Nels Cline - New Monastery

Cryptogramophone 130

When I first heard word of this recording some months before its release, I was slightly surprised to hear that the musically omnivorous Cline was doing an Andrew Hill project. I mean, it makes sense given Cline’s long-standing love for improvising in all its resonances, and also given his decades-old affiliation with players like Vinny Golia (whose synthesis of post-bop and avant traditions has shaped Cline’s approach). But while Cline is a hugely intelligent and resourceful guitarist, I suppose I wasn’t inclined to think of his sizzling style as a match for the subtleties and nuance of Hill’s songbook.

How wrong I was. For this date the guitarist has assembled a superb band, supplementing his regular trio (with bassist Devin Hoff and drummer/percussionist Scott Amendola) with cornetist Bobby Bradford, clarinetist Ben Goldberg (whose own recent disc on Cryptogramophone is a beaut), Andrea Parkins on accordion and effects (effectively occupying the Hill chair!), and – on two tracks – brother Alex Cline on additional percussion. They give us studies of Hill’s music both recent and long-lived, in addition to a pair of Cline tracks written in the spirit of the master pianist. Of the latter, the quicksilver “Not Sa No Sa” is especially memorable, its tempic fits and starts, its hesitations and continually skirling lines all fine fodder for these musicians and apt tribute to Hill. There aren’t too many electronic squalls or pileups on this recording; Cline sublimates these tendencies of his quite effectively (leaving what white noise moments remain to Parkins – well, there is a noisy raveup on the closing “Compulsion”) and instead uses his electronics battery to achieve subtle and fitting tonal variations that help to evoke the colors and nuances of the tunes.

The quirky angularity of Hill’s lines – often rhythmically a bit arch but without losing sight of a distinctive flair for melody – seem to suit Cline’s guitar style and arranging hand quite well. You can sense this right from the start, with a lovely Goldberg/Cline tagteam during a sparse reading of “McNeil Island,” which soon launches into an intense sextet take on “Pumpkin” (both tunes from Hill’s wondrous Black Fire).

It’s a dynamite opening to a balanced, exciting, rewarding disc. Certainly one of its pleasures is the core of reimagined Hill tunes (again evincing Cline’s careful arranging).
The playful, stacked harmonies on “Yokada Yokada” segue excitingly into the Mwandishi-like “The Rumproller.” Equally satisfying is the nearly 24-minute medley of Hill’s “No Doubt” and “Dance with Death,” which sandwich Cline’s “11/8.” It’s very nicely wrought, opening with a smoky atmosphere that yields some sweetly circuitous bass, guitar, and accordion interplay before evolving into the elaborate jam at the center and riding out on the ominous tattoo of “Dance with Death.”

But of course the pleasures are also heard in the improvising, and one thing uniting all these expressionists is their focus not just on line but on texture and (perhaps more significantly) tone. I love the contrast between Bradford’s deep burnished copper and Cline’s quicksilver, between Goldberg’s deep purple and Parkins’ rapidly spinning color wheel. They sound particularly fine on the intensely melancholy “Dedication,” here the only true feature for Cline’s guitar (and which also boasts a fine Goldberg solo where the bass clarinetist wisely moves away from Dolphy’s influence). Yet of all these instrumentalists (and I don't mean to ignore Hoff and Amendola, who are great), I keep returning to Parkins. By the end of the record, during a marvelously abstracted improvised transition between “Reconciliation” and “New Monastery,” it becomes apparent how integral Parkins is – from her gauzy chords all the way to her noisy bridges – to this record’s success.

In sum, this is one of those really satisfying records that strikes a balance between compelling individual playing and a strong compositional identity. It’s exciting, it’s powerful, it’s fun and challenging. A stellar release, and one of my favorites of 2006.