Silver Spring, MD’s long extant label Cuneiform Records offers a catalog worth celebrating, and in what’s becoming a bit of a tradition, the early months of 2017 have offered up a smorgasbord of fresh releases spotlighting the enterprise’s personality and continued importance; they hold the Ed Palermo Big Band’s plunge into jazz-rocking Anglophilia, the Chicago / London Underground’s ocean spanning avant-jazz summit meeting, The Microscopic Septet’s distinctive Downtown investigation of the blues, and Thinking Plague’s robust, socially-concerned art-rock. Diverse and clearly the result of dedicated music fans, all four are out now on compact disc and digital.
It might seem an obvious remark, but a major component in a record label’s longevity relates directly to the rapport between proprietor and artist. More to the point, when long relationships are established, it can be asserted with some confidence that the company is running with a combination of efficiency, ingenuity, and in the case of smaller independents, a sincere interest in the music they offer.
All the records included in this piece are the byproduct of long and fruitful associations. In the case of Ed Palermo, the comfort zone possibly encouraged him to spread the latest effort by his big band across two CDs. Notably, The Great Un-American Songbook: Volumes I & II is not the first time a concept from the saxophonist-composer-arranger has required a pair of discs.
Previously, it was Oh No! Not Jazz!!, a 2014 set that combined Palermo’s enduring desire to tackle the Frank Zappa songbook with a corresponding program of originals, the whole thing capped with a version of The Beatles’ “She’s So Heavy” that points to the content of the band’s newest offering; The Great Un-American Songbook focuses almost entirely on music written and performed by UK rock musicians of ’60s-’70s vintage.
Along with recurring transformations of songs from the Fab Four, attention is paid to psychedelia (the Stones’ brief flower power period, the Move) Brit guitar heroism (Jeff Beck, Cream), tunes fitting Palermo’s big band orientation like a custom made flaming helmet (that’d be The Crazy World of Arthur Brown’s “Fire”) and a whole lot of progressiveness from rural (Jethro Tull) to symphonic (ELP) to points in between (King Crimson, a terrific reading of Traffic’s “The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys,” and in a contempo spin, Radiohead).
Palermo’s humorous side remains Zappa-descended but unique and non-detrimental to the scheme (meaning I laughed) as vocals are occasionally employed (including Frank alumnus Napoleon Murphy Brock on “Fire”), Additionally, the sophistication of source material helps in avoiding an overabundance of horn-section vamping.
There are a couple of exceptions to the un-American theme. One is partial; “Edward, the Mad Shirt Grinder” is from Quicksilver Messenger Service’s Shady Grove but is written by Brit band member Nicky Hopkins. The other combines a reading of “America” from West Side Story (referencing The Nice’s version) with Green Day’s “American Idiot,” the latter half sticking out more musically than thematically. Frankly, it’s a bit jarring, which is maybe why it opens disc two. Overall, The Great Un-American Songbook should satisfy and potentially broaden Palermo’s listenership.
A fair percentage of Rob Mazurek’s recent releases have arrived in partnership with Cuneiform; A Night Walking Through Mirrors is the latest, teaming the cornetist and Chad Taylor, his drum counterpart in the Chicago Underground Duo, with the UK improvising pianist Alexander Hawkins and the prolific double bassist John Edwards.
Collectively, they are the Chicago / London Underground. Based on the sustained intensity of these four lengthy dives into elevated abstraction it’s startlingly clear this debut outing should be the start of an ongoing dialogue. Recorded live at London’s Café Oto in April of last year, this nearly 80-minute CD gets right to root of everything that’s special about free improv, with the skill of the participants immediately apparent as they navigate a scenario that’s as energetic as it is texturally broad.
As a quartet, that might seem odd, but probably only to Mazurek newbies; in addition to his main axe he’s credited with sampler and electronics, plus vocals in the opening title piece emphasizing his collaborations with Pharoah Sanders. Taylor also contributes electronics plus mbira, so the sonic landscape is adventurous as Hawkins and Edwards fit in without tangible hesitation. Both are vividly captured in this location recording with the bassist’s pulling and bowing downright massive.
A lot of perfectly okay free music can get a little hung up on method, but to reference the title of the Mazurek Quintet’s ’09 Delmark album, the cornetist’s work remains focused on sound, making the results inviting to avant-jazz beginners without softening the thrust for experienced fans. By extension, as stated above, the intensity doesn’t flag, though one shouldn’t misconstrue this is as a grueling improv free-for-all. Alongside sound, attention to space and contemplation are palpable, and A Night Walking Through Mirrors is the next best thing to having been there.
Amongst Cuneiform’s strengths is a discerning approach to reissues, a trait that applies to their double CD combos of the early LPs by NYC’s Microscopic Septet. An important if too often overlooked part of jazz’s ’80s revitalization (but in a sense not underheard, as they are responsible for the theme to NPR’s Fresh Air), the group has been tagged as residing between Marsalis-style neo-trad-ism and Zorn-esque stylistic shakeups.
This is on-target, but in terms of spirit they gravitate nearer to Zorn, who was in fact an early member. After Cuneiform’s reissues, the band returned to action and have been at it through the label ever since; the Richard Farina-referencing Been Up So Long It Looks Like Down to Me: The Micros Play the Blues is their newest, and it’s a delightful blend of impeccable musicality, shrewdly expressed eclecticism, and unswerving devotion to swing.
Things do get edgy and outside as the disc unwinds, but the swinging prerequisite and the thematic focus makes The Micros Play the Blues a thoroughly approachable affair. To elaborate, the occasional gruffness of Dave Sewelson’s baritone sax is as likely to conjure images of Eisenhower-era bar-walking blowers as Nixonian loft-bound screamers; his tone evokes both in the resplendent “Migraine Blues (For Wendlyn Alter).”
Furthermore, save for pianist Joel Forrester’s rethink of “Silent Night” and a cover of Joe Liggins and the Honeydrippers’ 1950 hit “I’ve Got a Right to Cry” (complete with vocals), the set is penned by Forrester and soprano saxophonist Phillip Johnston; this helps keep the bluesy sensibility from lapsing into overfamiliarity, but to be frank, cliché-dom isn’t really a potential glitch with this ensemble. And not to get hung up on format, but the cover artwork by noted u-ground cartoonist Kaz would look splendid on a LP jacket. It’d look even better on a billboard across the road from my house, but I digress.
Considering the above three discs, the latest effort in Thinking Plague’s 35-year career might connect as something of an outlier. While horns are present and jazz an ingredient (specifically Mark Harris’ soprano and alto saxes, B-flat standard and bass clarinets, and flute), Hoping Against Hope is a decidedly proggy undertaking, though given the group’s rep as an US outgrowth of the Euro Rock in Opposition (Henry Cow, Art Bears, Present etc.) maybe the better term is art-rock.
Although some prog tends to noodle around in ornate, even pompous neighborhoods (interestingly, this has never really been an issue with Cuneiform’s many ventures into the style) Thinking Plague share with the RIO a derivation from the avant-garde rather than simply a desire to transfer pop-classical ideas into a rock context.
Thinking Plague clearly has no reservations over complexity, but they don’t falter into intricacy for its own sake, and Elaine di Falco’s accordion and especially her vocals add significant value to the equation. This isn’t to imply that there is a lack of comparable goings-on here; together with the RIO, the disc brought snatches of post-punk, a similarity to post-rock (perhaps intensified by di Falco’s singing), and a bigger helping of good ol’ King Crimson to mind.
Heavy but not unrelenting, the music’s heft matches subject matter reflecting our troubled times, with Hoping Against Hope dark (indeed darker than leader-guitarist Mike Johnston initially intended) but not despairing. Recording in a manner conducive to live performance (meaning there is almost no overdubs) and utilizing a two-guitar lineup for the first time (with new member Bill Pohl), Thinking Plague have added a strong and at times superb record to an already fine discography.
The Great Un-American Songbook: Volumes I & II:
B+
A Night Walking Through Mirrors:
A
Been Up So Long It Looks Like Down to Me: The Micros Play the Blues:
A–
Hoping Against Hope:
A-
