No Spaghetti Edition

Sketches of a Fusion
SOFA 520

Norway’s ever-changing No Spaghetti Edition adds trans-oceanic, cross-cultural musical input on its fourth release with the small electronic instruments and turntables of Québécois Martin Tétreault.

Additionally, the pulsating, microtonal sound world generated by extended techniques from the band’s acoustic core – Norwegians percussionist Ingar Zach, bassist Tonny Kluften and Ivar Grydeland on banjo and guitar – is embellished still further by smeared, minimalist vibrations from French clarinetist and harmonica player Xavier Charles, on his second outing in the group, and another new recruit, local pianist Christian Wallumrød.

Established in the translucent, folk-inflected Scandinavian jazz and notated scenes, here Wallumrød concentrates on metronomic percussiveness, encompassing stopped and struck internal strings plus bulky pedal pressure. Coupled with the buzzing static, bell-pealing and bird-like cackles from Tétreault’s decks and Charles’ wheezing, watery reed squeaks, the core trio’s singular moves protrude sharply from within the blurry clouds of ever-spinning oscillations.

Each of the CD’s two long tracks is given its shape by Grydeland’s string scraping or claw-hammer picking, Kluften appearing to detune his bass as he strokes col legno lines and Zach’s hollow rim shots and drum-top maneuvering. As non-specific timbres that resemble a gas leak, metal objects grinding against one another, and a flapping fan belt hover over the unvarying, electronic drones, the second of two tracks, at 18 minutes – half the length of the first – appears more distinctive, since sonic inferences and, in Tétreault’s case, supplementary textures, are compressed. Free music yoking noise and improvisation, the North American and European overlap creates a notable if challenging fusion.

-- Ken Waxman

-- For CODA Issue 335

October 3, 2007

BRANDLMAYR/DAFELDECKER/NEMETH/SIEWERT

Die Instabilität der Symmetrie
GROB 547 & dOc 008

IVAR GRYDELAND/TONNY KLUFTEB/PAUL LOVENS
These Six
SOFA 512

One reason that improvisational music is so distinctive is that an almost identical instrumental line-up can result in completely different, yet valid sounds. So it is with these two CDs.

THOSE SIX is, no surprise, made up of six instant compositions performed by the six hands of two young Norwegians -- Ivar Grydeland on guitar and banjo and Tonny Kluften on bass -- plus veteran German drummer Paul Lovens. The result is firmly in the jazz/free improv continuum.

The other CD, whose title translates as “The Instability of Symmetry”, merely adds one musician -- Stefan Németh on synthesizer and computer -- to a trio with the same instruments as on THOSE SIX. But the music the four Austrians make -- the others are Martin Siewert on guitars and electronics, Werner Dafeldecker on bass and computer and percussionist Martin Brandlmayr -- is firmly in the microtonal, electro-acoustic realm. It’s so embedded in that scene, as a matter of fact, that some listeners may be heard pressed to believe most of the same instruments appear on both sessions.

An established partnership, Grydeland and Kluften are also part of the ever-changing local No Spaghetti Edition collective, which adds out-of-country guests, and both men have played in a trio with veteran British drummer Tony Oxley.

As important a free improv pioneer as Oxley, Lovens is another veteran whose numerous associations include the Globe Unity Orchestra and a trio with British saxophonist Evan Parker and German pianist Alex von Schlippenbach. But he never pulls rank and tries to overshadow the Norwegians here. If anything he’s self-effacing.

Only on the fourth track, for instance, does his playing move front-and-centre. But even here, while Grydeland scratches on the front of his strings and Kluften provides constant accompaniment, Lovens’ pointillistic splashes and manipulations are integrated into the whole picture. Overall, dabs of tick-tock rimshots and smears of dead centre beats combine to make his musical points.

Additionally, his cymbal scratches and what sounds like the gradually loosening of the nuts from metal rims fits hand-in-glove with the guitar’s quietly focused fills and the bassist’s spiccato tones. Fiddle approximations aren’t the only unique sound the Norwegians bring to the session, however. Grydeland is also a banjo player, though his approach is far removed from the styles of Pete Seeger, Earl Scruggs or any Dixielander.

Playing that instrument on the second track here, his chromatic plinks emphasize the banjo’s dissonant color field, often using its snapping strums in a rhythmic rather than a melodic fashion. Facing these sounds are bass work that ranges from emphasized arco slides to wood tapping, plus a constant cross stick rhythm from the. At times it also seems as if Lovens is rolling his sticks on the drum surface rather than hitting them.

On its own, the third and longest track moves into the realm of disparate silences, that actually it to the sounds on the other CD. Kluften’s walking bass line is the only constant presence, as Lovens appears to be wiping his drum tops with a cloth and producing a circular beat by tightening and loosening the tension rod on his snares and tom-toms. When he resonates unselected cymbals or sounds out a miniature tap dance on the drums’ rims and sides, Grydeland counters with flat-picking, the occasional outright pluck and slurred chording.

On DIE INSTABILITÄT DER SYMMETRIE, silences vie with undulating electronic-tinged drones, but that’s no surprise either. Other bands involving combinations of these musicians such as Efzeg and SSSD are firmly in the computer-amplified and assisted world. But while the acoustic properties of the instruments are on show, no signs of the beat-heavy pop projects in which Dafeldecker, Siewert and Brandlmayr sometime indulge are present.

“Part 4” is the closest pop approximation. Here Siewert’s shivering reverb opens up into a gentle melody that sounds as if it’s being played on an acoustic guitar. Behind him, rolling cymbal textures intercut with bass reverb and sine wave continuum create shifting background tones that soon shape themselves into a windstorm-like ostinato. This increases in volume until it almost reaches monsoon proportions. Finally, the electronics become more frantic as they swallow the andante guitar melody, with the ending featuring percussion suggestions cutting through buzzing oscillations.

Yawning, twisting cymbal textures are heard at the very end of “Part 5”, after a subtle metallic outburst from the hi-hat, ride and crash cymbals has been buried under cathedral organ-like droning crescendos. Németh’s synthesizer probably produces the sound source and its buzzing fits in with the echoing tones produced by the strings.

In contrast, “Part 3” is all quaking electronic tinged textures and rumbles from Brandlmayr’s kit, knit into an assembly line of passing tones. As the synth ejects unvarying locomotive pitches, accelerating guitar reverb rattles by, followed by the immense resonation of an electrically amplified drumbeat. By the end, however, all other sounds vanish within a static sonority that is just as abruptly cut off.

Oddly enough, the nearly 12-minute longest track, “Part 2” recorded a year previously without Dafeldecker, is just as Futuristically inclined. Beginning with a machine-like pulse, that is pierced by flat-out drum flams and a computer-generated clamor that could be unselected cymbals amplified to the nth degree. As the incessant, ululating static continues it’s occasionally interrupted by the sweep of Siewert’s fingers across his strings. This is followed by whizzing electronic friction that could result from a mistake in outlet attachment or used to make a point. Coda is a split-second drum roll and stick scuffing on a drum top.

Acoustic, electric, noise or silence -- take your pick. These instrumental configurations offer up versions of all of that. Each presentation is equally valid. However neither band quite reaches the state that could make you ignore the sound sources’ delivery method for the resulting improvisations.

-- Ken Waxman

Track Listing: These: 1. 08.48 2. 10.54 3. 14.31 4. 04.10 5. 08.29 6. 03.17

Personnel: These: Ivar Grydeland (guitar and banjo); Tonny Kluften (bass); Paul Lovens (selected and unselected drums and cymbals)

Track Listing: Die: 1. Part 1 2. Part 2 3. Part 3 4. Part 4 5. Part 5

Personnel: Die: Martin Siewert (guitar, lap steel and electronics); Werner Dafeldecker [except track 2]; (bass and computer); Martin Brandlmayr (drums and percussion); Stefan Németh (synthesizer and computer)

April 12, 2004

NO SPAGHETTI EDITION

Real time satellite data
SOFA 513

CHRIS BURN’S ENSEMBLE
Ensemble at Musica Genera 2002
Musica General MG 006

Overcoming the challenge of fomenting non-idiomatic improvisations in the gray area between composition and improvisation has been a preoccupation of inclusive European musicians for the past few decades. Making that concept work in the field between electronic and handmade sounds preoccupied them in the 1990s. In the 21st Century, as these two consummate CDs demonstrate, the most accomplished instrumentalists are able to wrap all these tendencies into a program that can be performed by larger bands -- six and eight musicians are featured in the sessions here.

Xenophobes may dispute it, but another reason these performances are so memorable is that the improvisers, whether British, Welsh, French, Greek, German and Norwegian -- to rhyme off the nationalities on both discs -- have really developed a Pan European sonic sound. This mastery of the notated, improvised and electro-acoustic means that an ensemble such as the Oslo-based No Spaghetti Edition can alter its composition each time out, adding new sound sources to plectrumist Ivar Grydeland, bassist Tonny Kluften and percussionist Ingar Zach who make up the core group. Similarly Chris Burn’s usually all British Ensemble is this time filled out by French clarinetist Xavier Charles and Greek cellist Nikos Veliotis. It’s a concept that could give anti-EU British Tories conniption fits.

As a matter of fact Veliotis’ harsh cello tones, combined with the scrapes and rasps inflicted on the copper and steel strings during Burn’s inside piano forays and by Welsh harpist Rhordi Davies on his instrument, provide the six pieces with a distinctive percussive plait. Adding to the mesh, is the characteristic understated reed tones of long-time Burn associate saxophonist John Butcher, extended still further by the textures arising from the synthesizer and electronics of Mathew Hutchinson, who is often found in a New music context when not improvising with Burn and Butcher.

Take “Rotacja”, built around droning, ostinato electronics interrupted by echoing reedy buzzes from both woodwinds and rasping string swells and koto-like scrapes from the string players. Using brief silences as time-outs, these periods of sound respite are usually brought to an end by the sudden full-force smash on piano keys or cello strings plus the vociferous warbling of shrill, aviary reed multiphonics.

Except for “Qpdbqp”, an almost 8½-minute Veliotis-composed example of one dense languidly moving single tone, ensemble or Burn-created pieces revolve around grating clawhammer picking or harsh flat picking from the strings, as well as ear-splitting squeals, pitch distortions and distended mouthpiece raspberries from the oral instruments.

Never letting the listener forget for a moment that the non-reeds can be heard as metal objects, the compositions seem to revel in harshness, with instruments appearing to be beaten with whatever blunt object is available to create more sound sources. As reed chirps meld with undulating electric-motivated buzzed synthesizer tones, you can also sometimes hear eccentric scraped lines that reconstruct themselves into resonating bottleneck-like tones.

Though you would think that guitarist and banjoist Grydeland would indulge in similar outlandish techniques, neither he, Kluften, Davies nor German inside-piano specialist Andrea Neumann are that up-front in their contributions to the Spaghetti octet CD. Instead, except for some distinctive below-the-bridge exploration from the guitarist, thumps from the bassist’s sticks and rubber band preparations and characteristic inside-piano string sweeps they stay in the background. In the foreground are tones produced by Charles -- who also introduces wavering harmonica timbres where appropriate -- fellow Frenchman Michel Doneda on soprano and sopranino saxophones and the trumpet and electronics of Germany’s Axel Dörner, who also often plays with Burn and Butcher.

A mixture of very short -- five of the 12 tracks are less than two minutes -- and very long -- two are respectively almost 21 and nearly 30½ minutes each -- REAL TIME SATELLITE DATA isn’t as satisfying as the other CD. Over the course of more than 72½ minutes some of the impressive dense harmonies are dissipated. Not that the improvisations are ever less than convincing however, but eliminating the shorter tracks may have been a better idea.

Consider the more than half-an-hour in which “Who is changing places” develops. Beginning almost inaudibly, the sound field first blossoms with unidentifiable scratches and saxophone tongue slaps, tiny hollow rolls from the percussionist and oscillations and buzzes from electronics. Following an ascending line of static, undulating mouth timbres constitute themselves into snarls and scratches that resemble the panting sounds a dog makes when he wants to get outside. As the underlying programmed tone expands from just below regular hearing to slightly louder, bass fiddle power plucks meet billowing chromatic trumpet growls, interspersed with minute glockenspiel thwacks. Defining leitmotif of this instant composition is the constant circular breathing tones from the horns, distributed in such a way that you can hear the individual nose and mouth breaths that soon start to resemble a hospital patient’s oxygen tube. Finally the infirmary-like stillness is shattered by the sidewalk drill rattling of cymbals and bells and a collection of airy blown noises and reverberating growls that could signal quitting time at a metal fabrication factory.

Just as impressive, though more morbid, is the almost 21-minute “In gasping death”, which depends on percussionist Zach’s versatility. It begins brutally enough with long, sibilant reed tones, brassy chromatic trumpet runs and the snap of drumsticks. Following guitar flat-picking, bass plucks and what in other circumstances could be a whirl drum sound, repeated gagaku-like court music from bells and metals are heard. Before the bells take on regular cathedral-like cadences, it appears as if small objects are being rolled on the floor and along it, as an assembly line of electronic rumbles comes to the fore. Abrasive drum scrapes, rubbed cymbals and kettledrum thwacks break up rolling drones from the reeds and dense sine wave movements. By the end, an assembly line of buzzes, crackles and cracks from the electronic impulses and scraping reed split tones are succeeded by polyphonic human-sounding shrieks that give way to an inside piano string sweep.

Although some of the shorter tracks evidently seem to centre more on resonating furniture-moving timbres than concise improvisational extensions, taken a few at a time, they can provide pleasure as well.

Pan-European and Post-Modern at the same time, and despite some personnel crossover, the octet and sextet here provide subtly distinct and equally legitimate examples of 21st Century creativity.

-- Ken Waxman

Track Listing: Ensemble: 1. Zaczac 2. Rotacja 3. Qpdbqp 4. Strach Na Wroble 5. Kontynuowac 6. Konczyc

Personnel: Ensemble: Xavier Charles (clarinet); John Butcher (soprano and tenor saxophones); Chris Burn (piano); Nikos Veliotis (cello); Rhordi Davies (harp); Mathew Hutchinson (synthesizer and electronics)

Track Listing: Real: 1. Soon, too soon 2. In gasping death 3. Micro warehouse 4. Micro luggage 5. Micro control journal 6. Mini systems 7. Macro photography 8. Macro investors 9. Super systems 10. Who is changing places 11. Super position 12. Super opposition

Personnel: Real: Axel Dörner (trumpet and electronics); Xavier Charles (clarinet and harmonica); Michel Doneda (soprano and sopranino saxophones); Andrea Neumann (inside piano); Ivar Grydeland (guitar and banjo); Rhordi Davies (harp); Tonny Kluften (bass); Ingar Zach (percussion )

February 16, 2004

HISS

Zahir
Rossbin RS 011

Yet another example of the Oslo-London concordant, CDs like this one prove -- as if there was any doubt -- that musicians from different countries cooperate a whole lot better than their political counterparts.

An outgrowth of the ever-shifting, large band No Spaghetti Edition, Hiss pares down the members of that larger group to four, who then proceed to run through five instant compositions in about 46 minutes. Recorded in London, the session makes up for this geographical imbalance by featuring three Norwegians and one Englishman. Each of the Norwegian players, though, is quite comfortable improvising in the low-key BritImprov style.

Percussionist Ingar Zach, for instance, has recorded with such first generation British improvisers as bassist Barry Guy and guitarist Derek Bailey. Bassist Tonny Kluften is part of British drummer Tony Oxley’s working trio as is guitarist Ivar Grydeland. Odd man out, British keyboardist Pat Thomas’ usual associates include Bailey, Oxley, drummer Roger Turner and the co-op group Lunge.

ZAHIR is no slavish BritImprov recreation however, but a novel variation on the theme, adapting electronic sounds to improv music. Many times throughout, the tunes highlight the enigmatic joy of true improv as the listener finds it impossible to match certain sounds to particular instruments.

Although all the tracks start off quietly and the music prefers to make its point at a whisper rather than at a scream, no one whimps out. There are enough passages of electric squeals, guitar feedback and pure industrial noise to remind you that improv aside, Scandinavian black metal is a close kin to British head banging.

Shimmering, high-pitched, mouse-like squeaks arise from the synthesizer at times, as do guitar pedal effects, feedback reverberations and the ascending noise of what sounds like a train going through tunnel, with percussion creating the level crossing interface. Zach also seems able to create enough hullabaloo to replicate how a shop full of exploding, hammered metals would reverberate -- and how walls would be rendered by that explosion.

Meanwhile, static moving from one electric instrument to another, freeform drones, ascending buzzes and whirls -- plus mixing board squeals -- add to the general discord. Mingled among all this is what appears to be keyboard glissandos and forearm pressure on many keys simultaneously; whacks on hollow logs and on what could be either a dumbek or darbuka; plus melodica and car horn tones and sampled voices isolated on recording tapes run forwards and backwards.

The CD reaches a crescendo of sorts on the penultimate track where the scratch of metal appears to arise from unselected cymbals rolling across the floor and cowbells hit with great force. Twisting tones of sprawling electronic currents meet video game echoes and spinning top sounds, while tinny accordion-like timbres vie for upfront ear space with squeaking, whirring tones, chain rattling, swift ruffs and flams and industrial noises that could actually be furniture being dragged across the studio.

Finally, the entire glorious cacophony comes to a head on the almost 14-minute “Khayal”. Here the menagerie of effects multiples with the apparent emergence of running water sounds among guitar chord twists, scraping metal, wood abrasions, bubbling cauldron intimations and what could be the peeps of grouse and definite porcine oinks. Wire brushes hitting glass test tubes, resounding drum rolls, all but ear-splitting electric guitar drones and the whooshes of a synthesizer’s output are knitted together as a coda -- concluding with a single bell stroke.

Whether musicians from two other countries could have created a similar aural whole is open to question; as is whether you’re prepared to sit through this CD. Your appreciation will likely depend on how well you can appreciate manipulation of sound sources as well as those from conventional instruments.

But certainly for the brave of heart -- and ear -- the verb that may describe this Norwegian-British quartet’s output is closer to cheer than hiss.

-- Ken Waxman

Track Listing: 1. Wazifah 2. Qalb 3. Batin 4. Zahir 5. Khayal

Personnel: Pat Thomas (keyboards and electronics); Ivar Grydeland (guitar); Tonny Kluften (bass); Ingar Zach (percussion)

August 18, 2003

NO SPAGHETTI EDITION

Pasta Variations
SOFA 509

JOHN BUTCHER/PHIL MINTON
Apples of Gomorrah
GROB 429

The glue -- or maybe it’s the spittle -- that holds these two sessions together is the oral work of British performer Phil Minton. One hesitates to call him a singer since his vocal tones seem to range from improvising instrumental emulation to aural recapitulation of all the intonation related to the Seven Ages of Man. And all that is mixed with cartoon character voices, operatic snatches and animal calls.

While individually cogent, each CD is distinct. On PASTA VARIATIONS, Minton mixes it up with the one British -- Pat Thomas on keyboards and electronics -- and five Norwegian members of No Spaghetti Edition, the improv group with a constantly shifting line-up. APPLES OF GOMORRAH, on the other hand, is a duo session, with a longtime associate, soprano and tenor saxophonist John Butcher. Each disc is impressive in its own way.

Constantly experimenting, Minton was involved with Bob Ostertag’s electronic piece, SAY NO MORE, as long ago as 1983, so facing Thomas’ instrumental advances, plus oddball instruments like Håkon Kornstad’s fluteonet and Frode Haltli’s accordion causes no terror. Or if it does his vocal forays don’t sound any different than when he’s improvising with more conventional instruments. The key thing here is that he adapts to his new partners and they to him.

For instance, on the more than 14 minute “PVD”, Thomas’ mellotron-like sound mixes with elongated “ahs” and “oohs” from Minton and fluteonet whistles from Kornstad, who also leads his own modern mainstream trio. Matching guttural mumbles and sighs that could emanate as easily from an inmate of Bedlam as a cartoon pirate are the woodblock and cymbal caresses from drummer Ingar Zach, who has duetted with British guitarist Derek Bailey among others. Thus, Minton turns into a rhythm singer. But, trouble is, as the accordion vamps and tenor saxophone tones speed up, so must Minton and soon he’s almost yodeling in triple time. Bassist Tonny Kluften, who with guitarist Ivar Grydeland has recorded with British drummer Tony Oxley, holds onto the rhythm, allowing the vocalist to exhibit what could be a wordless counter tenor madrigal interacting with bird-like saxophone trills and buzzing electronic static. Soon, as on some other tracks, Minton’s yowling is almost buried beneath accordion tremolos and fulsome guitar licks.

Earlier, the saxophonist has added some tongue slaps and key pops to his improvisations to match Minton clamor to clamor, while Haltli, whose experience encompasses Norwegian folk and classical music, turns his expressiveness into a key pressing frenzy. As for Thomas, his sudden electronic explosions and car crash stops find modernistic keyboard runs turning to repeated, rubato fingering. At times, his piano sounds almost boppish when meeting Minton’s quacking duck sounds head on.

“PVE”, the disc’s 17½-minute tour de force, finds all hands on deck and heading in different directions. Mechanical clicks flow out of Thomas’ machines, Kornstad circular breathes out some split-tone shrills, Kluften plucks his bass loudly, and Zach alternates his accents from hi hat to bass drum pedal. Meanwhile Minton’s liturgical-style chanting soon turns to frenzied, high-pitched, near screams and Haltli uses tremolos to coat the process in an harmonic batter, while only a single percussion tone can be heard.

The saxophonist soon begins flutter tonguing, the percussionist worries the rims and sides of his drums and Grydeland scratches out tiny patterns on his strings. Finally, the squeezebox’s bent notes reconfigure themselves into a folkish melody amplified by the slurp of electronics and whistling reeds. Swelling to a crescendo the release is a coda of deflating electronic sounds and Alzheimer-like mumbling from Minton.

Nearly three years earlier, Minton and Butcher, who had been associated since earlier in the decade, and who toured in a quartet filled out by pianist Veryan Weston and percussionist Roger Turner, went into a London studio and turned out 17 tunes in less than 44½ minutes. Intentionally or not, the sacramental suggestions of the other disc are resurrected here with Minton’s vocal contortions alluding to Ashkenazi davening, the muezzin’s calls to prayer and Georgian chants.

Considering that many more of the sounds take place more in his lips and mouth than vocal chords, some references may be more obtuse than others. Also noteworthy as the CD evolves, is how the sounds and tones of the improvising voice and improvising horns begin to resemble one another. On “Common cleavers”, for instance, Minton’s speedy glossolalia is virtually indistinguishable from Butcher’s soprano reed biting, with the later’s whiplash notes seemingly driving the vocalist to aural orgasm. “Wormleaf”, however, finds Minton puffing out basso notes of pure air, while it sounds like Butcher is inflating a balloon with his reed. Soon as the voice bounces from high to low tones, interspersed with growls, the sax delivery becomes all lips and tongue and spit.

Sometimes, as when Minton appears to be retching or producing what in other circumstances would be an infant’s cries or the sound of an indisposed feline, his delivery can be a little hard to take. But that’s why Butcher is onboard. Since the ear will accept extended instrumental techniques more readily than speaking in tongues, the listener can accept his atonality more readily than Minton’s Grand Guignol-like sounds. At those times the sacramental sounds reassert themselves as well. All you have to do is remind yourself that qualification for Christian sainthood in early days usually involved some sort of gruesome torture and death. Think of Minton’s creations as the soundtrack of those endeavors.

At the same time, if you can pull away from the vocal sounds -- easier for some than others -- you can note that Butcher can twist key pops and squeaks into a melody and extend multiphonics to such an extent that he can sound the overtones of two or three notes while pressing only one key. Like an experienced soul singer such as Wilson Pickett, who can produce several notes from one falsetto cry, Minton’s ghostly screams are capable of the same methodology. During “Itchgrass”, an oratorio of low-grade crying, he goes so deep into his chest and throat that the echoing vocal overtones make perfect counterpoint to Butcher’s honks, hums and tongue slaps.

If your idea of singers’ improvising is hearing someone scat in the middle of “Route 66” or draw out the syllables on “My Funny Valentine” then run away from these discs. But if you want to hear how a voice can range between operatic soaring and loony- bin mumbles while holding its own with top instrumentalists, then seek them out. Even if you’ve never experienced Minton’s bastard art before, you may surprise yourself by becoming an enthusiast.

-- Ken Waxman

Track Listing: 1. PVA 2. PVB 3. PVC 4. PVD 5. PVE

Personnel: Håkon Kornstad (tenor saxophone, fluteonet); Frode Haltli (accordion); Pat Thomas (keyboards, electronics); Ivar Grydeland (guitar); Tonny Kluften (bass); Ingar Zach (percussion); Phil Minton (voice)

Track Listing: 1. Dead men’s Bells 2. Common Cleavers 3. Sprangletop 4. Joyweed 5.

Caper Spurge 6. Wormleaf 7. Itchgrass 8. Sticky Willie 9. Nodding thistle 10. Fairy Cheeses 11. Herb Twopence 12. Sauce Alone 13. Nodding spurge 14. Cuckoo’s Stockings 15. Bachelor’s Buttons 16. Beggar’s Lice 17. Loosestrife

Personnel: John Butcher (tenor and soprano saxophone); Phil Minton (voice)

February 3, 2003