Sabine Ercklentz - Steinschlag

l’innomable

I’m always happily surprised—though why I should be surprised I’ve no idea—when yet another release that’s ostensibly “of a kind” turns out to be nothing of the sort. “Steinschlag” is a solo trumpet album, albeit abetted by computer. "Ah, not another one?!", you say. But, as seems to be the case these days more often than I might have predicted, it’s a fine personal statement and an imaginative voyage into the general area.

Ercklentz is a German musician best known (although not by me; this is my first exposure to her work) as a playing partner of Andrea Neumann and a member of the Berlin Frauenmusikzentrum, a 20 member all-female music collective. On her own, she manages to construct a series of thoughtful approaches to her instruments, one that succeeds in sounding little like one would hear from Doerner, Kelley, Barberan or other fine current practitioners of the art of trumpetry. Each of the five pieces has a unique attack and occupies a special sound-world. And each is at least solid, several more than that.

The first, “Furchtegott und Edeltraut” (someone else can perhaps supply what I take to be the idiomatic translation of the last word), is a delightful stew of low bubblings and hiss, some in real time, some via computer, that reduces to an unexpected, off-kilter rhythmic huff and puff. There’s a wittiness about it that all too rarely encountered in this neck of the woods; a fine piece. “Zwishchennetz” lays a bed of distorted hums (distortion appears to be one of Ercklentz’ special interests) above which a range of muted, Milesian tones wafts, though instead of a sense of smoothness, an uneasiness pervades the space as the sounds drop in and out of mix almost as though being recorded on a defective machine. It offers comfortable handholds then withdraws them, making for an effectively disquieting work. Rapid, low flutters and rushed breath form the meat of the wonderfully titled “Steinschlag” (“Falling Rocks”), the air columns skittering around like nervous citizens seeking shelter from airborne assault before morphing into stinging pellets themselves. “Mausemilch” (yes) picks up the notion from two tracks previous of contrasting badly distorted sounds with rolling, pure tones; imagine hearing Bill Dixon on a car radio nearly out of range of the station. Midway through, the crackling aspects drift into a deep hum, still sullied by static as Ercklentz deploys several lovely, watery lines as adornment. This is my favorite piece here, evoking a troubled, dark and mysterious atmosphere. The final, untitled and unlisted track is a bare series of drips and clicks, their source difficult to decipher, their aural effect fascinating.

“Steinschlag” clocks in at only 27 minutes, but it’s very well-spent.

l’innomable