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?