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1 - E.D.'S MESSAGE - 4:08
2 - 2.B.ORNETTE - 2:07
3 - CLUB 66 - 8:37
4 - DAY OF RECKONING - 8:33
5 - END TO A BEGINNING - 2:42
6 - TRAVELLING TOGETHER - 9:10
7 - LITTLE RED HEAD - 3:52
8 - AFTER LISTENING - 8:10
9 - END TO A BEGINNING - 4:16
10 - DISTANT LITTLE SOUL - 15:13
The discipline of discographical research usually follows a rubric akin to any science-based endeavor in that revision goes part and parcel with the pursuit. Invariably a lost tape or long forgotten reel-to-reel surfaces and succeeds in gumming up the works for those dedicated souls who track musical minutiae and the very idea of the 'complete' recordings of any musician or group is by definition a misnomer. Corroborating the inherent futility in attempting a definitive catalog of a musician or band's every extant recording, Emanem has seen fit to release yet another document from the SME's earliest years, one that has been out of circulation for years and comes newly pressed with a pair of unreleased performances.
Boundaries between free improvisation and free jazz blurred even further back when these tracks were recorded than they do in today's 21st century climate. Many of the pieces in this vintage of the SME songbook have strong jazz referents and it's an exciting prospect to hear them all navigating such jazz-based straits together. The complete sextet sounds off on all but three of the selections with Kenny Wheeler sitting out on two and John Stevens hanging up his sticks on "Little Red Head". Usually working from prearranged heads the band is a tightly knit unit. Sectional interludes of tracks like "Traveling Together" profess a high level of compositional cohesion balanced with individual improvisational verve. The Paul Rutherford-penned fragment "2.B.Ornette" features Wheeler's clipped flugelhorn and delivers fascinating instruction on one of the seminal influences on the group. The opening "E.D.'s Message" references another in its oblique invocation of Dolphy through Trevor Watts' register leaping runs. In similar fashion the saxophonist sails above the bustling firmament of bass and drums on "Club 66", firing off pinched figures and sounding like a personalized amalgam of the aforementioned Coleman and Lee Konitz. Rutherford ranges about the middle register of his brass smearing the edges of his phrases with well-placed plunger manipulations. Stevens practices the rudiments of the economical acumen that was to become his trademark, parsing out press rolls in staccato bursts.
Akin to the prize buried at the bottom of a cereal box the disc's final track offers a smaller assemblage of SME members bringing to life a composition by Stevens. Scripted as an aural encapsulation of the drummer's feelings of homesickness the piece features Watts flighty piccolo in tandem with Evan Parker's nascent soprano. Contemporaneous session photos in the liner notes picture the players bedecked in vests, ties, slacks, and in some instances spectacles looking like youthful Tristanoite intellectuals. The music reflects this academic bent, but is also flavored with a fair amount of visceral thrills. SME discographers may scratch their heads and rush to update their files, but for the rest of us the music is certain to provide satisfaction enough.
Devotees of modern free jazz whose main icon is represented by Last Exit — the quartet of Peter Brotzmann, Bill Laswell, Sonny Sharrock and Ronald Shannon Jackson which repeatedly set the cognoscenti's brain on fire (or, at least, mine...) — could give a try to this, the recording of a performance at Amsterdam's Bimhuis dated September 6, 2008, which features a joint venture between the old guard of Brotzmann himself (alto & tenor sax, Bb clarinet, tarogato) and Kondo (electric trumpet) and younger turks Pupillo (electric bass) and Nilssen-Love (drums).
The record is divided in two extended sections that leave no room for unnecessary reflection, although those who expect a total free-for-all might remain a tad disconcerted, given that the artists not only fuel the activist anger of self-expression with (rather disciplined) fury, but also find the time to reduce the impact of their drive along "calmer" explorations of the partial combination of instrumental voices and dynamics, at times remaining moderately exposed as two or three elements interact. For example, an interesting Pupillo vs. Kondo colloquy in the title track is sandwiched in the muscular antagonism of the group as a whole, and a groovy solo by Nilssen-Love — as distant from the boring percussive marathons of certain "progressive" bands as you can wish — is followed by the drummer depicting shades against the disagreeing stubbornness of Brotzmann, soon aided by the echoing blathering of Kondo until the improvisation reaches its natural demise.
"Chain Dogs" begins with a tense "dissonant lyricism", reed and trumpet emitting pensive notes upon the rhythm section's increasingly mounting inner energy, yet it doesn't take much before the foursome soar again through impatiently clumped rhythmical disorders, aggravating the dynamic conflict by the minute, Brotzmann emitting autistic ostinatos amidst fuming devastations by Pupillo and Nilssen-Love, Kondo attributing a spacey vibe to the jumble via modified reverberations of his tool. The music gradually becomes a cross of intimidation and unalterable faith in some sort of divine light leading the sonic splodge out of potential holes, as what appears tempestuous at first reveals instead a logic of coherence which facilitates the approach to the listening experience, and the quieter sections hide nonetheless the peril of a venomous sting.
Forget the cerebral aspects and be overwhelmed by the threatening physicality of this set. Hairy Bones is a classic case of "play-loud-neighbors-be-damned" outing, an exhibition of conspicuous skill in the thick of apparent mayhem.