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These are the shows that you wait for. These are the shows that validate all the unfocused, unpracticed and, most of all, uninspired free improvisation that we stew through during the year. In a genre where everyone's music statement is valid, the positive Orwellian twist is that some statements are more valid than others.
Setting aside for a moment the quality of the evening, what's important is the model that these three improvisational exemplars present. Evan Parker with eyes closed and head nodding during the segments when his tenor or soprano saxophone were inactive; Lytton hesitating for minutes at a time to find just the right moment to enter or the perfect cymbal scrape. These musicians actually listen and follow the flow of the music for more than just their own solo segments.
The trio came together somewhat at the last minute. A tour that originally was booked as the Evan Parker trio of yore, featuring Barry Guy on contrabass, needed a quick and willing replacement when Guy had to cancel his involvement due to a family illness. While we all bemoaned losing the rare opportunity to revel in Guy-ness, Parker's choice of replacement in Europe's answer to Cecil Taylor was more than enough to dispel disappointment. This was no haphazard choice. The trio of Parker, Schlippenbach and drummer Paul Lovens has been active since the early '70s (see recently reissued Pakistani Pomade on Atavistic). In fact, in trio and with the Globe Unity Orchestra, the pair has worked off and on for more than 35 years. The connection was there; it only remained to be seen where it would go.
A brisk Easter Sunday could have boded ominously for the attendance of the show. However, the scenesters had been talking this one up for weeks and the newly expanded and thankfully smoke-free Tonic (though Schlippenbach may have disagreed) was crowded and thick with the air of anticipation replacing the cigarette clouds.
New Yorkers had had the opportunity to see Parker two months prior in a solo soprano saxophone performance at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Paul Lytton was here late last year in a stirring trio with Paul Lovens and saxophonist Ken Vandermark. These two performances were drastically different and provided the opportunity to contrast Parker and Lytton's playing in a different scenarios. There were some segments of solo soprano but these were woven into the larger fabric (as Parker mentioned, it is very difficult to play with circular breathing loud enough to be heard in a group). Lytton, whose last appearance was effected with his hardware-store display rack of percussion and electronics stuck to the traditional kit and indulged in the loud freneticism his last show could not afford him.
Writing about free jazz is like describing battle. So much goes on, both considered and completely reactionary, that the description usually only confuses things. However, some larger observations should be made. Whenever possible, pay close attention to Evan Parker's tone on the tenor. There is a sultriness about it liberally mixed with a biting intellect. He comes across as sweet and unassuming in conversation yet spits a peculiar kind of fire when in instrumentis. It is precise without losing energy, chaotic without losing focus. His style and grasp of what it takes to be an improvising musician make it no wonder he has worked with and led some of the best in the business.
Schlippenbach, making only his third appearance in New York in more than ten years, is a marvel. He is the natural progression of the instrument. Nothing he does seems forced and his 88 tuned drums push other musicians as hard as Cecil Taylor might yet with a classical elegance that is subtle and integral. There were moments when the piano seemed like an exciting, newly instrument. His prepared piano segments (brass disks, plastic cups, tea strainers) were unsettling, one of the highest compliments that can be paid to a free musician. Many instrumentalists have been described as playing with intensity. You may think you have seen some of them, but wait until a comparison can be made to the musical tornado that swirls around Schlippenbach.
Paul Lytton, whose work requires careful study, loses a little of his personality on the kit. He can be a basher but he is deft enough to involve percussion without it seeming tacked on. For two sets, he was reserved when necessary, silent at times, and punctuating the flurries of Parker and Schlippenbach with a volatile mix of heavy rhythms and minimalist sound work. Given that he has not worked with Schlippenbach nearly as long as Parker has, he meshed well and even inspired the older pianist. Moments without Parker really gave him the chance to lock in.
The sets were quite long, running over an hour each. By the time the trio closed the show with the first track from Pakistani Pomade, the audience reeled as if in a prizefight. The sheer volume of information to process was too much. The moments of grandeur bashed into oblivion only to be rekindled. Witnesses necks were left sore from too much intellectual nodding. And this was only the first show of the tour.
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