Lucid Culture


Haunting and Sunny Shades from Michael Gibbs and the NDR Bigband

Composer/arranger Michael Gibbs’ album Back in the Day with the NDR Bigband is a lush, richly eclectic, sometimes lurid collection of tracks recorded both live and in the studio at several sessions in 1995, 2002 and 2003. Gibbs conducts; the compositions here reflect his work as a film composer more than his fusion days in the early 70s. Although Gibbs’ long career, dating from the beginning of his association with Gary Burton in the 60s, encompasses a vast range of styles, the tracks here that resonate the most powerfully are the most Lynchian ones.

The album’s highlight is Jail Blues, a noir masterpiece, like a slow, symphonically arranged Bryan Beninghove number. Feite Felsch’s lurid alto sax weaves luridly over a marvelously creepy arrangement, Stephan Diez’ electric guitar adding doppler menace under the moody swells. The equally lush Antique punctuates Messianesque, sostenuto unease with shivery trumpet and an apprehensive Christof Lauer tenor sax solo over an almost rubato rhythm – it’s over too soon. Tennis, Anyone?, a wee hours mood piece, also sets Felsch’s brooding sostenuto lines against an uneasy Gil Evans-inspired backdrop. Round Midnight  takes its cue from the Evans arrangement but is more cinematic, less nebulous: if Miles’ big band recording was the definitive analog version, this is the digital one. And Back Where I Belong, by Bigband keyboardist Vladyslav Sendecki, also works a lustrous, pillowy angst jeweled with neat accents from the guitar and Sendecki’s own electric piano.

There’s lighter fare here as well. The inscrutably tuneful ballad With All Due Respect has Felsch working an incessant series of trick endings for all they’re worth. Billy Eckstine’s I Wanna Talk About You gets a lush slow drag rendition, Felsch taking his spirals to a logically carefree crescendo. June the 15th 1967, written for Burton, is a bulked-up New Orleans bounce as the Crusaders might have done it circa 1981.

Here’s That Rainy Day gets a jubilant oldschool arrangement, while Mosher, dedicated to Gibbs’ old bandmate Jimmy Mosher, works a warmly bluesy Miles/Gil ambience. And Gibbs’ old pal Burton is featured on three tracks here, including the lively opening and closing cuts, the latter being his old concert favorite Country Roads. It’s out now from Cuneiform.

February 4, 2013 Posted by | jazz, Music, music, concert, review, Reviews | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Pensive, Original Guitar Jazz from Ryan Blotnick

Ryan Blotnick has an original and distinctive voice on the guitar. His Americana-tinged jazz has some of the opacity of indie rock, but not the peevishness, along with occasional detours toward the baroque. He’s all the more noteworthy for not wasting notes, maintaining a pensive, grey-sky atmosphere for the most part through his new album Solo, Volume 1, streaming in its entirety at his Bandcamp page. His choice of guitar – a rare 1959 Martin 00-18 electric, indistinguishable from its acoustic sister except for the pickup haphazardly built in without any other design modifications – has a lot to do with the sound he gets here. For one, the album’s extreme closemiking raises the intimacy by leaps and bounds – listening to this, it’s almost as if you’re inside the body of the guitar. Being a hollowbody, it gets an unusually interesting, lo-fi resonance that Blotnick mines for a richly subtle sonic pallette by varying his attack and shifting dynamics within the eight compositions here.

His only cover here, Monk’s Mood, is spacious to the point of suspense – as he often does here, Blotnick offers not the slightest hint of where he’s going to go with this, precise and judicious but also restless, sometimes crossing the line into visceral unease. The most intense track here, Dreams of Chloe is a bit of an anomaly, Lynchian and luridly droning, Blotnick fingerpicking both low and high registers for a raw, wailing, desolate ambience.

The Ballad of Josh Barton is a less stylized, more original take on Bill Frisell-style Americana jazz that makes its way to an unexpectedly scampering interlude, Blotnick winding his way out as he alternates oldtime folk lines and variations on slow, watery, strummed motifs. A stubborn absence of resolution pervades this song, as it does many of the other tracks, most notably the next one, Salt Waltz, with its muted Spanish allusions.

Hymn for Steph brings to mind John Fahey, although it’s more expansive, a ghostly tremolo insinuating itself as Blotnick builds to variations on a stately yet nebulous descending riff. The longest track here, Lenny’s Ghost evokes Jorma Kaukonen in inspired early acoustic Hot Tuna mode, working permutations on a dark two-chord folk riff, hinting at flamenco and then spreading its wings and gently sailing aloft with elegant wide-angle arpeggios. Blotnick employs a backward-masking effect for the strangely attractive miniature Intermellen, and closes with the lyrical, allusive Michelle Says, alternating suspenseful crescendos with the album’s most classically-tinged interlude. It’s a great late-night album and a goldmine of inspiration for guitarists in a wide range of styles.

February 4, 2013 Posted by | jazz, Music, music, concert, review, Reviews | , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment