A quintet is a pretty big band in the world of little sounds. Minimalist improv is most often pursued, and generally is most successful, as a solo or duo project. There are notable exceptions — AMM, Poire_Z, Polwechsel — but without predetermined structure, keeping so many soundmakers subdued is not always so easy. The quintet responsible for midhopestones resolves this challenge (by design or not) by resisting the full ensemble for what feels like the first third of the hourlong set, and then only hitting their full five-piece stride sparingly.
In a style where musicians are bent on creating unexpected sounds with their instruments, of course, it's tricky to know who's doing what sometimes. The record opens with a suspended ring with a metallic tinge that suggests Michel Doneda's saxophone, which is then met a percussive thump which could be Lee Patterson's amplified objects. But with Louisa Martin playing laptop, it could be anyone's game. Rhodri Davies' harp is often quite elusive, and it seems to be a good 20 minutes before Phil Minton's voice is heard. And rather surprisingly, the disc builds to a climatic final 10 minutes.
Which in an abstract sense is what such music is often about, of course. It's not about themes or solos, but about creating worlds, the same way Italo Calvino's stories aren't about narrative arc but exploring, and even exhausting, possibilities. In the slow round robin, the group indulges in some passages of pulse and call-and-response (of sorts), but the strongest feeling here is that of a variety of voices fitting into a common endeavor. Central to that feeling is the space it was recorded in, a church in the British village that gives the record its title (and St. James the Lesser, at least in name, sounds like the perfect patron saint for such proceedings). The common denominator to the four tracks is the room's short but pronounced reverberation. It doesn't sound like a huge chapel, but rather more like stones are nearby.
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Kurt Gottschalk 2009-11-17
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