Anthony Braxton: ZIM Sextet
Théâtre Jean Vilar
Vitry-sur-Seine, France, 15th February 2019
Composition(s) unknown
An unofficial video, this time, but with obvious kinship to this previous one which I wrote about last November... here we are reliant upon a single audience member filming the proceedings on a single device from a single fixed viewpoint: that has its own drawbacks and is a bit of a grey area ethically (something I have zero intention of delving into, being myself grateful to have such a recording available; perhaps if the poster were likely to make money from the video, things would be different... but this is creative music we're talking about, and nobody ever really got to give up the day job because of their involvement with that*), but the sound is well captured and seamless, and that is the main thing after all. [There are some issues arising from the fact that we are stuck with the viewpoint of the person filming: at times the most curious sounds may seem to be those we can't see being produced, and this is of course where a professional TV crew/editor/producer etc would be able to switch cameras for us; that's not what we're dealing with here, so like it or lump it. But bear in mind that performances like this aren't exactly easy to come by... as far as I am concerned we are very lucky to have this at all.]
Besides the source of the recording itself, the most obvious difference between this performance and the other ZIM recordings I've come across so far lies in the personnel. We can see straight away that it's a ZIM sextet just from the configuration of the players onstage, with the double harps and so on; but there was no THB on this occasion. That may very well not have been a first, but it's definitely unusual, and it's just worth noting that in the absence of B's right-hand man, the stage-left "lieutenant role" is taken by Ingrid Laubrock. To an old lag like me, it scarcely seems like five minutes** since the tenorist was first hooking up with the maestro in his expanded GTM 'tets, but in practice, she was easily the most experienced of the five players present for this concert, and although it is possibly the case that Jacqui Kerrod had had more in-depth preparation for the ZIM strategies specifically***, Laubrock herself is not untested in these conditions (having been special guest at Moers in 2017 as we know, and having also participated in the two August 2017 recording sessions at Firehouse 12, which produced four of the pieces presented on the ZIM Blu-ray #), and had plenty of "Brax-mileage" clocked up in various other contexts.
Kerrod occupies the harp position at stage right, which is to say, next to the leader; unfortunately she is seldom directly seen during the video, since the angle from which the audience member is filming means that there are almost always two music-stands between us and JK's head; at one point she bends down and is clearly visible, but otherwise, the only time we get a good view of her is when the musicians stop playing and stand up. The harp at stage left, seated at Laubrock's right, is played here by Miriam Overlach, who had played this (type of) music in London, in May 2018 ##; also present on the latter trip was violinist Jean Cook, at centre-right onstage (i.e. third from the viewer's left). This is my first proper look at this remarkable musician, who first came to my attention when I listened to Comp. 419 (as reported here); she really can play the hell out of her instrument. Finally, I am completely dependent upon Youtuber Boris Niavet for the identification of the tubist, Carl Ludwig Hübsch ###; this is a significant substitution, inasmuch as all previous ZIM performances that I'm aware of feature Dan Peck. So, a couple of notable absences for this concert; but one would scarcely notice, so skilfully is the demanding material negotiated. (Hübsch, an experienced musician in his own right, appears to be entirely new to B's music but is well suited to it: one thing he is especially good at is forcing the breath through his instrument, something which frequently crops up in B's music, and basically always sounds great in these contexts ^.)
Much as it feels unnecessary to bring it up, it is nonetheless relevant that besides the leader, the tubist is the only male musician present here. That is, in an ideal world it would not be necessary to comment on this at all, but in the here and now, we know that B. has long endeavoured to encourage more women to participate in creative music, and as a bandleader, he has done as much as anybody to help bring that equality about. Nevertheless, it's a rare occasion even within B's groups that the girls outnumber the guys; this is one of them.
A quick word here about the maestro. Nobody reading these words is likely to need telling, but it struck me quite forcefully (albeit not for the first time) while watching this video how lazy and inaccurate it is of critics - and music listeners generally - to characterise B's approach to playing the saxophone as "cerebral". People know, of course, that he is an intellectual, and looks like one; that he was for much of his adult life a professional academic, and talks like one; that he was formatively influenced by (among others) Paul Desmond and Warne Marsh. Oh, and of course his music is famously complex and nobody (...) can make much sense of it. Hence, for years, critics would beat him with the stick that his playing was cerebral, cold, passionless. It's complete bollocks, of course, and one hopes that such casual misrepresentations are finally dying out even among professional critics. But if anybody did need convincing, they have only to watch him play: it is a whole-body exercise for him, and always has been. Even when laying out, indeed, he can frequently be seen moving his head and body according to a complex count that (in all probability) only he can fully hear/feel. Again, this really "shouldn't" need saying at all; but it might, regardless.
I would be most reluctant to attempt any sort of full-tissue dissection of such a performance, even if I were properly capable of such a thing; but I do tend to make notes while watching these longer videos, and some observations-in-passing follow below.
***
Different approaches and musical strategies are set up in different ways, some specified by the score, some cued up by the players. The music begins with flurries and clusters of sound from all sides, but very early on, Cook lays out and starts rearranging her sheet music, apparently awaiting a suitable cue; this latter is very possibly provided by B., but if so, this takes place out of the viewer's sight. What we actually see: Cook stands watching B. closely, then at 2.45, having apparently got the cue she was waiting for, she begins to play a single sustained note. This is picked up and emulated by all three aerophones, in turn (the harps offer no such option really, and Kerrod and Overlach continue doing their own thing). It is an early example of how prearranged elements are dropped into play.
At 8.19, Cook begins an extraordinary series of scrabbling pizzicato attacks, a controlled burst of impossible-to-notate noise which Leroy Jenkins would have been proud of. Others join the fray after their own fashion, specifically Hübsch, who unleashes a chain of low-frequency parps (which again one won't find on a stave). This passage really flags up something which all friendly experiencers (and any fans of free improv) already know: that anything at all can be a valid and viable sound source, if it's deployed intelligently and with control.
Starting just before 14.40, the harpists get in on the same act, using detuned bottom strings to create unearthly twangs.
At 19.00, several players begin repeating the same descending three-note phrase, which is clearly written out on the score, although one presumes (from the abrasiveness of some of the attacks) that there are other symbols besides notes on the chart at this point. The harps continue the descending figure as the others lay out, and B. quietly switches his alto for his sopranino, upon which he executes a gorgeous series of "bent", vibrato-laden attacks; the vibrato is picked up briefly by Cook, and we can presume that such an approach is indicated on the score.
(These moments are mostly quite fleeting, and before one knows it, each passage has mutated into something quite different. The soundscape rarely crystallises for more than a few seconds at a time: this - along with a near-complete absence of rhythm - would appear to be a defining feature of the ZIM methodology.)
At 21.15ish, a natural pause is reached, at which point B. looks over towards Laubrock and gestures decisively, bringing his right arm down sharply as if opening a large and heavy book. This confuses the audience, who begin to clap hesitantly but are quickly silenced by the musicians who resume playing: Laubrock's next attacks take the form of percussive, staccato tonguing, perhaps in direct response to the hand-signal, perhaps just the beginning of a new phase in the score. (It seems that the ZIM compositions are not designed to flow continuously, but rather comprise modular segments which can presumably be transposed ad hoc. This is particularly noticeable later on, as we will see.)
At 24.38, B. is on soprano and embarks on what could almost be deemed a solo, providing a nice little microcosm of both his (yes) lyricism and his comprehensive technique, using quite a wide variety and range of attacks within one evocative passage.
At 27.07, the seamonster makes its first entrance. This sets up what is arguably one of the more "stable" phases of the piece, during which the soundscape assumes a certain "shape" and doesn't vary it too much. Around the 29-minute mark, some peculiar knocks or taps don't seem to be coming from any of the three players at stage right (which is where our camera is pointing at that moment). As always when the low-end equipment is out, there are some fascinating sounds here.
By 30.50, B. is back on alto, and Cook plays some heart-stoppingly beautiful phrases, quite simple really, but executed with stupendous authority and control.
Around 34.10, B. makes a sort of box with his fingers and the ensemble embarks on a short (less than a minute) prearranged section comprising long, sustained tones - it's in fact the kind of passage which very often brings these longer compositions to a close, and indeed there is a natural pause after this, except that this time the audience knows better than to clap; and the performance can't be over yet, because instead of introducing the band, B. signals again and stands there silently dancing in place, still hearing something the rest of us cannot. This is then followed by a passage for the strings, in which the two harpists - eventually joined sparingly by the violin - play a very free series of phrases, Kerrod in particular knocking on the frame of her instrument as well as using its strings.
Around 37.00, something from (almost) nothing: a quiet passage is allowed to lapse briefly into silence, and in response to another signal from B., a furiously intense phase begins, with the leader on soprano and the others right with him, as if we have suddenly been flung into a farmyard full of squawking geese (but with a lot more inherent musicality than that image implies..!).
Something curious and interesting occurs around 45 minutes: Laubrock is worrying away at another descending three-note phrase, and while she has paused briefly, at 45.15ish Overlach gets her attention and signals "flip it over", suggesting that she invert the order of the intervals in the phrase, which Laubrock promptly does, also upping the tempo of these new ascending phrases. Overlach quickly runs with this, but within a few seconds, the whole ensemble is already doing something different. That's how quickly the soundscape can shift and change.
The very same three-note descending figure is persistent, however, and around 47.35 Cook can be heard repeating it. This comes very shortly before a total pause, and although we can't see what the leader is doing at this point, it's clear from watching the other faces that B. signals a complete change of some sort: everyone turns over the pages of their sheet music, and at 48.00 B. counts them off into a specific new phase, almost as if they were starting another composition from scratch. (More likely, what he is actually doing is signalling the beginning of the final movement; the composition as a whole has got less than fifteen minutes to run at this point, as it will turn out... but what do I know? Less than them, obviously.)
From about the 54-minute mark, B. is back on sopranino (which is pretty much his second-favourite axe, and has been for quite some time really), playing some marvellous stuff, and just after 55.00 he subvocalises some crazy sounds - which Kerrod and Cook are only too happy to pile in and support, Cook tapping her bow fiercely against the strings and Kerrod knuckle-rapping the frame of her harp with both fists.
Within the next couple of minutes B. has switched back to alto, and we gradually move towards a conclusion. For whatever reason - maybe just because she no longer needs to refer to the score - Laubrock removes her glasses for this bit; around 61 minutes, as another pause arrives, B. gives a large and decisive hand signal and a few seconds later - after a few more breath-blasts from the tuba - we begin what clearly feels like a concluding phase. For a few seconds it almost feels as if they are tuning up, although this seamlessly transitions into a passage of considerable beauty, and there is still time for a last rip of the alto, B. really leaning hard into the phrasing, which dissipates into a sequence of isolated, staccato "chops" from the whole band, before one final sustained tone at 64.13 which marks the end of the piece.
As always, B. gets in there with the names of the band straight away, before the audience can drown him out: the audience are very patient as the maestro struggles mightily with some of the names on this occasion, but as always in these cases, the applause when it does come is vigorous and enthusiastic. The taps on the arm which B. gives to Hübsch as they walk off suggests that, indeed, this may well be the first time he has played with him.
And as usual, the players are only offstage for a few seconds before they come back for a short encore, and as usual this is filled with such variety, so many disparate elements, that one can use it as a holographic fragment of the whole concept. Both reed players are on soprano for this and B. briefly cuts loose with some of his fantastic harsh-breathing attacks; this time, the ending comes via a written sequence of short notes interspersed with pauses, and we're done. The maestro takes the time to congratulate each player individually as they walk off for the last time.
***
As I've said before, this stuff really is (was; no, is) new and different. The complete absence of rhythm players alone, as well as the doubled harps, sees to that. The soundscapes are both incredibly rich and formidably strange, almost entirely devoid of any of the elements which most people would expect to find in Western art music. Overall I am continually reminded of gazing at a large-scale surrealist painting, where every detail is either essentially unfamiliar or placed in an unfamiliar context, and in which one can lose oneself for an unmeasured length of time. A listener approaching this with anything other than completely closed ears (and folded arms) could be left utterly and permanently changed by this music.
This is not just hyperbole or metaphor: we know that the neuroplasticity of the brain allows for new stimuli to foster entirely new neural connections, open up pathways where none existed before. Anthony Braxton knows this for sure. We may be relatively few, but it's no wonder his collaborators and true fans love him and his work so much.
* Of course, B. himself did eventually give up the day job. By that point he had a MacArthur "genius" grant under his belt, as well some other similar recognitions. So it is just about possible. But he had reached retirement age anyway - and let's not presume that he taught professionally for all those years purely because he loved teaching. (In the meantime, anyone who really needs the lowdown on how difficult it is to make money out of this kind of stuff could do worse than check out A.B. Spellman's Four Lives in the Bebop Business.)
** It's actually a good few years ago now, but I vividly remember hearing Laubrock's first Radio 3 commission - and several of us bitching about it on the R3 jazz "messagebored". The German-born player "came up" in London, as part of the F-ire Collective, and honed her skills in some school or other (presumably the Guildhall - but I'm not going to check that). I don't think it unfair to say that her playing was a lot more interesting than her writing at this time I'm thinking of - and in fairness I think it took some time for B's influence to rub off in that regard, even after she had started working with him. (Considering how many different musicians passed through the F-ire Collective I always thought the writing that came out of that scene had a very samey and stale feel to it, endlessly recycling the same pool of influences...)
*** I am basing this assumption on the fact that Kerrod is the only harpist who plays on every ZIM recording (and that she cut a duo album with B. as well). The second harp chair is of the revolving variety.
# I still don't have a copy of this extraordinary release (or indeed the hardware on which to play it), but the music is available to hear online. Several of the blog pieces from last September discuss it, in more or less excitable fashion...
## During the video, I worked quite hard at times to figure out which harpist was where onstage, given that we can only see one of them. Kerrod and Overlach have quite similar features really and their profiles especially are not all that different. Kerrod, however, has darker hair and a lot more of it. I had eventually decided that the visible harpist was MO and that JK is largely obscured from our view... which was eventually confirmed when they all stood up at the end. (B. of course also names them in order, starting from stage left.)
### M. Niavet hyphenates the two forenames, French-style; but various sources online confirm that they are two separate forenames, and that the tubist simply uses both of them (like John Philip Sousa). CLH is not a young man at all, indeed he was born in 1966 - he just happens to have taken a long route to working with B.
^ I am always, always reminded of the opening of side two of the first BYG album, or (what is now known as) Comp. 6g. The thing is, a careful ear can immediately hear when this sort of thing is being done with precision and control, and when it's just a noise slung in there as a gimmick, or for laughs. For my sins I sat through Polar Bear's support set at the 2007 "Feel Trio meets AB" summit in London, and saw the difference right there. Done properly, simply expelling air can sound amazing... and it's a device which B. has used on many occasions, always to great effect.
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