Repertoire: the GTM septet

 

(Kobe Van Cauwenberghe's) Ghost Trance Septet Plays Anthony Braxton

(El Negocito Records 2022)

My school library - like many such, I'm sure - had a section less visited, farthest from the door. Down on the bottom shelf were two huge hardback volumes, plain-bound, which may have seen quite a bit of use in their heyday but were now seldom opened: both by George Bernard Shaw, these were the Complete Plays and the Complete Prefaces (from memory, the latter was even longer than the plays*). As an A-level English student, I had occasion to dip into both of these.

The table of contents for the Plays contained an intriguing entry, right at the very end: SHAKS vs. SHAV. This turned out to be a script for a sort of puppet-show, probably conceived to be read only, quite possibly never performed. Two pompous elderly figures argue and debate with each other, settling into alternating declamations in which one recites Shakespeare's "best bits" and the second does the same for Shaw. They would conclude by shaking hands on it: each as demonstrably great as the other, neither could lay claim to being the superior dramatist**. "We are each great, in our way."

The only other thing which stayed with me from these books was an entry in the Prefaces - perhaps even a foreword to the same - in which Shaw argues towards the possibility of a tragedy better than Hamlet, only to conclude that the idea is redundant. Artistic achievement has no requirement for a posited "tragedy greater than Hamlet", which itself is as good as any five-act play could ever need to be. Of course, as with the puppet show, a key element of Shaw's argument here is to clarify - just in case there was any doubt - that he considered himself to be just as good as Shakespeare. Whether anyone then or now would agree with him is beside the point, which still stands: perfection is not a human quality, and beyond a certain level of artistic excellence, the critic can - must - cease to expect, or yearn for, anything "better".

Spoiler alert, then: this album is as good as any programme of Braxton repertoire needs to be. Others may reach the same pinnacle, but it's a waste of time to look for anything better than this - all the more so when it comes to "outsider" interpretations*** of Ghost Trance Music. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

The septet

The instrumentation is perfectly balanced for tonal and timbral variety: not everyone here "doubles up", but then not all of them need to do so. Between them, they offer enough different options that the possibilities in combination feel nearly limitless, and at times they manage to create the illusion of more than seven players. At times, yes; one should not infer that the soundscape is always busy or (perish the thought) cluttered, only that they can - when they want to - make enough noise for ten players. They are also more than capable of keeping things sparse, pared down, when that is what the situation calls for.

The leader has been mentioned enough times on the blog already (since I returned to posting) that it feels very much as if he needs no further introduction. Here he is credited with both electric and (nylon-string) acoustic guitar, plus bass guitar, synths and voice.

The rest of the ensemble - described in the notes as "Belgian-Danish" - is very nearly the same as that featured in the 2021 performance in Luxembourg, captured on video (and already written about), except that Anna Jalving has replaced Winnie Huang on violin. Niels Van Heertum plays trumpet and euphonium, providing both higher and lower voicings in the brass; Steven Delannoye plays tenor sax and bass clarinet. Elisa Medinilla is on piano, Frederik Sakham on both acoustic and electric bass as well as voice, and Teun Verbruggen is on drums and percussion#. 

The packaging

Given the challenge of releasing a double-CD of such commerce-repellent music in the first place, the album looks about as good as one could realistically expect. The six-panel digipak is sufficiently robust, not flimsy; the design is generally decent and for once the obvious choice has been taken of letting the graphic titles - in full colour - constitute the bulk of the artwork##. Each of the four primary territories is given a full panel of the sleeve to display its title; the only odd thing about that in the end is that one of those panels is the front cover, so that the album appears to be "called" Comp. 255 (if you see what I mean). The two remaining panels - one of them slotted, to enclose the booklet - are put to tasteful use: one features a blown-up detail from part of the title for Comp. 193, whilst the other is given over over to a well laid-out statement from the maestro himself, excerpted from an interview with longtime collector/aficionado/friendly experiencer par excellence Hugo De Craen, which allows the album itself to be dedicated in the latter's memory.

The booklet evinces pretty basic design, but has good content, including a two-page colour shot of the septet (in its earlier incarnation, from that Luxembourg concert - a slightly peculiar choice, since one of the performers is not on the album, replaced by someone not represented in the picture), full credits and a detailed track list, with all the tertiary materials noted; there is also a good essay by Timo Hoyer, author of a 2021 book which is only, alas, available in German at the present time. The back cover of the booklet is given over to another of B's statements, this time a summary of the characteristics of GTM, taken from the 4-CD set Quartet (GTM) 2006. 

If I'm going to nit-pick - and when do I not? - the two CDs themselves could probably have been printed better and more tastefully, looking to me slightly too much as if they were knocked out on someone's laptop. More pertinently, it would actually be quite helpful to have them labelled disc one and disc two, since otherwise one could get confused. But this really is a pretty trivial objection. For anyone who has the patience to buy this album###, it won't feel as if they have wasted their money.

The materials

The programme has been chosen to be (nearly?) as widely representative as possible. The track list is as follows:

Disc one

1. Comp. 255 (+34 +40f +168)^

2. Comp. 358 (+108d +58 +168)

Disc two

1. Comp. 193 (+108c +48 +6f)

2. Comp. 264 (+40b +108a +101 +304 +40(o))^^

- where 2/1 is first species, 1/1 is (syntactical) second species, and 1/2 is third species, accelerator class. As for the second track on disc two, this is cited in Hoyer's essay as being third species; but that is a little more problematic. To be clear, 264 was previously unrecorded^^^ (though not necessarily "unperformed", of course) and the vast majority of us are fully reliant on this version here for any information on the nature of the piece. I will assume that Hoyer has not just plucked that designation out of thin air, and that this is how the group have understood it, meaning in turn: how the guitarist has understood it. And he, at any rate, has a copy of the score from which to work, so in theory he "should know". On the other hand, James Fei's notes on NBH013-14, Tentet (Wesleyan) 2000, make it plain that Comps. 277 & 287 were both understood to be second species GTM works, at the time when they were being played; it seems highly unlikely - though not exactly impossible~ - that an earlier opus number might have belonged to a later development of the system. 

In any case, we'll let that one slide: the material selected still represents a broad variety from right across this enormous musical system, with one of the very earliest pieces balanced by one of the very latest, plus two from the middle, one of which was composed for human voice(s) (at least in principle). That is, of course, 255 - which I've already established as an apparent favourite of KVC's and which, one might think, is an eccentric choice for a group of instrumentalists to take on; but this of course where the two (part-time) vocalists are heard, so that at least some of the syllabification is given voice, and besides - not only has B. himself recorded this work instrumentally, he actually recorded it in a version for two saxophones, proving that (pretty much~~) any piece really can be voiced and/or interpreted in any manner. 

Just to wrap this up, 193 was originally recorded by a tentet in 1996, whilst 358 was first unveiled at the legendary 2006 Iridium residency. As stated above, 264 was a recorded premiere by this group. 

The music

Four medium-length readings of GTM pieces, each with a liberal helping of tertiary materials and other additions..? I am not going to be breaking down all the pieces in close detail, nor should it be necessary. That's also just as well, because some of the tertiaries are themselves works which I don't know inside-out, so that I can't always recognise when are they being quoted, especially if this is by some players only, in the middle of something else (and in the case of a recording like this, there is always plenty of "something else") - but to analyse how the leader goes about his business it will still be helpful (I think) to unpack the contents a bit.

Comp. 255 kicks things off with a mid-paced, largely-straight written theme (no syllabification as such, not yet at least), but within the first few seconds Verbruggen shows his intent, dropping in the first of many subtle little tap-rolls with one stick, which has the effect on this listener at least of instantly transforming the soundscape to something magical. He drives the group forwards, even while all of them are keeping even time, by switching up his attacks on the cymbals every so often, already prefiguring Ed Blackwell's playing on the famous studio version of 34(a)^ - which the sharp-eyed experiencer will be expecting along fairly shortly - implanting very early the "train motif" with his occasional tippy-tap, tippy-tap cymbal strikes. After a couple of minutes, we do get some vocal syllables, reminding us briefly of the work's origin. From here, the piece expands quite quickly into freer spaces, and moves busily towards 34a, each player contributing to the locomotor effect in his or her own way. Bass and drums maintain a brisk, loping line as most of the group moves away and elsewhere, and it's not long at all before we get the first hints of 40f, which still seems retain a sense of train-rhythm from a few minutes earlier, but more slowly now, all the players breaking this one down in measured fashion - which is then shredded by some absolutely filthy attacks from the leader on electric guitar, all the more effective for being completely unanticipated. Around here, the group's sound becomes steadily more varied and chaotic, achieving for the first time the "more than seven " illusion I mentioned above. In a very clever manner, both tertiary pieces are reprised at once, 40f's written parts balanced against rhythmic elements from 34a in such a way as to highlight the "proto-GTM" nature of the 40f theme itself. 

From this point on, the piece becomes progressively more dreamy and spacey, drifting gorgeously without ever getting close to stagnating; precisely where and when 168 is collaged in, I still couldn't tell you~~~. But eventually the listener is jolted back to the written theme, much faster now as we approach the sudden "mid-air" finish which is almost a prerequisite of such readings.

Comp. 358 - described in Hoyer's essay specifically as an accelerator whip (a reference which may not make complete sense to those of us without access to the score) - utilises the ensemble's full potential almost from the outset, the complex written theme attacked from all sides to create a fabulously rich, dizzying soundscape; if one did not know how many musicians were playing and were asked to count them, this would prove extraordinarily challenging. Here, the music whirls on for what might be minutes or hours before we get the first recognisable references, Delannoye playing the lead line from the third section of 58, gradually followed by his colleagues in decidedly piecemeal fashion; but with this second reading, the group seems generally rather less focused on the tertiary materials and instead explores the limitless possibilities of the score itself, freewheeling off in all sorts of different directions from one minute to the next. Just as with the hour-long readings overseen by B. himself, this piece above all will support as many repeat airings as the listener cares to give it: you really would keep discovering new details each time. It's impossible to write about, really, and simply has to be heard to be believed.

Comp. 193 of course has the simplest written theme, but it's brisk and busy - and for once Hoyer may not be quite right, when he says that it takes about five minutes for any of the group to depart from the score: several of them begin to peel off from the main column on their own short flights within the first minute or so, then returning to the theme as others move away, etc. (This is an approach very much germane to some of the earliest GTM performances, specifically Istanbul.) When proceedings do break away definitively, they seem almost to come to a stop, with restrained, long tones (presumably examples of language type 1 at this point, although this could also very well be where 48 makes its presence felt@) and a rhythmless space replacing the main theme altogether, and several minutes are allowed to elapse in this way - once again, the attentive listener need not fret about dozing off here at all - before the guitar spells its way back into the theme. As the other players fall in line with this and the pace picks up again, we are whisked through some quite exotic locations in succession, the tone colours and timbral palette mutating rapidly as instruments are switched and switched again. Eventually the rhythm fragments completely as the group begins to peck away at 6f, the original (Kelvin) repetition-series piece, five decades young, still pregnant with potential for the creative ensemble. A dignified and controlled count back through the theme takes this one out. 

Comp. 264 does rather feel as if it might be third species, but then again, its theme has the "eighth notes, with abruptions" characteristics of the second species - and I think that is most likely what it is. More importantly, it sounds terrific, Verbruggen disrupting the rhythm track early on in a marvellously fertile way, and within a couple of minutes we find ourselves in a soundscape intensely rich and unpredictable, even as the theme continues to tick away almost subliminally. Swaying legato formings - maybe language type 9, maybe something else - move us away from meter and rhythm altogether, until the leader teases his way into 40b, so subtly at first that it's almost unnoticeable, until suddenly we are fully in it. The aplomb and easy assurance with which these seven players navigate what might be very daunting materials is breathtaking, and every time I play this album, that same impression strikes me - at a different point each time. 

The music is so captivating and so thoroughly comprises its own little world that the listener can easily become lost in it, and it really is the sort of thing which requires immersion, submission to the internal logics of the music without having to listen out for familiar reference points and the like - though, naturally, all friendly experiencers will detect some of these anyway. As the fourth piece winds slowly into a theme / not-theme space, KVC and Delannoye eke out written duet lines probably taken from the score of 304 - while Jalving skirls around them in scrapes of the bow; suddenly, from nowhere, the theme is back upon us amidst ominous growls and drones, and the final attacks are allowed to decay into silence. 

***

It remains a small mystery that no groups outside B's immediate direction allow their interpretations to last longer than about twenty-five minutes. When the bag of tertiary material is delved into so often, as is the case here, this has to come at the cost of parts of the score itself being glossed over (presumably). But this is the only conceivable criticism one could make, and it really doesn't even count as a criticism, for the simple reason that these readings are just so good. On the other hand, before anyone is tempted to ask: no, that doesn't mean that this album is "better" than Jump or Die, either: refer to the first section of this post! Both albums reach a level where it becomes fatuous to ponder about which is "better". When you reach this level of excellence, it is a cue to stop chasing perfection and just enjoy, luxuriate in the appreciation of art at its pinnacle. If we can't do that, there really isn't much hope; the pervasive pressure to make every single experience "the best ever" - since if it can't be that, it's worthless - threatens to undermine our ability to appreciate the richness of experience which is on offer to us@@. So I don't rank B's albums, and I shan't be ranking the albums of his repertoire, either; but I will say once again that none of them would ever need to be better than this one.

* Shaw was a notorious windbag, active in political circles as well as literary ones, prone to lecturing his audiences at every opportunity. (One of my English teachers at the time maintained that his idea of hell was to be trapped in a lift for eternity with Shaw and D.H. Lawrence.) His need to introduce and explicate his own works at greater length than the works themselves seems entirely in character. Naturally, my calling Shaw (or anyone else) a "windbag" is another one of those pot/kettle situations.

** I am recalling this entirely from teenage memory, and shall resist any temptation to check my facts, even if I knew where to look. I am pretty sure about the title SHAKS. vs SHAV., including both the spelling and the caps. The conclusion is definitely as I have stated, and I am fairly confident that the bit "quoted" is accurate. Leave it to Shaw to put his Captain Shotover up against one of drama's great tragic protagonists: he himself considered Heartbreak House to be on a par with King Lear, though I doubt that history will be so kind. (This is the only such exchange which I remember, but of course there were others. Probably Henry Higgins matched off with Prospero..? - the play (script) itself has lapsed into merited obscurity, with what I regard as its only worthwhile point being the one which I have presented in this post.)

*** All I mean by this, of course, is interpretations by musicians who are not themselves (ex-)students of B's. Maybe one day we will get recordings of this stuff by musicians who are "outsiders" in the sense of not being formally trained, but I'm not expecting it to happen any time soon and it's not what I'm talking about here.

# Verbruggen is the only player with whom I had any prior familiarity, before I became aware of this group. He is involved with many different bands, and recorded an album with Nate Wooley, Jozef Dumoulin and Ingebrigt Håker Flaten which I'd heard and enjoyed (the same quartet put out a follow-up last year). Not very surprisingly, most of the septet come from backgrounds in new (notated) music.

## Why more labels don't seize the opportunity to do this I will never know. Sometimes the titular graphics are reproduced so badly, or so small, that they are not worth showing at all; even when isn't the case, it's surprising how rarely their visual appeal is exploited in this way.

### I bought this CD from the label in 2022, and didn't find it an especially easy or swift transaction. Since then I have gradually discovered that most people who reviewed the album at all were exceptionally enthusiastic about it, yet Discogs - almost incredibly - says that I am one of just six users who own it. Admittedly, only three further people have stated that they want it; so it may not be straightforwardly a matter of people being reluctant to order from an independent label in Belgium, and of course plenty of listeners may want it - or indeed own it - without declaring that on a record collectors' website. Still...

^ 34 was listed as 34a, the last time I discussed it: apparently KVC and his associates can't make up their mind about this, which is completely understandable. I never could either! (However, in writing that recent post, I finally checked the Composition Notes and decided that I would respect the way the piece is named there: Comp. 34a. The title may not fully make sense - doesn't make sense, really - but for whatever reason, it definitely does appear that that is how B. himself thought of the piece, when the numbering system was drawn up...)

^^ 40(o), on the other hand, is consistently rendered as 40O wherever KVC plays it - a confusing title which is exceptionally easy to misread, which is of course precisely why the brackets were originally included. (The same applies, naturally, to Comps. 6(o), 23(o) and 69(o).)

^^^ ... and indeed it still is, at least as a primary territory. Another difficult-to-obtain release, Four Compositions (Wesleyan) 2013, includes a reading of Comp. 364e which incorporates 264 as one of the stated tertiaries. (Whatever species it represents, 264 is not one of the twelve syntactical GTM works, although its immediate numerical successor, 265, is.)

~ B. does rather have "form" for this kind of inconsistency - but I would be quite surprised if this turned out to be another example of it.

~~ I have to insert this caveat, because there are some limits to this, after all: I reckon you would have a hard time convincing anyone that a reading of Comp. 19 (For 100 Tubas) by one person using a comb and tissue paper was worth doing. (But, y'know, if anyone fancies a crack at it... knock yourself out..!)

~~~ Hoyer says in the liners that 168 was originally composed as a duet with (guitarist) James Emery, and since this piece is outside the scope of the Composition Notes, I shall have to take his word for that. It is very often used in duo settings, though, and here it's quite likely voiced by KVC and one other player. 

@ 48 is scantily represented in the discography; it's the one which was premiered on Jump or Die even as the Forces Quartet was recording its own version. (For one reason or another, I still haven't got round to playing the latter album again, and really must make a priority of that. But there are so many albums to choose from, at any given time..!)

@@ A late blogger of my former acquaintance was by his own admission a huge admirer (and collector) of Cecil Taylor, but when the subject once came up for discussion - doubtless in the comments section of some blog or other - of a ten-disc box set featuring five duo concerts with five different drummers, all this person had to say was "Han Bennink comes out on top, to my ears". The idea that someone who supposedly loved this player would explore such a treasure-chest of music with the sole intention of deciding which of the duos was "the best" left me completely speechless. Why? - and did he ever go back to the music, once he'd established that? 

Rara avis: Comp. 40c

 

I'm pleased to say that I recently got back in touch with Alexander Hawkins. In the years since I lost touch with him, the British pianist-composer-bandleader has undergone metamorphosis, from a very promising and distinctive voice on the British creative music scene, to his present status as a world-class improviser and composer, much in demand, who performs all around the globe and issues recordings regularly via the prestigious Swiss label, Intakt Records.

Most recently mentioned in these pages as an integral part of B's "standards quartet" - who played many concerts together, from which the gigantic Quartet (Standards) 2020 box set was compiled - AH first came to my attention as an interpreter of B's music, and I'm delighted to report that he continues to work pieces from the Braxton canon into his live sets (though he has never yet done an album of this stuff... hint hint!). Our most recent exchange revealed that AH is particularly fascinated of late by Comp. 40c. For the benefit of those readers who may not have large sections of the discography committed to memory, I'd better point out that 40c is one of those (almost) unrecorded pieces from the old days; details will follow below of what precisely is meant by the gloss "almost" in that context, but in the meantime, don't waste time looking for the album which contains a straight reading of this one... because there aren't any. Described in the catalog(ue) of works as a "Madrigal-like slow pulse structure", the piece was basically unknown to this writer: having tantalised me with it, AH was then good enough to point me in the direction of a video of him playing it. 

The occasion was the 2021 MONOPIANO festival in Stockholm - other videos are available, as a brisk internet search will reveal - and this performance was given on 23rd October. AH had decided beforehand that he would open proceedings with 40c: his solo sets often see him running his own works into each other*, and it didn't feel right to him to work one of B's pieces into the middle of such a process**, so once the decision was taken to include this composition, the natural thing to do was play it first. With some simple, but highly effective, preparation of the piano by way of (what I'm told are nothing more than) "strongish" fridge magnets applied to the strings spanning an octave or so, 40c proves to be an ideal way for the pianist to kick things off, allowing him to showcase many of his numerous strengths while giving an outing to an overlooked work. Beginning with an ominous emphasis on the sustain pedal, the first few minutes set up what will become the key elements of the reading: altissimo sprinkles in the right hand alternating with that same hand reaching across at regular intervals to set up powerful floor-tones in the bass, while the left hand cycles away within the "prepared" section of the keyboard, working up an effect both rhythmic and timbral without being precisely tonal, all the tonality being produced by the activity of the right hand. Around 3:30, the written melody starts up, a simple high-register figure played rubato against the tumbling, spidery left-hand scribbles on the weighted strings. The overall effect of this is quite spellbinding. 

Whatever the written score might include, AH's studied reading strips away almost all of what might have been the more "normal" elements of the work, creating something entirely individual and unpredictable, devoid of the routine, melding what "should" be paradoxical elements - the almost-purely rhythmic left-hand, the chiming melody at the top end, and the dramatic splashes of dark colour in the bass register - into a hauntingly-beautiful confection which the pianist has made very much his own. It's a piece which AH has played regularly at his solo concerts in recent years, including once with B. himself in the audience. (Just imagine how delighted the maestro must have been with that!)

Just after ten minutes comes up on the clock, the magnets are removed and the piece gradually winds down, with a new tune altogether starting up around 11:23. This is a well-filmed performance, in which the multiple cameras and judicious visual editing allow us to witness (almost) all aspects of the pianist's art and craft: the hands, the body movement, the intense concentration and emotional involvement - and the spontaneity, a sense captured at times of the performer as his own first listener, pleasantly surprised by what emerges from the keyboard, a fraction before the quickest and most attentive members of the audience. The whole set is well worth watching and hearing; piano is still not my "main instrument" and I make no pretence of being able to comprehend much of the modern music which is written for it, but performances like this could yet convert me... there is a sustained level of creative invention and a refusal to settle for easy choices at any point, even when the music seems locked into rhythmic vamps which could remind the listener of someone or other - I know from previous exchanges that AH is fascinated by the implications and possibilities of rhythmic variation, but this is the point: even when in principle the music comes close to what might feel familiar, it always sounds sui generis, not really like anything one would hear from anyone else. 

***

Comp. 40c has never been recorded on its own: the only recording (featuring B. himself) which even includes it as (listed) tertiary material is the ambitious "West Coast return engagement" Nine Compositions (DVD) 2003, where 40c makes an appearance as one of seven different tertiaries worked into the 85-minute opening GTM number***. Besides this, Restructures formerly listed just one other instance of the piece: the obscure 1997 album Circuit Breaker, by (Ben Opie's band#) Water Shed 5tet, included a medley of two recorded premieres, Comp. 23i (+ 40c), 23i being another very rare piece ("Medium fast line - Spanish melody") which, indeed, only appears on this album (to my knowledge). So I really can't speak for that one at all, but as for 40c..? Alex has observed to me that "this composition could very clearly be considered an iteration of the 'diatonic line forming' from the language music" - language type 10, according to the formal list - and it may very well be the case that pieces like this, composed as they were at a time when the idea of language types was still somewhat inchoate in the composer's mind, helped lead to the crystallisation of such concepts. AH says, by the way, that he's sure he has heard 40c worked into a GTM performance at some point; now that I would hope to recognise it, I will be keeping an ear out for it, for sure!

(Of course, it's not for me to suggest that Mr Hawkins commit one of his readings to posterity in the recording studio; but wouldn't that be a nice treat? He probably understands the piece better than anybody else alive, at this point...)

***

I seem to be in one of "those" phases just now, when I have several posts taking shape in my head and vying with each other to get out onto the screen, but none of them quite wants to be first. Still, given my renewed activity over the last twenty months I am not overly worried by this: it'll sort itself out. In the meantime, this seemed to be the perfect pretext for breaking a two-week "silence".

* Collaging, one might call that...  ;-)

** I think I understand what AH means by this, but at the same time I am pretty sure the maestro would say he's being too diffident about it. Perhaps in the fullness of time these solo sets will evolve to the point where interpolating one of B's themes into the middle of something else feels entirely natural - I suspect B. himself would love that. (On the other hand, when it comes to unveiling a rarity such as 40c, it does seem only right to allow the piece its own space and air.)

*** I do own this (six-hour) monster release, and have heard everything on it at least once - but not for a few years, and I certainly would not have been able to identify 40c even if I had been specifically listening out for it, not having heard it before. (At the moment I don't even have anything to play this disc on, although that regrettable state of affairs will not be permanent...)

# I don't own this one; and given that it's clearly super-obscure and hard to find, I am maybe not likely to - though of course I would be extremely interested to hear it, at least for this track. (Annoyingly, the band's first CD - on Gino Robair's Rastascan label - is far more easily obtainable and not at all expensive. It features nothing by the maestro, alas...) Ben Opie, a saxophonist from Pennsylvania whose own collaborations with B. were a decade in the future at this point, is one of the duet partners I wrote about last October. He was also the driving force behind another project which is even harder to acquire, Ensemble (Pittsburgh) 2008 - an album I may never even lay eyes on, being realistic about it...

New release!

 

While I've been waiting (not necessarily very) patiently for confirmation that the Czech 4-cd box set Four Compositions (Wesleyan) 2013 is available outside Eastern Europe - and if so, at a less-than-exorbitant price - I managed to miss something rather larger and more comprehensive. But not by much: 10 Comp (Lorraine) 2022 only came out late last month, by the look of it. (It's not yet listed on Discogs, at the time of writing.) I know McClintic Sphere has been awaiting this one with interest: the album's existence was confirmed by TCF some little while ago, but there have been no discernible updates about when it was due for eventual release. 

Both of us had wondered about how the new(ish) Lorraine system differs from Diamond Curtain Wall Music, and whether the two can readily be told apart, just by listening. So far, I would have to say that the answers are: I still don't know, and no they can't. But then, the Bandcamp page does not provide the maestro's liner notes, or any portion thereof; and of course, it might be the case that even if it did, and even if I read all of them, I still would not be able to explicate the newer strategy clearly to anybody else. Without so much as a glance at them, I really have to withhold judgement there. In the meantime, given that both systems entail the use of electronics, in the form of interactive computer software... I would be lying if I said that I understand what makes the use of said software here distinct from its use in the many recordings under the DCWM banner. 

Does that matter, really? Probably not: it's definitely not the most important takeaway from this fascinating new release. As always with B's music, and especially with his new music, the main thing is just to listen to it and luxuriate in it.

I only found about this new album's existence today, and I have only had a chance to listen to a little of it so far. The first six discs comprise live recordings from performances given in continental Europe during October and November 2021, by the Lorraine Trio: B. himself with Adam Matlock on accordion and (wordless) vocals and Susana Santos Silva on trumpet*. I have heard the first piece, Comp. 423, recorded October 8th in Riga. Discs 7-10, meanwhile, were recorded in the studio in New Haven, CT** on May 18th and 19th 2022: here, the format was a sort of "double duo", consisting of B. and James Fei on reeds, plus Zach Rowden and Carl Testa on contrabass. (Fei was, of course, the playing partner for the only previous Lorraine release.) I am listening to disc eight, Comp. 433, as I write this. 

In both cases the groups list the maestro as playing saxophones and electronics, by the way - but I don't think that is much of a clue to anything. It might be taken as indicative of B's being directly in control of the software on these recordings, which might seem like a new development, if one worked on the assumption that in DCWM, the software simply "runs itself" rather than being directly under anyone's control - but I am pretty sure that is not correct (and although I can't quite be arsed to check this at the moment, it may very well be the case that at least some of the DCWM albums do, in fact, credit the leader with the electronics, as well as reeds).

It does sound new - and then again it doesn't. No, I can't say for sure that I am hearing things in this music which are completely, qualitatively different from what I have heard before. But I can say for sure that it sounds fresh and invigorating, for various reasons. The trio has interesting instrumentation, and Matlock's vocals are intriguing (and decidedly non-jazzy)***. Parts of the one piece I've heard did sound quite new to me - in a way which I would admittedly struggle to articulate. The quartet of course has very interesting instrumentation, and the two basses create some really rich textures. I may be no nearer to nailing down what it is which makes the use of electronics here different from previous performances (whether DCWM or otherwise), but I'm going to let that go# - for now! It's really interesting and stimulating music to listen to. It does not have the same utter strangeness of the ZIM pieces, necessarily; this sounds at least a bit more familiar. On the other hand, B's playing still betrays clear and undeniable evidence of continued learning and improvement - the true embodiment of the term gongfu in its original sense## -  and that alone makes this seriously rewarding music for the serious friendly experiencer. Besides - I've only heard one fifth of the music, so far; who's to say that something entirely fresh and new might not blow me away when I listen to some of the other pieces, in due course?

I am fighting the temptation to order the box set in physical form, right away; I can't quite justify the expense right now, but also, shipping from the US - besides being very pricey - would take a long time under current circumstances (the good old days, when a package from America would reach the UK in a week at most, are long gone) and I would only be sentencing myself to weeks of increasing anxiety, waiting for the bloody thing to turn up. But I really want to buy this!! I don't yet have any of the recent "megaboxes" in physical form, and the idea of making this the first is... nope, I'm resisting. (Dammit...)

I didn't (consciously) realise this until just before posting, but the picture I used above was taken on March 29th 2024 - the same day that this album was released. { {{{@@@}}} }

* The trumpeter was part of the new quartet which I missed seeing at the London Jazz Festival in 2022 - though I had (finally) resumed posting by then, I was still so completely out of touch that I had no idea the concert was taking place and had nobody to tell me. (So it goes... I have made peace with it - among other things.) She is also part of the Ictus roster (although she was not involved in the event which I wrote about in February). "Utility player" Matlock was much involved in the ZIM groups, but also participated in the Tri-Centric Vocal Ensemble (the SGTM choir, so to speak).

** Presumably at Firehouse 12, though the Bandcamp credits don't specify that.

*** The preverbal vocals here reminded this listener of Mike Patton (especially his work in John Zorn's Moonchild group(s) - other people would doubtless hear more of a link to Phil Minton, or someone like that. It's hardly a secret that "jazz vocals" are not my thing, even of the way-out variety... I have heard bits and pieces...

# This goes somewhat against the grain, as I really do try to make sense of this stuff. But I have my limits, as I keep saying, and sometimes all I can do is accept them... for now..!

## As I understand it, the term which came into English as "kung fu" has nothing inherently to do with martial arts - and ended up being used that way via a route much influenced by Cantonese idiom (and romanisation). A gardener or carpenter might just easily evince gongfu as a tai chi master or Shaolin boxer; the term refers to growth and development through dedicated work over time. The AACM legends are, of course, stellar examples of this.

Boot frenzy

Quite often, when I take a break from work for a few days, it gives me the opportunity to catch up on some writing... but that did not turn out to be the case over Easter, when I was with my family and mainly visiting relatives, and any sense of normal routine went right out the window. Never mind: this would have been the next post anyway, it just arrives a little later than it might have done...

Following last time's return to Montreux, I found myself briefly immersed in three other live dates by this same version of the working group, all of which were released* by TCF under the aegis of "official bootlegs". Technically, the one which kickstarted this - BL014, Quintet (New York) 1975 - features an augmented version of the group, with special guest Richard Teitelbaum on synth; but it's the same core quartet at heart. The reason I started with that one is because it contains another reading of Comp. 40n, and I was even (originally) toying with the idea of making a direct comparison.... but in the end it didn't really seem to offer much scope for that.

Not a lot of detail this time, then: it's more just a question of trying to ask some questions - as regards the (published) track listings - and then answer them... with perhaps just a little bit of listening analysis along the way.

***

The second date, eventually released as BL004, Quartet (Bremen) 1975, was already in circulation among collectors - and had made its way to the blogosphere by spring 2009, so that I ended up writing about it at some length. Having done that back then, I am not inclined to say much about it now, and indeed the main reason I dug it out just recently was because I had noticed the inclusion of Comp. 23f, the "broken time accents" experiment which I had completely forgotten about. The only previous official release containing this number was the Ring Records double album At Moers Festival, a real rarity which had not overly impressed me during its Braxtothon session; perhaps that is why I forgot all about poor old 23f, or maybe it was just the fact that it vanished pretty quickly from the live book, and the impetus behind revisiting the Bremen concert on this occasion was to verify that it is indeed this piece which was played there. As it turns out, it's only a (very) partial recording anyway, which was a bit of a let-down after all that; but yes, it was indeed 23f which followed the far better known trio of 23a, 23c and 23b. In order to make that identification, I had first had to play the version from the Moers concert, which reminded me of why this piece never really caught on: the written theme has a similar line to various others written around this time or slightly later, and although the "broken accents" angle is interesting, it didn't ultimately have the legs of its "first cousin", Comp. 23g, whose "accent shifts" laid the groundwork for the pulse track, a much more fertile idea.

Heretical though it might sound, I didn't quite fancy sitting through the aforementioned "better known trio" this time**; however, I did play the rest of the show, which again comprised material familiar to anyone who might be reading this. Comp. 23d sounds dangerously pedestrian here, at least at first, but it does catch fire with lively, bright solos from B. and Wheeler. Comp. 23e, very close to being perfected at this point, has a terrific buildup and was probably the highlight of the date; I have to say "probably" since I failed to relisten to the whole thing this time, but the playing from all four musicians on this number really is uniformly excellent, and it's hard to imagine how anything would have topped it. If it was still slightly missing the magical "moment of transition" as captured in the studio a few weeks later, that's fine too, because for me that studio recording will always be the best version of this fascinating piece, and indeed one of the best performances by this iteration of the group. Parts of this live reading can still make your hair stand on end if you pay attention to it... and if it wanders a little in its second half, that is a feature common to all versions of the piece, including the studio recording. From around 17 minutes the band is clearly thinking towards the next (last?) number, Comp. 40(o), which nonetheless does not actually begin properly for several more minutes; again, this is very strong, but again it's lopped off, although in this case it can only be the very ending which is missing. 

***

The earliest date of the three - BL003, Quartet (Avignon) 1974 - is represented only by two numbers, or at least that is what the published track list reckons; again, I felt compelled to check that out at this juncture. I mean, first things first, that can't be a thirty-five minute reading of Comp. 6i, can it? As for Comp. 6L... that seemed unlikely, especially with no pianist in the band. Confirmation was definitely going to be required.

The first question is remarkably easy to answer, even if the answer is bewildering: it really is a super-extended reading of Comp. 6i, yes. To be sure, in the middle of the performance, it goes plunging off into completely uncharted territory and gets up to all sorts of wild antics while it's out there; but although I kept expecting this to resolve into a transition phase towards another piece, it never happens and instead we eventually, finally, return to the place where we started. I'd forgotten this, too, but apparently I had been aware at one point that the Avignon date featured this extra-long version of the piece: when I checked the Composition Notes, my pencil annotations thereto flag up this concert at the point where B. states baldly "(f)or the most part I have utilized this composition in the traditional A B A structural context (there have been other interpretations)". I did remember having read these notes before, and even remembered having written about them - I just hadn't recalled that I had linked that up to this exact reading of the piece. (We'll chalk that one up to the demon THC, shall we...) For the benefit of anyone who has access to those same notes and wonders whether this extended middle section - which utterly departs from the written score for minutes on end - constitutes the "fermata section" which B. mentions: no, that is something else again (and can be heard on all versions of the piece, right before the beginning of the final restatement of the A section of the theme). I can't remember ever coming across a live example such as B. discusses in the notes, where this fermata lasts "as long as five minutes"; here, it lasts only a few seconds, as usual; but that weird and wonderful middle section really is something else, completely free and open but always moving, always creative***. 

As for the second number - well, whatever it is, it most definitely is not Comp. 6L. Indeed, it is so far removed from that exceptionally distinctive piece that I can only assume whoever stuck that label on this file was thinking of some other piece altogether when they did so... My memory of 6L is pretty clear, for two reasons: first, it was part of one of the most vivid and memorable Braxtothon sessions, which marked the point at which I was well and truly hooked by this stuff; and second, because later that same day I heard it again, on Circle's Paris Concert, where it had been mistaken for a generic "duet", and erroneously co-credited to Chick Corea. (I was outraged by this and immediately sent an email to Jason Guthartz about it - ! He did update Restructures accordingly, in short order#.) So, what with one thing and another, I was not about to forget this number - and this second file on the Avignon boot ain't it. What it is, I must confess I have no idea; it sounds like a partial recording anyway, and we are probably missing the section(s) which would enable us to identify it, but what we do have is quite upbeat and lively, completely different from the tentative "stepping" theme of 6L. At times it sounds quite bluesy - and at one point I found myself thinking I was on the verge of recognising a "quote" from B., only to realise that what I was reminded of is in fact "Comin' On" by Bobby Bradford, and whatever else this might be, it surely is not that##. 

The mysterious second file is also somewhat marred, for much of its running time, by electronic interference - which the listener just has to try and shut out. Nevertheless, this set is highly recommended to all serious fans and friendly experiencers, mainly because of that shit-hot first number. What a great band this was, when it was firing on all cylinders.

***

And so to the main event, so to speak... The chief points of interest with regard to BL014 overlap to a fair degree: what does this - slightly earlier - version of 40n sound like, and how much difference does it make to have Teitelbaum sitting in with them? The answers to both questions are a little perplexing. 

23g is first up, anyway, and it feels oddly lifeless in this rendition, as if Holland and Altschul are not really sure what they're meant to be doing with it; B's flying solo still manages to ignite it. Teitelbaum is first heard - faintly - just after the five-minute mark, creaky-door sounds announcing the synth's first entrance. In principle he could have quite an interesting role in this piece, being neither a third soloist as such, nor part of the rhythm section (whose own role is strictly locked down for most of this number); but in practice, although he accompanies much of B's bravura alto solo, it's debatable whether his presence really adds a great deal. In any case, once Wheeler takes over, RT lays out and we don't really hear from him again.

40n is of course instantly recognisable - and incidentally, comparison between the beginning of this version and the one on the Arista LP, plus the Montreux video, suggests that rather less than two and a half minutes were lost from the latter### - and here we do at least glimpse something new, in that Holland's rock-solid bow technique on that hypnotic drone is backed up by a low tone from the synth, although that doesn't become completely clear until Holland himself switches things up. But whatever the plan might have been, this reading then becomes a weird instance of life imitating art: what was only achieved on the album by careful and time-constrained editing, apparently happened here organically, the introduction yielding to a prolonged bass solo. This being a bootleg and all, where no liberties will have been taken with the recording, we are left unable to reconcile the unedited Montreux version with this previous one, in such a way as to understand them both as faithful and valid interpretations of the written score. When the leader rejoins the fray around nine minutes in, both he and Holland essay some moaning, crying attacks which are intriguing and highly effective - and some time around then, the synth gradually noses its way back in too, very gently making its presence felt. This basically comes across for the most part as a strangely subdued, held-back reading which only really threatens to pick up steam in its final third, though even then it's not whole-heartedly active - though we do at least get plenty of variety in the voicings, and the synth does briefly make a real difference to proceedings, injecting a genuine air of tension and menace around the thirteenth minute...

... but then, from around 14.00 or so, the band is clearly nudging its way towards Holland's "Four Winds", which B. himself quotes directly, some time before the piece actually starts; for whatever reason, Teitelbaum chooses now to let rip at last, though he disappears from the soundscape entirely once the actual tune is underway, re-entering only at the very end of B's solo, and playing along with those taken by Wheeler and Altschul. Then again, what anybody thought a synth might add to a tune as whimsical and straight-up as this one is, really, anybody's guess. Overall, though this concert is a very cool one-off to have in the collection, it will basically always look better on paper than it sounds on the recording, coming off more as a missed opportunity than any sort of real success. I'm not sure that much planning can have gone into the special guest's presence on this sort of set; it feels more as if he just suddenly became available, and everyone assumed that magic would surely ensue. But in his (presumed) efforts not to dominate proceedings or overwhelm the band, RT fails to add a great deal to the sound at all, and 40n in particular - which seems as if it might have been a wonderful platform for such a line-up - rather comes and goes without leaving much of an impression.

So that's that... next time, it'll be back to GTM, I think... 

* In case anyone reading this doesn't know the deal with these "official boots", they were made available in batches, free of charge, by TCF around twelve (?) years ago - and were eventually pulled from the revamped site. As far as I know they are not currently available anywhere - which is why McClintic Sphere and I are both missing the Paris '78 creative orchestra files. They'll turn up at some point - and in the meantime, I may eventually figure out the best way to share some of the recordings on here. Until then, at time of writing, the only releases in this series which are still available via Bandcamp are BL020, BL040 and BL041. 

** Given that Jason G. chose a portion of the opening medley for inclusion on the NBH010 sampler, I may have been cheating myself here, but I just didn't quite fancy it. The more used my ears become to far-out, experimental sounds, the less enthusiastic I often feel about listening to more predictable fare... and I'm afraid that on this occasion, the opening of 23a left me thinking "Fuck it, let's just skip to the bit with 23f and see what was going on there". [It's why I can never get into collecting live shows by rock bands, even the more adventurous ones; it's always going to mean having to listen to night after night of the "big hits". I just don't have the stomach for it. Not that I'm directly comparing the '74-5 quartet to a rock band exactly, but... OK, that's enough of that.]

*** We can draw a contrast there with the big fusion-era bands, and their notorious noodling. Fusion, intended to combine the improvisational rigour of jazz with the energy and drive of rock, all too often seemed to multiply the most self-indulgent tendencies of both. This is absolutely not what happened in the Avignon 6i. 

# I don't wish to imply that the incorrect listing was somehow Jason's fault - of course it wasn't. He was only reproducing what was on the album cover, and could hardly have been expected to fact-check every detail of every release.

## No disrespect at all is intended to Mr Bradford, either. But quite apart from anything else, I don't know if that tune was even extant back in 1974; and even if it had been, I am not aware of any precedent for the working group playing a contemporary "cover" in a live set. (The version of "Cherokee" from Minneapolis two years later is about as close as they ever came, to my knowledge - and as odd as that was, the tune was already well and truly a standard by then.)

### For the benefit of anyone who doesn't understand that reference, it is explained in the third footnote to my recent post; although, at the time I wrote that, I was possibly (uncharacteristically!) a bit too willing to take another listener's comment at face value. Without some really firm backup for the assertion that 2m 35s is missing from the beginning of the show, I'm now inclined to think that "Alex" is mistaken about that. (But I could be wrong.)

Montreux '75, version intégrale

 

I only just came across - and promptly watched - this great video, which has been up online for at least a year; it appears to be a French (or Swiss?) TV broadcast of the quartet's famous set from the Montreux Festival in 1975, edited portions of which made it onto a well-loved double LP on Arista back in the day (and later to a shorter CD). Fifteen years ago, I wrote about the 1975 portion of the album as part of Braxtothon Phase Four; of course, way back then I didn't know just how much of the original performance had been edited out by Michael Cuscuna, in order to trim the album down to a manageable size.

The headline-level news, then, is twofold: the video itself is terrific - the show having been filmed by multiple cameras and superbly edited for broadcast, and the video recording generally very well-preserved - and must be considered essential viewing for anyone reading this*; and I now know exactly how much material was omitted from the Arista record, as will be laid out below. [Having first watched the video all the way through, I then cued up my old CD-R copy** of the album, and went back through the video, playing the album alongside it in order to see where the edits were made. This turned out to be only mildly frustrating - easier than I expected, if I'm honest - and left me well placed to identify precisely which portions of the concert didn't make it onto disc, almost down to the last second.]

The headline version of that is as follows: Comp. 40n in particular got absolutely butchered, and although it's easy to understand that quite a lot of music had to be excised from the recording in order to shoehorn it into (part of) a double-LP, when you see/hear exactly what sort of music was left out of this number in particular, it leaves the released version looking completely castrated. I always felt that 40n rather flattered to deceive in its released form; now I know why that is. I have no idea whether the complete concert has ever been in circulation among collectors***; what I can confirm is that - once again - it is neither in my collection of tapes nor, apparently, in the voluminous Yale Library archive (assuming I am using the search facility correctly). That makes this video a real treasure, and I am delighted to have seen it. [For anyone who just wants the timing details, I have provided a summary in a comment on the video; a more detailed breakdown will follow below, together with more of my customary delirious ramblings.]

It is worth pointing out that after watching the video, comparing it with the (first part of the) album and leaving my comment, I became aware of an earlier comment (from user alexanderketh8808) which provides both less detail than mine, and more; it also points to a separate video containing just the show's encore, Comp. 40m. (Presumably this was included in another broadcast within the same series: presumably, other concerts from the festival were also presented.) For further details, see the footnote*** below.

Besides restoring the missing music, where the video is really valuable is in its close-up camerawork, capturing the techniques of all four musicians as they played the sounds which most people reading this will already have heard. This is of course the main difference between a video prepared professionally by a production team, and one shot on an audience member's phone: these days, handheld devices have such high-definition lenses in them that one might be tempted to think that there is nothing to be gained by having a film crew at all, but that really isn't the case. Sounds obvious - and it is; but watching this really brought that home to me#. Having done a run-through of (most of) the music already, I am not about to do so again, except for the passages which are not included on the original album; mainly what I want to do here is highlight the qualities in what was cut out, but I'll also flag up some examples of what sets the video apart from the audio.

***

Of course, as well as highlighting the brutal nature of the editing for the album, this footage also indirectly highlights the skill of Michael Cuscuna and his team in preparing that album in the first place. It is obvious just from the running time that plenty of material had to have been chopped out; besides, I had already heard more than enough complete shows by B's small groups to know that they are not typically presented in the way they appear to be on the album: a number is played, the group stops, applause follows - and silence - before the next piece. Rather, once they are underway they tend to flow seamlessly through multiple territories - primary or otherwise - until their conclusion; occasionally we might get an actual hiatus between numbers, as heard in Dortmund '76, but this really is the exception, not the rule. However, the decisions involved in preparing this material for release would have necessitated very clean breaks in two places - immediately following the end of Comp. 23j / track one## and again at the end of Comp. 40(o) - and in order to avoid a truncated and jarring silence, applause is grafted on which doesn't strictly belong there: not that there wasn't any during the show, but what the album listener hears following these two tracks is applause from elsewhere, presumably from the end of the concert. A trickier piece of editing-magic was required in order to bring the opening number to a manageable length: actual musical content had to be taken out of a continuous performance. Leaving aside the mutilation involved in doing such a thing, the way in which this outcome was achieved is nonetheless quite impressive (in that the listener is not smacked in the face by it). You do have to be paying very close attention, in other words, in order to work out where and how it's done on the record. 

So, credit duly given. Now we turn to the matter of what's missing, or rather, what is here on the video that was missing from the record. It's worth noting that even the Anthony Braxton Project only lists this session as having included the pieces which are on the Arista release, and makes no mention either of any other material, or even of the fact that the set opener ran much longer than it does on the album; indeed it goes so far as to note that B. does not play either contrabass clarinet or alto sax on the first number, which is not true - it is only true of what is included on the record. This first number is completely changed in character by virtue of what had to be left out, in order to make a smooth edit and ensure a workable running time for the first side of the LP.

Comp. 40n, described summarily as a "Concert A drone structure" in the catalog(ue) of works###, is actually another example of the kind of thing which must have got Ira Gitler and his ilk so hot under the collar. A very open-ended piece with the potential to go off in all sorts of different directions, it is reduced on the album to something quietly ominous and ruminative, with the drone-centred opening more or less giving way to a bass passage (thanks to the edit), and by the time we emerge from the other side of that, we are well on the way to approaching the much more bop-flavoured 23j. This is how it is easy to remember the piece, and it's not totally accurate, since the first couple of minutes do actually include some much more playful and free-spirited sounds in between the two arco passages, but the sheer variety included in the (approximately) six minutes and forty seconds which Cuscuna slashed from the piece is jaw-dropping, and utterly changes one's perception of the work. 

Even by comparison with the record, it is obvious that there is a bit missing at the start of the TV broadcast: after a short title sequence, the music fades in at 0.26, and although it is not that noticeable unless you go looking for it, checking it against the released version reveals that we are starting in medias res. Exactly how much is missing from the beginning, I have no way of knowing^; what does seem clear is that we are still in the opening section of the piece, with Holland bowing out a rock-steady drone. From here, the first two minutes or so run exactly as per the record, up to about 2.45 in the video. To be precise, at 2.42 B. takes the sopranino away from his mouth, and as if on cue, the whole band falls briefly silent - which of course provides the producer-editor with the opportunity he needed. On record, we now jump ahead to the passage beginning at 9.23, give or take the odd second. In real time, things go differently: Wheeler peels off some bright attacks on trumpet while B. switches to alto and starts pecking out some of his trademark "kisses", and although some quite fiery playing has Wheeler wanting to join in, he changes his mind (3.14) as B. switches instrument again, this time picking up the clarinet. Everyone resumes playing, but by 3.42 Holland has initiated the drone again, and B. switches again, back to alto. The music is fluctuating and shifting, every few seconds. The leader immediately starts to let rip on alto, and the intensity of the band builds in sympathy, leading to yet another change from B., back to sopranino at 4.17, and from here the music just goes wild. By 4.40 we are in an ambience of tightly controlled chaos, riding a storm. Each cluster of activity is short in duration, and moods flicker in and out very quickly, the players picking up from each other with seemingly telepathic speed, always ready to respond or change direction at very short notice. 

Around 5.50, we see B. strapping on the paperclip seamonster, and yes, although we would never know this from the official recording, before six minutes is on the clock the audience is being treated to the sound of the maestro's contrabass clarinet. This is an example of where we benefit from the multiple camera angles: close-ups show us the fingering positions in detail, and other viewpoints show the whole body as the maestro wrestles this fearsome beast under his control. The visual editor ensures we get plenty of both. At 6.51, the camera is focussed on the maestro's left hand, but we can still see Holland's face behind him, shaking his head in what appears to be amazement at the dexterity with which B. handles what must surely be an extremely difficult instrument to play. Following this bravura display, Wheeler cuts loose on his favoured flugelhorn, whilst B. trades lowest for highest again in briefly picking up the sopranino, before changing his mind and trading it once more for flute: just keeping track of the different horns he uses in the first ten minutes is almost dizzying, though one would really know never that from listening to the record. As B. tears up his flute, Wheeler himself switches back to trumpet, and the music sweeps on, very free and open and all, it must be said, decidedly non-jazzy - in a manner which must have driven the more staid and stuffy critics to fits of apoplexy. 

As the leader signs off on flute, Holland has begun bowing out what sounds rather like a Kelvin-series repetition theme (but isn't), and from around 9.24 on the video, we are finally back to the music which appears on the record. From here, I managed to synchronise the CD-R and the video perfectly, and can thus vouch for the fact that the record follows the performance exactly, all the way through the remainder of 40n, the transition phase leading towards 23j (the thirteenth minute, with the next territory being glimpsed ever-more clearly for those who are familiar with the next piece) and Comp. 23j proper, which begins at 12.56 and ends smartly at 26.13. On record, of course, Cuscuna has immediately stopped the recording and transplanted in some phantom applause; in performance, whilst there was some enthusiastic applause, there was no break in the music, just a one-second pause as Altschul immediately launches into a drum solo (having been the only player who didn't take one during the last number). This lasts more than three minutes, showcases the percussionist's restless creativity and versatility as well as his technique - using just about every surface on his kit, including the rims - and is of course completely omitted from the album.

As the drum solo winds down, B. has once more picked up his clarinet, and around 29.40, as the applause for Altschul dies away, we are back with the album at the start of (the protracted transition phase ultimately leading up to) Comp. 40(o). Technically it could be said that the actual piece does not commence until 33.00, as that is when B. first starts playing the actual written theme, gradually joined by the rest of the band; but from as early as 32.20 it's been completely obvious what is coming next. Again, the record follows precisely what was played at this point, until 36.43 when 40(o) is brought sharply to a close; again, on the record this is followed by the sound of applause only, and of course when side two continued, it was with an entirely different piece, played by a different version of the band, in a different venue, the following year. Back in Montreux, there is no such climax as the playing resumes at once: B. (on alto) and Holland begin crooning gently to each other, and we are easing our way into a third transition phase, which will eventually coalesce around 39.30 into Comp. 23g - and of course there is no mention of this, anywhere on any edition of The Montreux / Berlin Concerts. Just as with the eight-minute encore, Comp. 40m - in a separate video, as mentioned above - the set closer has been pretty much erased from history, as far as most people are concerned; for anyone who is not a Braxton obsessive, this scarcely matters a jot as both the missing numbers were waxed in the studio by the same band, that same summer. For those of us who are, both numbers are well worth watching: the encore is taken at pretty high speed and is very intense, and 23g - being aired to the public long before the term "pulse track" was in use - is a minor miracle, the tension created by the entirely independent rhythm track against the written theme being harnessed for terrific solos by both B. and Wheeler. Somehow, Holland and Altschul manage to remain firmly locked in step with each other, even amidst B's alto flights, and once again we're deep into the sort of territories in which the Jazz Police must have felt hopelessly, head-shakingly lost. As for Comp. 40n, this really was some advanced music for its time^^, arguably just as advanced (in its own way) as Comp. 70 which was unveiled the following year; and yet the thing is, audiences were always appreciative of the artistry involved: it was only the critical fraternity which couldn't hack it.

It is worth just pointing out a few more of the video-exclusive highlights, so to speak: moments which one cannot hear and thus would never know about, were it not for this great video. Around 22.13, we see the sweat dripping off Holland, who has done his best to keep the pace and momentum of 23j alive, all on his own, during the preceding two and a half minutes (he largely succeeded in this). At 25.10, B. gives a small cue with his free right hand, picked up by the camera, but possibly missed by Wheeler - as when the theme re-enters a few seconds later, the two hornmen are briefly out of sync (for once). From around 34.23, while we all have the absolute privilege of watching and hearing the maestro bang out the 40(o) theme on contrabass clarinet, the camera editor makes sure we get a really good look at all aspects of this: the body posture, the fingering, the embouchure, the works. From 39.40 (and especially from 40.25) our viewpoint switches back and forth between B's left hand and Wheeler's right, as they negotiate the 23g theme. (At 38.57 in the same number, something - ostensibly a well-timed bash on a closed hi-hat from Altschul - tickles Holland enough that he breaks into a huge grin, even while he is concentrating on keeping his own time against the two-horn theme.) At 43.33, a judicious over-the-shoulder shot shows us the lovingly hand-written score which the leader is working from. Oh, and at 45.04 (and a couple of times shortly thereafter), Wheeler flashes his "passport photo": that high-pitched squeal with which he always announced his presence in those days, much observed during Braxtothon Phase Two. In the middle of his energetic solo, 

we get a look at the score Altschul is working from, as well - of course it looks completely different from B's, on this number; he is reading that over his right shoulder even while the rest of his body is playing the actual rhythm track. They always worked very hard, these guys... but then they always had fun doing it.

***

For the record, just to summarise the differences:

1. 0.26 - 2.45 as on the album, track one (opening fades in, unknown duration missing)

2. 2.45 - 9.24 missing from the album, edited out

3. 9.24 - 26.13 as on the album, conclusion of track one (applause edited in)

4. 26.13 - 29.40 missing from the album, edited out

5. 29.40 - 36.43 as on the album, track two

6. 36.43 - 48.35 not included on the album in any format (technically, some of the applause is on there..!)

We could probably live without the closing credits, with their (now^^^) cringingly-problematic caricatures. But what ya gonna do, it was the seventies... On the plus side, a show like this, prepared for broadcast in the first place! (Would never have happened, on this side of the English channel...)

* The sound is perfectly serviceable, but may not be that great if played through whatever device you are watching it on; I definitely recommend headphones to appreciate it properly (not that I really need to tell anybody that!).

** I don't own this album on vinyl - just as well, since we still haven't got a turntable sorted out yet in this house - and although I did try to score a copy of the CD last year, somebody beat me to it in the end. My old vinyl rip dates from the C#9 days; I don't think it was something which I actually made into a proper post, rather it was probably one of dozens of "extras" which readers of that site ripped and uploaded, then shared via links in the comments. (Ah... the Golden Age of Music Blogging! those were the days...)

*** Actually I do have some idea, since somebody left a comment before I did - "Alex from Germany" - without the same precise breakdown I've given, but with more detail regarding the duration of the concert. Evidently there was more missing from the start of the broadcast than the record itself lets on, and an encore was played (Comp. 40m) - which is available in a separate video, where it was misidentified (as 23e) by the poster; presumably, then, some people do have access to the complete concert recording. I mean, it was always obvious that what is on the record is not the whole of what was played, and the same goes for the Berlin portion(s) of the album - but after all this time, I finally know exactly how much is missing... and would love to get my hands on an intact audio recording.

# It made me think in particular of this show, which itself really brings home both the advantages of the modern phone, and the inescapable limitations of having a complex event recorded from a single point of view. 

## The first track on the album is a medley, comprising 40n & 23j: this occupies the whole of side one of the original double LP, and depending on where you look, it is listed either as track one, or as tracks one and two. In functional terms it is easier to consider it as all one track, since there is no break between the pieces; indeed, although we can precisely pinpoint the beginning of 23j as being when the whole band starts playing its theme, the music has been moving in that direction for a little while already, with the leader in particular sketching out elements from it as we lead up to it; this, again, was an approach I encountered repeatedly while the original Braxtothon was in progress. So, following the pattern established later in "post-Martinelli" tracklists, it really makes more sense to render this as one track, entitled Comp. 40n/Comp. 23j, than to attempt to split it in two as Restructures did. [As for the use of the term "medley", this is how the marketplace insists on labelling such composites, but I detest the term in the context of B's music. It conjures up images - at least it does for me - of some seaside entertainer bashing out crowd-pleasing series of popular themes all jumbled together, and doesn't feel like the sort of word we would want to use when discussing serious art. Maybe it's just me, but...]

### Naturally, a lot more detail is furnished by the Composition Notes, which liken the piece to an Indian raga and highlight the work's nature as a platform for extended improvisation. Only composed a few months before this show, it was later "performed all over the United States and Western Europe". It is structured in nine sections, many of which are clearly glossed over in the (first) released version ( - a later reading turns up on Quartet (Coventry) 1985); by a really peculiar twist of fate, it is the third piece in a row which I have looked up in the Notes, only to find a gap where the dedicatee's name should be - I am starting to wonder if these are not somehow being erased from my copies of the books just before I go looking..!

^ "Alex from Germany", in the comment mentioned in footnote three above, claims that we are missing two minutes and twenty-five (or twenty-six) seconds from the beginning of the set, though no source is cited for this information. It is however quite possible that the first entries we hear on the Arista recording are not the actual opening of the piece. 

^^ The Notes tell us that 40n was indeed debuted by this version of the band, but B. doesn't mean this performance; indeed, we now have an earlier reading of the same piece, courtesy of official bootleg BL014, performed by the same group plus Richard Teitelbaum on synth, and I can feel another comparison coming on (although perhaps not quite yet). I don't have details on the earliest performance of it by the quartet, as such.

^^^ Actually, this kind of stuff was always problematic; only, not enough people realised it yet...