anthony braxton | part three
PERFORMANCE OF MARCH 9 – 14, 1976, at the Keystone Korner, San Francisco
Anthony Braxton / alto saxophone, sopranino saxophone, clarinet, contrabass clarinet, flutes, Leo Smith / trumpet, pocket trumpet, flugelhorn, wood flutes, harmonica, James Leary / bass, Phillip Wilson / drums.
So much has been written of Anthony Braxton, here and elsewhere, that another review of his music would seem to be almost superfluous; and in point of fact, I had not intended to write of these performances. But Braxton appeared here with what may be his finest band ever, and the approach taken was fairly different from the direction his music had seemed to me to be moving in - that is, somewhat reductionist in nature and more “closed” in its manner of presentation. But while the concise statement is still highly valued, Braxton’s music has opened up again, more so perhaps than at any time since the late Sixties. The results are both deeply moving and astounding - astounding because of the intensely shared collectivity of the music and because of the extent to which Braxton as a player has encompassed and integrated so many musical options into his work.
It should be said too - at the outset - that all of the references to Stockhausen, Cage, Boulez, et al. should be put aside for this discussion. Whatever the similarities between their music and Braxton’s (and there are some), the reasons for this music’s being would seem to lie almost entirely within the black musical experience and to grow logically out of the multiple directions that music has been moving in since at least the mid-Fifties (and the work of Mingus, Taylor, Coleman). At its core, it is a rhythmic (if not rhythmical) expression (pulsing, breathing), having to do with rhythmic advances, cessations, and suspensions. All other aspects (melodic, harmonic, temporal, timbral) flow directly from this, yet are frequently so intertwined as to nullify the distinctions; which is to say that this is a very high form of the art indeed.
What is composition here? Pre-determined structures that set up but do not determine the improvisations that follow from than in any way. Composition becomes a technique (or control) for losing control; time becomes all time, space all space, the “tune” serving as a kind of “present” reference. Perhaps this music might best be described, then, in relation to its own relativity. Tempo, for example, is an entirely individual matter, each player working in his own space and shifting frequently. The music is at once extremely elastic, yet moving nowhere (or only very subtly somewhere).
Braxton’s and Smith’s work contrasts in several respects. Smith strays further from conventional pitch than does Braxton, and he uses space more as a conscious element of improvisational style. His is a sparer, more determinedly rhythmic approach. Braxton, on the other hand - and in his own circuitous way - seems to want to play everything he can think of to play, and he has become such an incredibly virtuostic player that he very nearly manages to do it. His span of ideas, through all ranges of his instruments, and his ability to express them, through whatever intervals and at whatever tempo, are more than might be expected from any one player. The word “instruments” should be emphasized, because Braxton plays them all equally well. He may play somewhat longer solos on one or the other, or he may shift them about quickly, playing only a phrase or two before going on. Smith works similarly through his several brass instruments (open, or muted in various ways), occasionally juxtaposing them with phrases or longer statements on wood flutes, interjecting an older, earthier sound.
So much of the reason for the great depth of this music has also to do with Phillip Wilson, one of the finest percussionists now playing. He may work with a whisper or a sigh as well as an explosion. A highly sensual player, who may spontaneously erupt into a moan or a cry, he does not so much play rhythm as he caresses it, strokes it, building an almost unendurable tension. He creates space for the other sounds, freeing them to create their own space.
Bassist Dave Holland did not make the trip here, but resident bassist James Leary, who has played with quite a number of folks (including Earl Hines), filled in admirably, making real contributions to the music. He seemed to draw on all aspects of his experience in a way I had not heard him do before, creating an open-ended collage of musical possibilities with some particularly striking bowed work .
The music this band is playing is some of the most moving improvisational group music now to be heard. None of Braxton’s recent records indicate this current direction of his work (which actually draws fairly heavily on what was his “first” direction), and they barely hint at the kind of player Braxton himself has now become. Won’t somebody offer us a record or two (or three!) of this band in performance?
Henry Kuntz, 1976
Note: Baikida E.J. Carroll (on trumpet and flugelhorn) joined the band one evening for a performance of a composition by Leo Smith, adding greater density to the group’s sound and offering a more extroverted counterpoint to Smith’s work. Chris Amberger played bass on opening night.
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Sunday, April 15th, 2007, 16:02.
Filed under: bells.
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