Skullcap is a DMV-based trio consisting of Janel Leppin on cello and Minimoog, her husband Anthony Pirog on electric guitar, and Mike Kuhl on drums and percussion, longtime collaborators whose debut album Snakes of Albuquerque is out now on vinyl, compact disc, and digital through Cuneiform Records. Described as a power cello trio, Skullcap combines elements of jazz (improvisation and a thoroughly contemporary swing), classical (compositional fortitude), and rock (raw collective firepower). The results, often outstanding, aren’t easily comparable to anything else currently on the scene.
Along with four solo discs and two as leader of Ensemble Volcanic Ash, cellist and composer Janel Leppin has recorded three albums in duo with electric guitarist Anthony Pirog. The nature of Leppin and Pirog’s musical relationship, which has been assessed by the pair as telepathic, should be considered as a main root factor in Skullcap’s success through heightened interaction.
Pirog is also wildly prolific as a player, having recorded solo and as the organizing force in groups of various sizes; he, Leppin, and drummer Mike Kuhl first played together in a sextet assembled by Pirog. Leaderless collectives are also a Pirog specialty, most notably the Messthetics with the Fugazi rhythm section of drummer Brendan Canty and bassist Joe Lally, a trio recently augmented with the saxophone brilliance of James Brandon Lewis.
Drummer Mike Kuhl is a Baltimore guy who has played and recorded with a variety of esteemed musicians both in and outside of jazz. In the jazz context, he drummed on the 2022 album KRAFT alongside trumpeter Dave Ballou, multi-reedman John Dierker, and bassist Luke Stewart. Outside of jazz, he’s contributed to albums by Arboretum (and that band’s guitarist Dace Heumann) and Omar Rodriguez-Lopez.
Kuhl’s communicative abilities are on par with those of Leppin and Pirog, and thus Skullcap thrives in the jazz and power trio rock contexts as a band without a weak link. When it’s pared down to three, there is no place to hide, and when the three individuals are creative, hiding would never be a choice, anyway. Stepping back, listening, and reacting, yes. Hiding, most definitely no.
As said, comparisons aren’t easy, but a few associations can be made. Thanks to the lithe nature of Leppin’s cello, Snakes of Albuquerque’s opener “Pine Trees of Tennessee” begins a bit like the Dirty Three on an Appalachian kick before adjusting into a songlike mode that mildly recalls the defunct North Carolina band Shark Quest.
These are fleeting similarities, but what’s worthy of further comment is the non-vocal nature of the reference points. “Rt. 40” is just a cooking, soaring rocker that gives Pirog one of many opportunities to shine across the record. Kuhl and Leppin lay down a tough, energetic bedrock. “Bear Out There” simultaneously showcases Leppin’s bowed beauty moves and Kuhl’s light deft jazz touch. Pirog is adding value all the while.
“Journey to the Sunset” delivers a funky redirection complete with beaucoup Minimoog splatters and marching band whistles. Kuhl is key, Pirog serves up a freak-out solo, and Leppin delivers her melodic lines with precision. The title track kicks off with ample dark rock bombast, and Leppin’s rough-bowed low tones are a treat.
Indicative of Skullcap’s designs as a whole, Snakes of Albuquerque doesn’t idle in one lane for too long. There are a few shorter tracks in the album’s later sequence that broaden the textural landscape as the record is clearly concerned with travel (or at least movement), specifically the windchime howls of “700 Miles,” the prog-acid-fusion wiggle elevation of “Just Passin’ Thru,” and the wickedly jazzy closing note “Ambrosia Burger,” where Pirog sounds a little like Eugene Chadbourne grappling with the essence of Jim Hall in the company of Leroy Jenkins and Han Bennink. Yowsers.
But then there’s “Orange Sky,” which begins with Leppin plucking those cello strings like a double bass before Pirog comes rolling in like he’s George “Fucking” Benson. Along with Kuhl’s attention to the cymbals, it’s impossible not to dig the atmosphere. “Desert Turtles” spreads out to over six minutes, the longest track on the album, and a fine serving of Skullcap in exploratory rock mode. Overall, Snakes of Albuquerque is an exquisite extension of instrumental trio artistry. Let’s hope they record four or five more a la labelmates Thumbscrew.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
