Author: S. Fruitman

An inspirational, double-disc retrospective, an embarassment of riches in celebration of The Klezmatics´ twentieth anniversary. Matt Darriau, Lisa Gutkin, Frank London, Paul Morrisett, Lorin Sklamberg and drummers David Licht and Richie Barshay are joined by over twenty singers and players at a concert held half a dozen years ago and filmed for the documentary “On Holy Ground”, but only now available in an audio version.

Bounding out of the gate with the novelty tune “Man in a Hat”, its off-the-wall tribute to New York City, the band plays Eastern European and East Village classics, surprising crossovers (the drum circle “Morrocan Game”, Frank London´s Salvation Army band setting for Woody Guthrie´s lyric, “Holy Ground”), originals penned by plumb wine-voiced singer Sklamberg and kapelmeister London. Clarinet legend David Krakauer squeals to the front on the medley ‘”Rhythm + Jews with Horns”. A condensed version of London and Tony Kushner´s adaptation of “A Dybbuk” is stirring when a somber men´s quorom is succeeded by a piano, flute, tsimbl and muted trumpet interlude, itself followed by the fateful graveyard wedding. After a tip to the gentiles with Sklamberg´s wordless, celebratory “St. John´s Nign”, the first disc closes with the Jewish gospel phenom Joshua Nelson raising the roof with “Elijah Rock”, Lisa Gutkin absolutely rocking her violin solo.

The second disc opens with the sanctified whirlwind of “Davenen”, complemented with Holly Near´s snook cock at religious zealotry, “I Ain´t Afraid”, half of which is translated into Yiddish and co-sung by innovative Yiddish vocal star, the late Adrienne Cooper. Woody Guthrie – a secret klezmer – is adapted through a non-consecutive string of tunes on the second disc, featuring an appearance by Irish folksinger Susan McKeown. The Latin-tinged “Hanukah Gelt” is a much better song than perennial seasonal default tune “I Have a Little Dreidel”. The show culminates in a “NY Psycho Freylekh” before the band is called back to encore with the messianic Hasidic “Schnirele, Perele” and messianic historical-materialistic “Ale Brider”, the Yiddish labour unionist´s anthem.

Remarkable clarity for a live recording – when London plays intimately with the mute on, it tickles your ear. You´ll laugh, you´ll cry, then you´ll feel like having a little nosh probably.

May the Klezmatics live to be one hundred and twenty years!

http://klezmatics.com/about/

Stephen Fruitman

Born in St. Petersburg, celebrated in Moscow, Julia Rovinsky is currently principal harpist of the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra, after making aliyah in 2003.

Her first two solo albums, released two years apart, are “close up” versions of often-ingeniously selected minimalist composers, both sacred and profane, few of which were ever intended to be played on her instrument. “Dusk”, the first album, opens with Philip Glass´ “Metamorphosis I”, a natural for transcription from solo piano. Bach´s “Goldberg Variations” – gentle and distinct as teardrops on a satin handkerchief – and Ryuichi Sakamoto´s popular theme from “The Last Emperor” lend an air of genteel cosmopolitanism. Twentieth-century Romantic Nicolas Flagello´s “Maestuso Quasi Allegro” was in fact written for harp and is a kind of dramatic high point, though it is her rendition of “An Arc of Doves” by Harold Budd and Brian Eno that is the most memorable moment on “Dusk”. The transcription of a classic ambient recording in which texture was so important shows off Budd´s melodic skills and Rovinsky´s grand talent.

“Dark” is its slightly more meditative sequel, with Glass and Budd revisited along with Arvo Pärt, Steve Reich and Assyrian-Iraqi oudist Munir Bashir. Her version of “Étude for Piano No. 2” is gentler than Glass´ original, youthful recording but otherwise faithful; so is her “Für Alina”, but what was utterly profound when played by Alexander Malter on the ECM premiere recording sounds moribund on the harp. Sometimes you just can´t beat a piano for resonance.

The jewel in this lotus is “Du´a – Invocation”, transcribed, like the Budd/Eno track, by one John Eidsvoog; a glimpse of genius from one of Middle East´s most influential twentieth-century composers. The closing cover of Steve Reich´s “Piano Phase” is a fifteen-minute tour-de-force, Rovinsky´s able fingers fervently replicating what Reich needed dual pianos to achieve. It´s fascinating listening to her go in and out of phase with herself.

A trilogy in the making? Because after the dark always comes the dawn.

http://www.ent-t.com/

Stephen Fruitman

A veteran sound and visual artist from Los Angeles, Steve Roden recently spent some time as artist-in-residence at the Chinati Foundation in Marfa, Texas, where I assume the light is very big and very intense. Minimalist sculptor Donald Judd, an artist for whom site dictates form, began buying up property and buildings in rural Marfa back in the seventies, putting his stamp on the town and the town on the map. He eventually created the Foundation to oversee the works.

A sequence of tones is played and recorded on cheap equipment by Roden in an army barracks containing ffty stainless steel sculptures. As the sun comes up, it acts on both the light and the temperature within. Processes interplay with self, temperature – it actually sounds humid and stippled like an iguana´s hide – space and the inanimate things occupying space.

As at-home listening, “Proximities” is an ambient companion with an authoritative presence. It´s a patient piece which long sounds akin to Brian Eno´s “Neroli” but slowly morphs into something quite a bit more layered and nuanced.

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Stephen Fruitman

Jessica Lurie is a jazz dervish well on her way to spinning into a major New York City attraction. A dynamic saxophonist with an accordion hanging from her neck and a few strings and winds in the satchel slung over her shoulder, she leads this ensemble, co-founded the Tiptons Saxophone Quartet, and is a standing member of four more groups including La Buya and Sheqer, which specialize in Latin and Balkan tunes, respectively.

Her eponymous Ensemble has been around for about a decade now and introduces itself on its latest studio offering like it was handpicked by Kurt Weill, especially when the banjo of Brandon Seabrook bounces off the piano of Erik Deutsch. But they´re only getting warmed up. The group has no one style; rather, they come across as jacks of all trade and masters of each. It is personality that unifies their sound. Thematicallly, the Ensemble range all over the great big American mainland, conjuring cowboys, cool cats and immigrants. Hebrew sax glossolalia and a jam named after the great Yiddish modernist writer Der Nister is contrasted with meandering tales with the colour and tone of Celtic home counties recalled generations later by an Appalachian oldtimer. A few tracks are as angular and pushy as a New York City subway ride.

The production is round and full, separating Lurie, Seabrook, Deutsch, acoustic bassist Todd Sickafoose and drummer Allison Miller with just the right amount of distance to showcase their individual brilliance and collective cohesiveness. Jessica´s voice is in fine form, too, especially on the seductively restless country blues “Maps”, which opens up in the middle for a terrific guitar solo by Seabrook, who later is joyfully abrasive brushing up against Lurie´s saxophone on “Boot Heels”. And what a lovely, sad closer the ballad “Once” makes.

“Shop of Wild Dreams”, the quintet´s previous album,  is equally entertaining. Like a talented theatre improv group, they can craft something meaningful out of whatever you throw at them – lounge, dance, smoke, laugh as you are tossed head-first into the weird flute and synth tango of “Grinch” after having gotten all misty over the chilly but soulful “Grey Ocean”. Wined, dined and undermined, the Jessica Lurie Ensemble leaves your head spinning, your ears pleasantly stuffed and your expectations defied and surpassed.

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Stephen Fruitman

Cellist Erik Friedlander has been on a typically contemporary Jewish-American journey, warmly embracing both heritages but expressing it with such a unique voice. Solo works including “The Watchman” and his interpretation of John Zorn´s “Book of Angels” delved in Jewish memory and mysticism, while he reminisced about traversing the country in an Airstream with Mom and Dad (Lee Freidlander, famed jazz photo portraitist) as a kid on “Block Ice & Propane”. And then of course there´s everything else in between, to the left and to the right and underneath, including his own groups like Topaz and work with Myra Melford, Laurie Anderson and Dave Douglas, to name a few.

In 1971, the trailer stopped at a bluegrass festival in Galax, Viriginia. The family parked and hooked up for the weekend and eleven-year-old Friedlander wandered the site soaking up the atmosphere, where the song of the lap-steel guitar in particular made a deep impression, sounding to him so like his own instrument. It sure sunk in because forty years later, he convenes a stellar quartet sliding lap-steel guitarist Doug Wamble out of Memphis smoothly next to constant New York City companions Mike Sarin and Trevor Dunn on drums and bass.

The needle should hover over “Bonebridge” and be timed to hit the vinyl the moment you lower your tired body, beer in hand, into an easy chair on the porch after a hot summer day´s work. Your boots should be kicked off just as the first guitar notes sail forth on “Low Country Cupola”, one of the most relaxing pieces of music you´ll ever hear.

The quartet essay the best imaginable kind of American cosmopolitanism, an amiable hot jazz, a saucy tango, Western swing with a little East European zetz, lively big city bluegrass. “Caribou Narrows” could be the musical version of the great American wilderness novel, so rich in character and narrative. Friedlander plucks as much as he bows and he and Wamble play beautifully off each other. To say that Dunn and Sarin are impeccable is to damn with faint praise.

Cozyin´ up, toe-tappin´ avant-garde music.

Stephen Fruitman

http://erikfriedlander.com/bonebridge/

Clem Leek from Kent in the southeast of England is an ostensibly ambient composer who frankly invests too much emotion and melody in his music to be characterized as such. In less than two years since debuting as a recording artist, he has released an impressive amount of quality music and his international fan base is growing exponentially.

“Lifenotes”, according to his own notes, is composed of pieces new and old, all close to his heart. So close that he plays it close to the vest by offering us mostly barest-bone sketches. Having persued rich and dense soundscapes in his previous work, “Lifenotes” is equivalent of back-to-basics folk – suggestions of suggestive moods in the spirit of Brian Eno´s very short pieces collected on the various “Music for Films” albums. The improvised piano sittings are intimate – you can hear his feet shift on the pedals – as are the solo electric guitar meditations. State of the art electronics are employed but leave little discernable trace.

Opening appropriately with “Page One”, violinist Christoph Berg joins him to add a few deep strokes of the violin, but between that and his reappearance on “Closing (The End)”, the rest of the album is strictly a one-man show. Sixteen tracks scurry past in only thirty-five minutes. “My Little Boat” barely leaves the dock before it´s over. The rainfall almost drowning out “The Middle Part” is succeeded by an unseasonably warm “November 11th”, Remembrance Day, with a small choir of sparrows singing along with the piano and the drone which shadows it.

Leek´s “Lifenotes” are as pastoral as a Wordsworth poem but then again, so really are many of fellow southeasterner Eno´s short pieces. Some of the more richly textuted pieces are vaunted and expansive, others are reticent and lo-fi. He is finding his own voice among similarly-inclined, conservatory-trained young composers like Nils Frahm, Dustin O´Halloran and Max Richter, all of whom make refined but accessible music. It´s too well-manicured for folk, but still has too much dirt under its fingernails to be chamber music for the salon.

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Stephen Fruitman

Velveljin is an occasional electronic duo, formed in Kyoto three years ago by Mana Haraguchi and Yohei Yamakado, currently relocated to Paris where the latter attends film school. “Nostalghia” was inspired by the Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky´s eponymous Italian film, which also served as the basis of a string ensemble composed by Toru Takemitsu in 1987.

All three share a perfect pitch for the arrangement of sound and image and the sense of incompleteness – of memory, of time, of ever having enough time, of ever remembering enough. Although hardly in thrall to the plot of the movie, the track “Xoanon”, with its dripping water and footsteps, is an eerie recreation of The Author´s famous, fatal walk across the length of a drained swimming pool, trying to keep a candle alight.

Velveljin are sensitive keepers of rhythm displaying such variation as to keep it as colourful as the looped melodies are sepia in tone. This puts them in bold relief, but does not hinder the fascinating subtleties unfolding in the near background from etching images on the imagination.

http://velveljin.com/

Stephen Fruitman

Quentin Sirjacq, “La Chambre Claire” (Schole Recordings)

Japanese label Schole has a big old soft spot for European Romanticism, as a number of the solo piano outings by founder Akira Kosemura sweetly testify. In reissuing “La Chambre Claire” by Quentin Sirjacq, previously only available in France, it has re-opened a window on the fresh, head-clearing tones of a promising solo debutant. Born in 1978 and educated in France, the Netherlands and the United States, Sirjacq has played with Fred Frith and Joëlle Léander, performed works by Steve Reich, James Tenney and Frederic Rzewski and composed for film and dance.

This ostensibly one-man recital has been lifted skyward by exquisite production, like the tiny-bell echoes on just the right notes of “Car je cherche le vide,” and judiciously leavened with violin, guitar or vibraphone by a handful of guest musicians. In a few instances, electronics are used to just graze the edges of the piano a bit.

Sirjacq´s compositions are as deceptively complex as the short stories of Guy de Maupassant, afternoon strolls under parasols on the boulevards of Paris in the 1870s, quietly vivid narratives which, like “Mais les ténèbres sont elles-mêmes” – but they themselves are blackness – speak of and to the quaking heart and soul. Listing Philip Glass among his many sources of inspiration, “Jaillisant de mon Oeil” is a bald tribute to the former´s much-admired “Solo Piano” pieces. To mention Satie is almost embarrassingly obvious (but “Par Milliers”).

Two bonus tracks – one in which he also moves inside the piano, the other an ambient remix of the track “Obsession” – round off a wise reissue. The elegant, new cover graphics are far more suitable than the original, frankly ugly, French edition, calling to mind the logo of a Park Avenue jeweller, a worthy package for the string of gems within.

http://schole.shop-pro.jp/?pid=36615768

Stephen Fruitman

Koji Asano, “Polar Parliament” (Solstice)

Koji Asano (b. 1974) is a wildly prolific, self-publishing, stubbornly single-minded composer. Born in Japan, he spent a handful of fruitful years in Barcelona before recently returning home. He has composed for dance, video and various small ensembles but mostly records solo works, releasing forty-six albums on his own imprint in the past fifteen years, following an idiosyncratic lodestar only he can see.

He first came to this reviewer´s attention with “Preparing for April”, solo piano recorded in mono, compressed and tinny, melodiousness teetering dangerously close to the edge of dissonace without ever quite falling off. This is the liminal region in which he feels most comfortable and the listener most discomfited; his “instrument” of preference is feedback.

Asano has never failed to bemuse, though not necessarily beguile. His music is challenging, to say the least, and aimed at sophisticated, if not downright jaded, noise afficianados. The two extended, untitled tracks on “Polar Parliament” are as close to his “signature sound” one might get. The first rotates in elliptical cycles, a violinist trying to rub the laquer off his instrument with his thumb, while the second starts off like an overloaded washing machine trying to morph into a radio. While the first is both literally and figuratively abrasive, the second has an uncanny way of drawing in the listener. Somehow, the apparatus acquires a personality, and you find yourself rooting for it to succeed. At whatever it is attempting.

http://www.kojiasano.com

Stephen Fruitman

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