “The Silence Of A Candle” for piano alone. Overall, Diary stays true to its subtle convictions. And while more abstract tangents like “Images Unseen” may feel somewhat less realized than other pieces, they never fail to welcome the listener into their frustrations and fears. That being said, an intriguing indifference coheres the album, as if born of the thrill of charting new territory: the explorer’s heart is struck with such awe that all people and circumstances leading up to that moment seem to fade into the most unreachable recesses of memory. Yet once the discovery has been made, all of it comes rushing back. This is precisely what a diary does, turning the past into the present through the act of inscription (recording) so that one can uphold that past later as a tangible object of scrutiny or validation, a log of one’s journey to “getting there.”

As the cover art would imply, this music is two-thirds stratospheric, one-third oceanic, and accordingly played with grace and undulation. Every instrument and sound is the result of careful thought and choice, and the deeply considered arrangements are delectable. The 12-string is a mainstay of Towner’s repertoire, and what he does with the instrument is nothing short of inspiring. Having first discovered Towner through his solo guitar music, I was pleasantly surprised by how suitably well his duly inspired piano riffs complement this album. Towner has everything he needs at his fingertips: a full-fledged percussion section, lead voice, and accompaniment. The one thing missing in his ensemble is you, the listener.

<< Terje Rypdal: What Comes After (ECM 1031)
>> Keith Jarrett: In The Light (ECM 1033/34)

Art Lande/Jan Garbarek: Red Lanta (ECM 1038)

| Tyran Grillo

ECM 1038

Red Lanta

Art Lande piano
Jan Garbarek flutes, soprano and bass saxophones
Recorded November 19 and 20, 1973 at Arne Bendiksen Studio, Oslo
Engineer: Jan Erik Kongshaug
Produced by Manfred Eicher

Normally, I eschew from making the kind of comparison I am about to make, but here it goes: What do you get when you take Edvard Grieg, throw in a little jazz, some improvisatory flair, a touch of abstraction, and blend until smooth? Why, the delightful record that is Red Lanta, of course.

While a set of pieces for piano paired with either flute or reed may not sound like everyone’s cup of tea, for those who like tea this should do the trick just fine. Constructed around the compositional talents of Art Lande, the music seems to cry for larger arrangements, but still sounds beautiful as it is represented here. The atmosphere is verdant and open, as blearily pastoral as its cover. The playing is top-notch throughout, though the tracks featuring Garbarek’s flute playing stand out for me, especially “Waltz for A” and, of course, the eclectically beautiful 11-minute “Awakening, Midweek.” The combination is superb and perfectly embodies ECM’s penchant for recording jazz with a chamber music sensibility. A piano-only medley in the second half serves as a nice breather from the intense reed work before plunging us into the galactic final act.

This is diurnal music of the highest order and is suitable both for deep listening and as the soundtrack for any leisurely activity. Garbarek is all a-glitter in as coaxing a performance as I have ever heard from him. Certainly not one to be missed if “mellow” is your preferred mode of operation.

<< Keith Jarrett: Solo Concerts Bremen/Lausanne (ECM 1035-37)
>> Dave Liebman: Lookout Farm (ECM 1039)