Four from Cryptogramophone

I’m going to stop simply asserting that West Coast improv is overlooked, in the perhaps naïve hope that by now listeners have realized this and begun purchasing releases on Nine Winds, Pfmentum, Balance Point Acoustics, and other labels. Of course one of the first places to listen in on what’s happening out West is the excellent Cryptogramophone label. With a growing roster centering around label head Jeff Gauthier (a fine violinist and composer), Steuart Liebig, and others, Crypto has already dropped a quartet of rich recordings this year.

First up is the Scott Amendola Band’s Believe (Cryptogramophone 123). Percussionist Amendola has been a fixture on the Bay Area improv scene for some time now, but he’s still probably best known for his tenure in the Nels Cline Singers. A shame, then, that his own records have probably been mostly overlooked. On their third full-length (and second for Crypto), the band has expanded to include not just Amendola (here on drums, percussion, loops, live electronics, treatments, electric mbira, and melodica), violinist Jenny Scheinman, and guitarist Nels Cline (who brought along his six-string, 12-string, and lap steel), but new bassist John Shifflett (stepping in for his predecessor Todd Sickafoose) and second guitarist Jeff Parker. Like previous albums, this entry from Amendola’s Band covers an often baffling range of genres and improvisational approaches, from fully arranged to completely free, from Afro-groove to gnarled post-bop. That will surely leave some listeners scratching their heads (indeed, the quasi-country of “Buffalo Bird Woman” – apparently a tribute to Crazy Horse – is a bit undercooked to me, no matter how many times Amendola and Cline have played Red Headed Stranger). And there will also be those who find the frequently lush textures and sunny disposition (particularly on tracks like “If Only Once,” which recall 1970s sessions by, say, Ralph Towner or John Abercrombie) not to their liking. But those folks will miss out on a recording that’s fun and pleasant in addition to its other virtues. For example, the title track is all about textures being drawn to an elusive groove, hinted at, toyed with, ignored, but finally embraced. It’s loose and establishes all voices before the band races into the Fela-like “Olapido,” where Parker and Cline bubble together before the former lets loose with a wonderful wah-tweaked solo. In many places, Scheinman’s comparably light presence contrasts with the dense, burrowing styles of the guitarists (who themselves play quite distinctively, with Parker’s arch, bop-inflected style sitting comfortably next Cline’s electro-wizardry). The disparate parts come together best on the most openly pulse-based materials, from the quirky bop-influenced “Smarty Pants” to the brooding funk of “Resistance.” All in all there’s little here that’s ground-breaking but it sure is pleasant enough.

Percussionist Alex Cline’s own records can be spotty affairs, despite his ridiculous talents. Some of his early releases (like his ECM recording) tended towards a New Age insubstantiality, concentrating on atmospherics and a baffling wide array of percussive effects. Yet in the right ensemble he can be a knockout. Cloud Plate (Cryptogramophone 121) places him in the company of Kaoru (vocals, percussion, sound toys, and effects), Miya Masaoka (koto and effects), and G. E. Stinson (guitar and implements). The closest I’ve come to hearing this grouping was on guitarist Stinson’s Vapor (a collection of assorted recording by various lineups, one of which included Kaoru). With Masaoka on board, there are more possibilities for contrast between the electric and the acoustic; without her at times obstinately idiomatic presence, Cloud Plate might dissolve into airy drift. In fact, these four had never played together prior to this recording session – so there are equal parts tentativeness and electricity in the air. “Robot Mudra” is built around a nice contrast between some kind of child’s toy noise and Masaoka before Stinson summons up floating clouds to waft through Cline’s maze of cymbals. An expertly processed voice adds a touch of menace, as does Cline’s vast bass drum thud (one almost gets the impression of witnessing some dark ritual). At times the shimmer and flutter go on a bit too long – and some of this stuff, like the drifting “Mountain,” wouldn’t be entirely out of place in a Lord of the Rings movie (the swooping choral sounds and whispering voices conjure up a Lothlorien of the mind) – but in general the feel is fairly transfixing. “Naming” is the most knotty of the pieces – with slashing work from Stinson, Cline, and Masaoka as Kaoru recites Japanese lyrics rather than focusing on sounds as she usually does – but the most powerful effect is reserved for the 13-minute “Assisted Collapse,” which builds into a large brooding monolith of sound, squalling furiously to conclusion before the disc’s gentle coda, “Face.” There are times when the soft focus and treacle that has marred some of Cline’s other records creeps in. But it has the occasional drawback and maudlin moment, this platter is a rich feast of contrasts: between the gravely ritualistic and the mischievous, electric and acoustic, idiomatic and free, clattering and airy.

Time Changes (Cryptogramophone 124) focuses on a quite different style of improvisation. Bassist Mark Dresser and hyperpiano specialist Denman Maroney have been working together for a very long time, exploring a fairly unique blend of timbral experimentation and rhythmic diversity. In the collective Tambastics (with Gerry Hemingway and Robert Dick) and on their own recordings (notably Dresser’s Force Green, with vocals by Theo Bleckmann being a possible antecedent of this release), they’ve slowly developed their joint language. Along with drummer/percussionist Michael Sarin and, on several tracks, vocalist Alexandra Montano, the co-leaders explore material quite different from that heard on their previous Crypto release Aquifer. There’s a much stronger emphasis on rhythm here, both in the way their composed lines are structured and in the sense of providing pulse tracks. Montano has a rich, colorful soprano and her doubled lines with Maroney are delightful. And somehow the knotty, constantly permutating rhythms make sense, like Eddie Palmieri tunes from Saturn (one of the finest examples of which is the favorite “Aperitivo”). There are plenty of moments of Dresser magic, thankfully, and if you’ve never heard Maroney’s work you’ll be delighted to listen to the otherworldly sounds he generates (just check out the extremely abstract “Harkemony”). He can, of course, also play straight-laced piano trio as he does on “One Plate.” It’s really the blend of extended techniques with slightly abstracted idiomatic materials that makes the sound of this one so distinct. It’s the best disc of this batch.

Alan Pasqua made his name as a keyboardist for many prominent rock artists but, over the last ten years or so, has carved out a niche as a thoughtful, subtle improviser. After a pair of well-received discs on the sadly defunct Postcards label, and a couple follow-ups for quite obscure labels, Pasqua returns to prominence with My New Old Friend (Cryptogramophone 122). He sticks to piano here and is joined by his friends referred to in the disc’s title, bassist Darek Oles (whose own Crypto release is fine) and the estimable Peter Erskine on drums. It’s certainly understated stuff, squarely in the post-Bill Evans continuum, with great care and attention paid to voicings, colors, and three-part extensions of the tunes’ basic materials. This doesn’t mean, however, that the disc is muted or passionless. Indeed, Pasqua plays in a manner seemingly impervious to second-guessing, as he just gushes mainstream romanticism (though his intros to the standards can occasionally be quite arch and unpredictable). They swing and reharmonize standards like “You Must Believe in Spring” and “All the Things You Are” – which to me are the best places to study Erskine’s nimble playing and Oles’ robust counterpoints (the bassist also solos gorgeously throughout, especially on “Highway 14,” the title track, and “Barcelona”) – and they are effusive on Pasqua’s slightly more populist compositions (i.e. they’re far more straightforward in their lyricism, as on his own twist on the Spanish tinge, “Barcelona”). The surprise tunes are “Wichita Lineman” and Charlie Chaplin’s “Smile.” The result is an unassuming and unpretentious piano trio record, one worth spending some with.

~Jason Bivins