Evan Parker/Eddie Prévost - Imponderable Evidence

Parker/Prévost
Imponderable Evidence
MRCD57

The title isn’t an intended cull from Bacon, which would further the theme of their last recorded effort, but both Wittgenstein and Dame Jean Iris Murdoch (although the expression can indeed be found in Bacon). As circumstance would have it, the infinitely tentative results of this affair have more to do with sensory intention than imponderable evidence. The sound is markedly richer than that of Most Materiall; Prévost much in the fore of the procession. Admittedly, some narrow trepidation had crept in once I noticed that merely ‘drums’ were listed as his instruments. Alas, identical to those listed on the tandem's precursor whence Eddie pulls all stops and few punches, but different than what is described on the back of the contemporaneously released Matchless duo w/John Tilbury, Discrete Moments, upon which various tools are mentioned.

Eddie on strict drums throughout counters Pan Parker, solely on the larger horn. No protracted circular breathing platform diving, no darkest of blues as with the opening three minutes of “Nil Novum,” no violent squeezing/indeterminate tenor saxophone and frankly little of Parker’s metall-urgency throughout. . .passive resistance, passive acquiescence, passive adherence. I don’t want to appraise two albums, but I have to. This is far removed from extroverted Evan, but for whatever reason one can’t deem it introverted work. It’s unconvincing limning, relegated with Eddie’s West Ham to the First Division.

Over six years have passed. The emotive strengths of MM mayn't be circumvented. Why look back? Why contrast? Does each work matter to or depend upon the other? Are they automatic antipodes? Either I've no answers or choose to ignore them. I do, however, assert that there exists at least some remote, derelict rope bridge in Peru between these two recordings.

As disc two of MM begins jabbing, softly and deliberate, so does “Exhibit A,” a morning work, breezing--loosely tuned Slingerland, working much along the lines of what we’ve gathered from the mid to late 60s, snare, sock and tom. Also included I believe to be that alien concave cymbal DeJohnette strikes from time to time. There is tentativeness in abundance which I find frustrating and off-putting. What were long, curious, get ‘em fray-ush lines from Evan’s tenor on MM he deliberately seems to abbreviate here, and what is most confounding is that it’s indeed a similar but truncated approach.

Eddie in this context reminds me at his kit of Sigmar Polke’s 1967 sculpture/installation The Potato House. It’s a droll, farcical, nonetheless very serious rendering of orderly post-WWII German everyday life. I’d estimate a 10 x 10 sq. ft. exploded house of matches, potatoes pinned to the slats with toothpicks every four or so inches. As you walk around it, the potatoes prima facie appear frozen (naked on the fork, Jack) only to be relieved of their fasteners in the minds of the audience, plunging downward in motion toward the floor. Cards falling into place at a studied yet unruly constant, Prévost tosses the elements high into the air, to subsequently manipulate their collective descent.

“Exhibit B” finds Prévost ruminative, tattooing drumheads of greater perimeters.
By the third selection it becomes evident that this is improvisation very much in the tradition, not bull-headed, but with an all-pervasive hint of forged (as in the felony) refinement, stark tentativeness. Very briefly, Eddie nods to a march, and like Cecil’s troughs and crests, he wants to dispense ASAFP, divest this current state of the proceedings. . .thaw it. The skins grow more noticeably up front with each listen. His recurrent press rolls are wonderfully smoky incantations, shoving toward fresh dialectics. Around 8:40 into the final selection occurs a rare communion. Tonic resolution becomes somewhat apparent though not cursory (again, note the black, unguent resolutions of “Nil Novum”).

Going against critical grain of late, I want Evan’s straight horn on this record. There is little diverse about the affair. He isn’t in my face but duly inclined to follow his comrade. While homogeneity doesn’t necessarily confound an album, it’s certainly awake on this one. I find none of the sanguine drama of MM, no urgent consanguinity. No arco cymbal, no ‘found string-drum’ tug-of-war through barbed wire with one of those high-speed chase thwarting chains fond of in Derry. Events aren’t unfolding, they’re seen undressed. They're being recorded half an hour after a big lunch at the Olive Garden. This is a tenor saxophone/trap drums duet. One would wish this second marriage was held at some really hot, makeshift outdoor venue. Like Bu to Morgan, I want Eddie to tell Evan to “Get mad!” as the music often sinks flaccid. It’s contrived reduction, or gentler, reduction that ends up overly and quite overtly manipulated as such, forcing a tulip in a pot--beautiful but ultimately all too intended at given space in time.

With the current prices of Matchless discs approaching those of barreled crude oil, one yet can’t underestimate the plum good things this purveyor does and has done for improvised music. Yes, perhaps their approach to the music retains that .org-ish humility stirred with rigid order and self-importance but that’s Eddie, replete with what looks like pretense, though in the end is something genuinely honed, and in no sense fabricated.

The drumming is wonderful, no less. The latter half of the final exhibit comes together quite well, but it’s not enough horse today. I always weigh too damned heavily the artist’s approach. What were the plans of Eddie and Evan? Look at Conic Sections’ impetus.

Parker: “These improvisations were recorded on impulse. I felt things were going well in practice and was anxious to document that stage of development.”

What balls! What incomprehensible balls! That’s what’s missing on this one. Imponderable Evidence is a date on the calendar a few months from now. It may be imponderable, but certainly not too probative. We shouldn't forget that a meeting of two old friends with instruments in their hands is still a meeting of two old friends. I didn’t want to write two reviews, but I had to, as I expected more diversity of components and am left frustrated.

Bacon: "In the greater bodies the forge was easy."

~Michael Schaumann

cover art courtesy of Ominous Drone