Minton/Van Hove/Mattos/Blume

Axon
FMR

Activity Centre/Phil Minton
Activity Centre & Phil Minton
Absinth Records

Toot
One
SOFA

By Ken Waxman
December 5, 2005

He may not be as popular among pop-jazz fans as Jamie Cullum, Harry Connick or Kurt Elling, but no other male vocalist has recorded more experimental improv work over the past quarter century, then London’s Phil Minton, who turned 65 earlier this month.

At his age you’d expect the British vocalist to be a crooner in Chet Baker-Frank Sinatra mould or a rocker like his near contemporaries Mick Jagger or Rod Stewart. Instead the Torquay-born Minton, who like Baker started as a trumpet player, found his voice in Dadesque expostulations with fellow vocalists like Maggie Nicols and Julie Tippetts as well as agitprop in left-wing bandleader Mike Westbrook’s larger projects.

While maintaining his strong ties with other improvisers in the United Kingdom – pianist Veryan Weston and saxophonist John Butcher are long-time partners – he’s now as likely to be collaborating with North Americans or Continentals as Britons.

On three of his newest CDs – there are more, read the Lucas Niggli Zoom Ensemble review last week (Link here Scott?) – by chance or design Minton collaborates with German players each time out. One showcases Toot, a touring group encompassing Minton, experimental trumpet stylist Axel Dörner and quick-fingered Thomas Lehn on analogue synthesizer; Activity Centre adds Minton’s vocal projections to the established Berlin duo of guitarist Michael Renkel, who was in the Phosphor band with Dörner, and percussionist Burkhard Beins, who often plays with other Brits like harpist Rhodri Davies and guitarist John Bisset.

In many ways an all-star session, Axon matches Minton with Antwerp (Belgium)’s Fred van Hove on piano and accordion, whose free music credentials go back to 1960s’ bands with saxophonist Peter Brötzmann; and London-based cellist Marcio Mattos, another veteran free player who has backed up musicians ranging from saxophonist Elton Dean to drummer Tony Oxley . The Teutonic inflections here come from Bochum-based drummer Martin Blume, another veteran Free musician, who is in the Lines band with both Mattos and Dörner.

Concretely, one reason Minton has never been as popular as the pop-jazz crooners or even vocalese experts like Jon Hendricks is because 90 per cent of the time he ejaculations sounds rather than sings words – although those CDs where he does sing conventionally reveal a pleasant, folksy baritone. In his chosen situations he also needs stalwart partners – for the racket that arises from his mouth is so arresting that it continually take centre stage. The veterans on Axon easily hold their own and produce the most notable session of the three, although the more minimal approach of the other two bands results in many fine moments as well.

Oddly enough, Minton begins Activity Centre by clearly stating “too risky”. Considering his vocal gymnastics, the only activity that might be riskier would be to produce an utterance while sword swallowing. Nothing like that is in evidence, although if the Activity Centre was a circus, Minton would very much be in the ring master.

Only rarely does Renkel resort to blunt frailing from his guitar; mostly he seems content to strum almost tonelessly and definitely acoustically, occasionally also adding haphazard plucks and plinks from his zither. For his part, Beins, listed as playing selected objects as well as percussion and zither – Renkel adds percussion as well – introduces timbres that range from stentorian to near silence. He claps his cymbals, resonates tam tams and scratches, slaps, shakes and ratchets the rest of the kit producing tones that sound like dominos being scuffled across the studio floor. Expanding the percussion tones so that they occasionally resembles random Morse Code tapping, elsewhere he bolsters Minton’s vocalization and on the odd occasion replicates crickets chirping or carnivorous animals gnawing. Additionally, on “Hi! Friction”, some instrumental combination brings forth harmonium-like textures that cushion Minton’s whistle and gargles.

These are the least of the throat-clearing noises expended by the soundsinger. Throughout the CD’s six tracks he grumbles and mumbles, gargles and blows raspberries, and variously captures what you figure are budgie twitters as well as the noise of a bear snoring during hibernation.

With a different duo on One, Minton’s mouth repertoire inflates to bring in other animalistic and human-like timbres, since Lehn’s synthesized oscillations and Dörner’s buzzing growls add similar textures from either side. The two stand-out tracks are the first and the last.

“Ma?” the almost-13-minute finale, finds the singer harmonizing with hissing static interference and gong-like vibrations from the synthesizer player plus mechanized buzzes and muted glissandi from the trumpeter. Most notable is a new persona verbalized by Minton, with which its nasal accents, garbled malapropisms and attempts at oddball pronunciation sounds like those ancient comedy sketches of Sid Caesar when the funnyman would doubletalk gibberish in such a way as to imitate the cadences but not the sense of a foreign language.

Created with more gravitas, “AR?” is a slightly more than 31¼-minute magnum opus from a concert in Strasbourg, France that exposes the multitudes of shades the three can color. Beginning with the trumpeter hollowly blowing unsullied air through his lead pipe and developing with Minton’s nearly patented retches, growls and shrills, Lehn then blends in splattering sine waves and shattering pulses. Finally the exposition explodes with spits and lips suction from Dörner, animated reverb from the synthesizer and strangled cries, moans ands whines from Minton.

As the mouth-man broadens his characteristic yawning impulses, brass tongue- flapping vies for aural space with what could be scat singing parodies. Whirling motor stimulus from Lehn and watery blowing from the trumpeter dissolve into an extended flat-lined silence. Heading for a crescendo, Lehn’s machine’s hisses get speedier and Minton’s intonation mutates from nose sneezes and throat pops to what seems to the racket that would be captured if Donald Duck took an anger-management course. All the while Dörner’s half-valve efforts serve as a droning continuum.

Cresting alongside synthesizer oscillations that sound mid-way between a calliope tone and balloon scrapes, Minton fades into approximating both a mewling infant and a crotchety crone. Accelerating into a final variation on the theme, Lehn contributes mechanized wiggles, the trumpeter offers flatulent slurs, and Minton bel canto cries. Gibbering and mumbling like a Bedlam inmate, the vocalizations are nearly buried underneath a crescendo of pedal-point drones from the trumpeter.

Taking his turn among other Free Music old hands on Axon, Minton turns –

for him – reticent, functioning as another band instrument rather than as an upfront soloist as he does on Activity Centre or One. With Van Hove and Mattos wielding chordal instruments played chordally – unlike Renkel’s and Beins’ stratagems –

the soundsinger appears more able to adapt his verbalizations to the others’ creations.

On display are some of Minton’s unique tone expressions, as on “Audiology”, where he bawls out expressions that resemble equally the croak of an archaic blues man, the suppleness of a demented yodeler, and the rant of a sniveling street person. In contrast to these hocketing phrase vibrations, Blume carefully paces his rhythms, Mattos contributes sul ponticello echoes, and Van Hove floats a languid nocturne of piano accents.

Looney Tunes duck quacks plus presto scatting and mumbling dribble from Minton’s lips on “Song for Creatures”, but idiosyncrasy is subdued when they’re mixed among the polyphonic textures the others provide. Rattles, ratchets and slaps come from the percussionist, sweeping jettes and portamento sashays from Mattos and cracked dynamic tonal clusters from the pianist. In fact, at one point, the vocalist seems to be blowing a mouth trumpet to create some individual space for himself.

Midway through, Van Hove reaches inside to the key bed as he and the cellist explore string resonation, the later plucking, and the former fanning. In response Blume approximates the striking of a taiko drum, accompanying the hand concussions with clinks and clicks from unselected cymbals, hi-hat and gongs. The finale features knitting needle-like clanking from the percussionist, sul tasto asides from the cellist and, as a coda, after a compendium of moans from Minton, his voice subsides into post-coital panting.

On the first track, any random vocalizing Minton exhibits elsewhere is more deeply focused as his simulated psychotic ravings polyphonically mate with cello glissandi, piano patterning and gong-like cymbal crashes. Minton’s aviary caws, twitters and whistles arise after Van Hove’s impressionistic harmonies propel the soundsinger from strangled burps to clearer-sounding lyrical tones. At the three-quarter mark, the pianist’s low frequency etudes create their own logical counter melody, showcasing contrasting dynamics, foot-pedal pressures and sudden shifts into duple meter. As Blume cascades clip-clopping wooden blocks and Mattos flings harmonies into the mix, madman-like syllable exhibition – another Minton specialty – disrupts the controlled accompaniment.

The track itself is titled “Constant Comments”, which could also define what the British verbalizer brings to these three CDs. Each is a valuable illustration of his inimitability. Yet it’s the contributions from others on Axon which displays his talents in their most immaculate setting.

December 5, 2005

Chris Abelen

Space
BVHaast

Lucas Niggli Zoom Ensemble
Sweat
Intakt

By Ken Waxman
November 28, 2005

Be careful when you count the number of musicians on these sessions. For while Space may seem to be by a 10-piece band and Sweat by a 12-piece one, each disc actually features an established improv combo expanded with the members of a contemporary chamber ensemble plus one additional idiosyncratic soloist.

As a consequence of these expansions, the composer/ band leader of each disc – Dutch trombonist Chris Abelen on Space and Swiss percussionist Lucas Niggli on Sweat – have a fuller palate of textures, colors, pitches and rhythms available. Both CDs are memorable, although Sweat has a slight edge. The cause may be that it’s a studio session, whereas Space was recorded live. Or it may be that Ensemble Neue Musik Zürich (ENMZ) is a closer fit with the drummer’s Zoom Ensemble plus British soundsinger Phil Minton, then the Zapp! String Quartet is with the trombonist’s quintet and special guest, clarinetist Ab Baars.

More crucially, with only six compositions to interpret – one of which is 18¼-minutes long – the Niggli-lead group has enough scope to stretch, in contrast to the Abelen crew, whose improvisations are wedged into 13 tracks that are mostly three to five minutes in length. Additionally, the execution of many of the compositions on Space resembles that of certain comedy sketches on Saturday Night Live: They start off well, but skimp on a finish.

Consider, for instance, “Clean”, “AB” and the title track on Space. Despite the second tune having his initials, Baars’ a cappella squeals aren’t dominant enough to escape the delicate ascending harmonies from the Zapp four – violinists Jasper le Clerq and Friedmar Hitzer, violist Oene van Geel and cellist Emile Visser. Percussionist Charles Huffstadt contributes concussive metallic pulses, but the end result is strangely inconclusive.

Similarly, the string quartet modulates circling spiccato pitches, while the rhythm section of guitarist Corrie van Binsbergen, bassist Wilbert de Joode and the drummer proffer a pulsating line, on “Clean”. Yet, just when this combination seems poised to make a definite statement, the selection ends.

As for “Space” the composition, harmonic congruence from the strings, and pinpointed licks from van Binsbergen take up whatever room is left over from de Joode’s thick-toned interface. Then Tobias Delius contributes emotional tenor saxophone slurs that are then answered by plunger work from Abelen. However despite the double-stopping and steady beat, the climax is again inconclusive.

Other pieces show more development. “Coda”, which oddly enough is the CD’s second-to-last track, finds Abelen constructing a Gil Evans-like backing for his chromatic explorations. The Tilburg-born brassman, who apprenticed in the larger groups of Willem Breuker, J.C. Tans and Eric van der Westen, displays his command of shifting textures to fame the band members here.

As his trombone sounds grace notes in higher ranges, the strings gradually ascend in octaves to accompany him. Although at one point he departs from his usual legato tone to indulge in prolonged double tonguing, overall his expositions never go beyond the bounds of good taste – sort of like a modern-day Eddie Bert or Frank Rosolino.

Happily, he’s able to get the ZAPP string quartet to swing on “Orange”, but considering all have backgrounds as improvisers, this is less of a struggle than it would have been for arrangers Evans or George Russell in the 1950 and 1960s. That tune, a pseudo-march, is driven by a military-like fanfare from Huffstadt’s snare and a thumping pulse from de Joode. Clarinet trills and vibrating cross lines from the guitar soar on top.

Both strings and guitar are featured on “GO”, where pizzicato settings are interrupted by low-pitched reverb from van Binsbergen, whose variations on the theme presage a horn-heavy countermelody. Built on a series of sonorous pitches “My Tie” gives Delius a chance to use smears squeals and tongue stops as tart rejoinders to the strings’ swelling harmonies. His irregular vibrations poke holes in the quartet’s lyricism, preventing the tune from becoming saccharine – and he concludes with a horse whinny.

Finally, “On the Beach” allows Baars and Delius – both on clarinet – to weave polyphonic tones that meander, jump, circle and occasionally meld for double counterpoint, balancing above alternating pizzicato and arco string tremolos.

As the title suggests, it may have necessitated more perspiration, but the two ensembles hang together more on Sweat then the two mixed groups on Abelen’s CD. Even if Minton’s theatrical retches, hiccups and groans are an acquired taste, together Zoom and the New music sextet sound more comfortable than the trombonist’s crew.

That’s because the drummer, in an Ellington-like fashion, tailors his compositions to the individuals within the group. Slick trombonist Nils Wogram and guitarist Philipp Schaufelberger – in his less rock-oriented moments – have shown their adaptability on earlier Zoom releases, as has new member Claudio Puntin, a clarinetist on a technical level with Baars. ENMZ’s tubaist Leo Bachmann is versatile enough to have released his own solo improv disc, with the other members – violinist Urs Bumbbacher, cellist Stefan Tuth, pianist Viktor Müller, flautist Hans Peter Frehner plus Lorenz Haas on vibraphone and percussion – similarly adaptable and seemingly unaffected by snobbism that often infects so-called serious musicians.

“Run and Rush” and “Fever” provide example of Niggli’s architecturally complete compositions. They’re also ones that contrast markedly with those of Abelen’s which lack resolution.

On the first piece, for instance, a near-impressionistic interlude of strings and flute follows measured guitar runs. These undulating string arpeggios are interrupted by a guitar vamp, which joined by piano and vibes, develops into a swing riff balanced on Bachman’s snorting patterns. As Wogram’s chromatic solo unrolls on top of skittering drums and walking tuba lines, Minton interjects dog barks and other odd noises. Midway through is a contrapuntal interlude, featuring a twittering flute and the clarinet playing Spanish-tinged scales, with the rhythm section, beefed up with pizzicato-playing Tuth. Echoing resonations from Haas’s vibes set up the concluding variation that features a pounding rock-like drum beat, distortions and surf runs from Schaufelberger, choked blats from the boneman and the vocalist perhaps unintentionally parodying a Heavy Metal singer’s unintelligible yowls.

“Fever” – not Peggy Lee’s hit – provides even more scope for Minton’s vocal ventriloquism following an instrumental exposition made up in equal part of rubato trombone lows, menacing, low-frequency piano chording, pastoral fluting and sul tasto strings. Displaying three of his many voices, Minton successively intones like a growling bass-baritone, as if he was a bel canto counter-tenor, and with strangled Donald Duck-like spittle. Soon he’s intoning in triple counterpoint with himself, as first stretched sul ponticello strings – deliberately dissonant – enter, followed by splayed guitar licks, rattling thumps from Niggli and pedal point bluster from Bachmann. Unexpectedly the composition shifts gears as perfectly formed guitar finger-picking from Schaufelberger, cross patterning dynamics from Müller and fowl-like quacks from Puntin’s clarinet loosen up and distort the sounds. Encompassing zart string-directed chamber harmonies, the last section reaches a conclusive crescendo.

In many ways, the other compositions serve as a series of postludes to “No Nation”, the 18¼-minute anthemic suite which opens the CD. Beginning with a compendium of pulses, sine waves and percussion accents, the initial moderato theme appears after a couple of minutes. First expressed with a hearty neo-bop, double-tongued solo from Wogram, the line expands with sonorous timbres from Bachmann and tick-tocking bounces and ruffs from Niggli. Eventually it opens up for a crooning vocal from Minton, the Perry Como of the avant garde.

Tension and release, impressionistic and improv lines define the composition from then on as plunger cries from the trombone, hard rock flams from the drummer and floating guitar runs contrast with the simple, sweet Cabaletta-like air that emanates from the ENMZ. Bachmann’s reverberations provide the continuo, matched by clanking cymbals and rim shots. As the tune’s shape alters, Puntin’s feathery double-tongued clarinet line appears to be injecting fralicher phraseology into the mix. With tuba tones, and clattering percussion swaggering in harmonic counterpoint finally superseded by throat gurgles, Bronx cheers and pseudo-scatting from Minton, the composition concludes with frailing hyper-kinetic cadences from Schaufelberger and a broad clarinet glissando, recapping the theme to end on a frantic note.

Examples of musical cross-fertilization from different genres and largish aggregations, both CDs offer intriguing compositional possibilities, although Sweat has more of a positive resolution.

November 28, 2005

Maja Ratkje/Jaap Blonk

Improvisors Majaap
Kontrans

Blonk/Makigamu/Dutton/Minton/Moss
Five Men Singing
Victo

By Ken Waxman

October 11, 2004

Tonsils, the larynx, the epiglottis, Kurt Schwitters’ Dadaist poetry, Donald Duck’s verbal anger and the mouth improv of comedian Jonathon Winters are some of the many sounds referenced on these CDs, which celebrate and showcase nature’s original avant-garde instrument: the human voice.

Five Men Singing is more-or-less just that. A live performance by American David Moss, Canadian Paul Dutton, Japan’s Koichi Makigami, England’s Phil Minton and Jaap Blonk of the Netherlands, it exposes every note, tone, timbre and texture that can be vibrated by the uvula, dredged from the throat and buzzed from the cheeks and lips. Improvisors Majaap adds an undercurrent of gender politics as Blonk faces off with Norwegian composer/vocalist Maja Ratkje.

Ratkje’s pedigree alone confirms the seriousness as well as the silliness heard on these discs. Someone whose works have been performed in films, by the Oslo Sinfonietta and bands like Jazzkammer and POING, she is as committed to these verbal improvisations as much as her notated and electronic scores. Twenty years her senior, Blonk is a self-taught composer and sound poet, whose powerful and flexible voice has led to collaborations as different as those with the Netherlands Wind Ensemble and Swedish improv saxist Mats Gustafsson.

During the 18 tracks that make up this CD, the pitches the two produce range from giggles, gargles and gurgles to burps, bumps and bellows. When Blonk doesn’t sound like Donald Duck embroiled in a particularly heated argument with Daisy, his sibilant quacks are superseded by tongue smacks, cheek thumps and Bronx cheers. In contrast to his strangled growls and basso, almost Tuvan tones, Ratkje’s output is more nimble, as if the Wicked Witch of the West was dialoguing with a recalcitrant ogre. Warbles and cackles are part of her stock-in-trade, with her vocal chords moving from feline howls and screeches to high-pitched nonsense dialogue that could come from a tiny child or a pixie. She can speedily scream like a cockatoo or peep like a chickadee. Usually, though, these bestial noises bring out the barking from Blonk’s inner pooch.

Sometimes, intentionally or not, the verbal intercourse seems almost sexual, as understated titters on her part join with racked throat pressure from Blonk. As they ejaculate quicker and quicker timbres in higher (Ratkje) and lower (Blonk) pitches, his final silence and breathing suggests post-orgasmic bliss, as does her happy nattering subsiding into silence.

Other times Ratkje’s and Blonk’s interaction can be compared to a particularly obtuse language instruction tape with the student and teacher both heard clearly, or European train station dialogue, though the words you strain to make out are Professor Irwin Cory-like classic doubletalk.

Multiply the doubletalk by two-and-one-half when Blonk concertizes with the other male soundsingers. Together the five put the babble in syllable. This could be a field recording of vocal improvisation from an exceptionally inventive and voluble tribe.

An old hand at all this, Minton started off as a trumpeter and vocalist with Mike Westbrook’s Orchestra in the mid-1960s. Since then, sans trumpet, his associations have included Europeans like British pianist Veryan Weston and Dutch bassist Luc Ex and Americans like drummer Gerry Hemingway. A reformed rock musician and vocalist/cornet player with the band HIKASHU, Makigami organized John Zorn’s game piece COBRA in Tokyo, and solo, recorded re-worked old Japanese pop songs.

Initially a percussionist, Moss has concentrated on what he calls “extreme vocals” since moving to Berlin in 1991. A performer in contemporary operas, he has worked with, among many others German composer Heiner Goebbels and American vocalist Shelley Hirsch. A writer as well as a sound poet, Toronto’s Dutton is also part of CCMC with Plunderphonics creator/saxist John Oswald and artist/pianist Michael Snow.

What all this means is that more influences such as the noisemaking of European Punch-and-Judy shows, extended New music techniques, the grunts and yells of Noh theatre, doo wop vocal group harmonies and the vaudevillian virtuosity of self-created sound makers are added to the mouth expansions showcased here.

“Ten Tones High”, for instance, could be what would happen if someone spiked the coffee of the Sons of the Pioneers as they were harmonizing around the campfire. Between the ululation you can almost hear the lowing of cattle, neighing of horses and wolves and dogs howling at the moon. Eventually bird warbles and spit rhythms hover over tongue slaps and Bronx cheers then explode into verbal gibberish that could come from a tape recorder running backwards.

Then there’s “Tough and Rumble”, which sounds like walk-in day at the Snoring clinic. Not only can you hear the timber-sawing heavy tones of epiglottis clearing, but it also seems as if a few of the patients are suffering aural nightmares. There are screeches, basso rumble wah-wah plunger tones, even whip-like “heys” and smothered yells. Between the seafarers’ signs and alter kocker’s oys, it’s as if the Ancient Mariner is jockeying for a seat in a New York Lower East Side delicatessen.

Other pieces show off vocal retching, gurgles and chugging adenoidal rhythmic blasts and breaths. Among the polyphonic vocal lines that reoccur are gaping earthquake crevice sounds, combinations of roars and snorts, airy breaths, whispered interjections, frantic screams, stentorian mumbling and cartoon character-like hiccuped, nasal passages.

Constipated cries vie for space with the satisfied tones that result from successful Pepto Bismal treatment. Bel canto operatic sounds appear at the same time as strangled, hysterical, Bedlam noises. If one fellow figures out how to play mouth trumpet or to expand cheek slaps to percussion, another performs a mouth and tongue tap dance or appears to have created a jew’s harp out of the oropharynx.

Dog panting is heard along with what could be small children burbling and screeching. Someone yodels as if he’s at the summit of a Swiss mountain, while another shrieks as if he’s trapped at the top of a top building. Lips are kissed, smacked and manipulated, while tongues smack and click-clack. And at points everyone combines for some snatches of vocal group harmony.

Real words that range from what sounds like “Seig Heil” to “200 years from ...” appear during the more than nine minute “Haiku Sonic” and it’s even possible that a deep throated “God Save the Queen” melody is breathed. Vibrated syllables and rude, raspberry-like noises are there in addition to what sound like saxophone reed wails. Dog barks, rooster crows, gargoyle snarls and just out of earshot dialogue that could come from cartoon character Smurfs appear. As the different voices attach and separate from one another the piece climaxes and melts into doubletalk.

It may be the oldest instrument known to humanity, but these Europeans, Asians and North Americans prove there’s still much that can be created with the human voice.

October 11, 2004

4WALLS

Which Side Are You On?
Red Note 11

POIRE Z + PHIL MINTON
q
For4Ears CD 1551

Of all the weird and wonderful vocalists -- note not singers -- associated with Free Music, Britain’s Phil Minton, 64, probably has the most legitimacy, not to mention longevity.

Someone who started off as a trumpeter and vocalist with Mike Westbrook’s Orchestra in the mid-1960s, he’s long since abandoned the horn, along with most conventional songs. His usual output is a cornucopia of yowls, grunts, shrills, retches and gargles. Meanwhile his associations have expanded from the cream of BritImprov, including drummer Roger Turner, reedist John Butcher and -- regularly since 1987 -- pianist Veryan Weston, to interested players from the Continent, North America and Japan.

WHICH SIDE ARE YOU ON? and the enigmatically titled Q are equally memorable because they show two little exposed sides of Minton’s art. The former, recorded by the co-op band 4Walls -- Minton, Weston, Dutch bassist Luc Ex and American drummer Michael Vatcher -- is a extraordinary disc where the vocalist actually sings words -- and it includes a lyrics sheet so you can follow them.

As should be obvious from the title, this is a rare piece of agit-prop from the FreeImprov world, dedicated to, and featuring on four out of the 11 tracks, musical settings of the words of the late Paul Haines. As a salute to the poet who lived near Toronto and is described by Minton as one of “the secret carnival workers” it works spectacularly well.

Single letter Q is a different matter. Recorded at a French festival, Minton’s vocal onomatopoeia is added to the cascading computer and machine manipulation of the Poire_Z quartet. Consisting of long-time electronic explorers, Günter Müller on ipod, minidisks, selected percussion and electronics and Norbert Möslang and Andy Guhl on cracked everyday-electronics -- all Swiss-based -- and Frenchman ErikM on 3k_pad.system, the band textures so overwhelm Minton’s contributions that he’s usually buried beneath the hardware and software.

Starting with the superior product, 4Walls adds music to an astonishing collection of lyrics. They range from the near-Dadaistic lyrics of Haines and Brit Lou Ganfield to the serious poetics of the late Vietnamese leader Ho Chi Mihn, plus songs by Jacques Brel, Robert Schumann -- in German [!] -- and the American folksong that gives the CD its title.

Perhaps it’s a nationalist tendency, but to be honest, Minton sounds most comfortable singing Ganfield’s “The skunk hath farted” [sic] and “Class Struggle”. Both feature a musical hall lilt, with Weston chiming in on the choruses, making the two appear like a couple of George Formby Sr. clones. The later is taken at a breakneck speed, while the former -- actually an anti-Ku Klux Klan mockery -- includes an outright swing section from the pianist, a walking bass line and balanced flams and bounces from the drummer.

Often sounding as if their incongruous imagery comes from an unholy collaboration between Ogden Nash and Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Haines’ four pieces can also be performed in vaudevillian fashion. His bizarre wordplay meshes with the band’s natural musical anarchism. “Not all olives have pits: An under funded sense of wonderment”, for instance, is treated as a parlor ballad with Minton whispering the lyrics, that are amplified with sympathetic vibrations from Weston. Additionally, the wordplay on “If there are individuals you can tell from a distance don’t like garlic” causes the vocalist to not only use his natural and falsetto voices, but to indulge in a few cackles and gargles at the end, as the band plays jazz-inflected accompaniment.

Even more remarkable are the Ho pieces. “On reading, ‘Anthology of 1000 poets’” features strummed bass guitar chords and flashing octaves from the piano, while Minton proves his natural tenor is quiet pleasant. On the other hand, “A milestone” almost turns into rock music complete with drum backbeat and simple strumming from the bassist, as Minton exposes his inner Ozzy Osbourne.

The other three performances are less appealing. Schumann’s “Im Rhein” features the most extensive instrumental work with thundering drums and overactive piano. A deconstructed, metallic guitar run and pumping piano cadenzas detract from the title tune and Minton’s delivery appears a bit too plumy and properly British to bring gravitates to lyrics written for the Kentucky miners’ union in 1931. Finally, when dealing with “Ces gens-la” written by an astute song genius like Brel, Minton reduces the portraits to a series of grotesques as he sing-talks the lyrics accompanied by near anthematic playing from Weston.

If WHICH SIDE has a few missteps, Q may be mistaken journey. Salvageable is “q oder z”, which at fewer than five minutes gives Minton appropriate space in which to burble, buzz and whoop vocal tones on top of textures that range from the quivering sound of cicadas to the rhythmic drone of a car motor turning over on a damp day.

Most of the time, though, it’s difficult to find Minton among the liquid swizzles, oscillating highs and fluttering lows that make up the more than 39-minute “w oder q”. Oh you can hear some dark barks, strangled, drowning cries, guttural growls, stentorian mutterings, demonic laughs and his ever-popular duck quacking from time to time. But with four electro-acoustians going full blast, his vocals are an afterthought or an add-on.

Throughout, the timbres heard include vinyl record hisses, wiggling electronic buzzes, air raid siren explosions and turntable movements. The four instrumentalists are capable of coming up with the most hushed and delicate tones that can resemble a jew’s harp being vibrated, computer and turntable surfaces being scratched and crystal glasses sliding along a shiny surface. But they can also produce intermittent rhythmic sine wave patterns and buzzing, sped-up slinky loops, not to mention whistles that are mechanized, motorized and carefully modulated.

When in the final few minutes the scraped, bell-like resonation turns louder with splayed tones and shooting star echoes, Minton’s verbal response sounds alternately like an old man muttering to himself and an infant crying. His final exhaled choke, which suggests a man being slowly squeezed within a cybernetic vise, may be as symbolic as it is metaphoric.

Poire_Z may rate an A or B+ for its work on Q, but Minton can only received a T for Trying, with cumulative realization closer to a C or D+. Meanwhile WHICH SIDE is not only a fine side of coated plastic, but a fitting vocal memorial to Haines, the lyricist of Carla Bley’s ESCALATOR OVER THE HILL among other major projects.

-- Ken Waxman

Track Listing: q: 1. w oder q 2. q oder Z

Personnel: q: Günter Müller (ipod, minidisks, selected percussion and electronics); ErikM (3k_pad.system); Norbert Möslang and Andy Guhl (cracked everyday-electronics); Phil Minton (voice)

Track Listing: Which: 1. Airport insecurity 2. On reading, ‘Anthology of 1000 poets’ 3. Ces gens-la 4. Tales from the Hindu Tush 5. The skunk hath farted 6. If there are individuals you can tell from a distance don’t like garlic 7. 8. Class Struggle 9. Not all olives have pits: An under funded sense of wonderment 10. A milestone 11. In Rhein

Personnel: Which: Phil Minton (voice); Veryan Weston (piano and voice); Luc Ex (bass); Michael Vatcher (percussion)

October 4, 2004

BERGMAN/HASLAM/HESSION

The Mahout
SLAM CD 318

BURNS/COXHILL/EDWARDS/MINTON/RUSSELL
Mopomoso solos 2002
Emanem 4100

Solo, duo and group improvisations are the connective strands that knit together these two British CDs. Both showcase contemporary improv from musicians young and old, though THE MAHOUT comes with a wildcard -- New York-based pianist Borah Bergman.

Bergman, 77, who is older by far than any other participant -- British saxophonist Lol Coxhill, most elderly of the seven other musicians is six years his junior -- plays anything but than old age home jazz. As a matter of fact, the fire and intensity he brings to his two solos and three trios on THE MAHOUT almost overshadow the singular tinkering of most of the others. Individually, while each succeeds on his own terms, the pianist’s work still provides a dictionary definition of Energy Music.

Spurring on to greater heights George Haslam, 65, on baritone saxophone and tarogato and drummer Paul Hession, a callow youth of 48, Bergman makes the nearly 11-minute title track almost explode out of the box. With Bergman producing high frequency chording featuring supersonic runs, glissandos from both hands, Haslam smears out swirls and chirrups from both his horns, and Hession provides rough’n’ready bounces and triplets.

Hession, who has backed Free Jazz saxophonists like Charles Wharf and Mick Beck, and Haslam who has traded reed licks with the likes of Coxhill and Evan Parker are obviously up to the Bergman challenge. Yet Bergman, whose fantasias are often able to cow reed partners as powerful as Parker and Oliver Lake, not to mention drummers like Hamid Drake and Andrew Cyrille often has the upper hands here -- and both of them are functioning like pistons throughout the disc. Breathing space is at a premium as the pianist works his way from top to bottom of the keyboard and scale at high velocity, with motifs and tremolos often fusing into a dense block of sound.

Almost as impressive is “Zircon”. But here Hession’s press rolls and flams, Bergman’s metronomic timekeeping and Haslam’s alternate renal snorts and double-tongued eastern tone suggests what Cecil Taylor, Sunny Murray would have sounded like if baritonist Hamiett Bliuett had joined them in a trio. Producing flutter tongued, individual tones from either instrument that ostensibly resemble a low-pitched fog horn and a high-pitched air raid siren, Haslam, who is as comfortable recording in mainstream settings, proves that his energy is unflagging. Bergman key clips and inscribes spinning, circular motions around the other two, though at points it appears that he’s mirroring the reed lines.

Solo, Bergman brings the same flash to those tracks, but tempers it with suggestions of jazz history. “Dusk” is an emotional ballad taken at medium tempo, which includes a melancholy tinge you would associate with the title. “Streams” finds runs doubled, tripled or quadruped. Emphasizing the vibrations of almost every key, he escapes equal temperament by appending a bit of inverted boogie woogie to the solo and ends with a ragtime tickler’s flourish.

Hession’s solo track involves compressed snare and cymbal work and vibrating undertones, while Haslam’s skirt gloom by amplifying the grainy qualities of the taragoto playing it in unison with the baritone’s pitch vibratos.

Hession has no counterpart on MOPOMOSO SOLOS 2002 -- the odd concert name an abbreviation of Modernism, post-modernism, so what -- maybe you have to be British to appreciate this. However Coxhill is on hand to display his reed prowess and Chris Burn on piano and percussion displays his keyboard language.

Coxhill’s solo is fully in the animal mode with bird-like squealing twitters and toots and what sounds like the chirps of mice chasing one another through his body tube. Add to this whistling pitch vibrations, slipslipping, altissimo trills and double tongued cries and smears and his piece is as distinctive a piece of BritImprov as Bergman’s is of American Energy Music.

So is Burn’s “Traps”. Evidentially featuring the pianist stopping the action as often as he plays it, he also scrapes up and down the speaking length of the strings, then swabs their surface to make them vibrate on their own -- and that sound is extended with pedal action. Encompassing smashes, scrapes and rubs, it often seems as if Burn is playing a capsized harp, not a piano. Additionally he seems to be loosening the tuning pins and pressure bars as he improvises, and using a sharp object or a small ball to bounce along the length of several strings to create more shaking sounds.

Guitarist John Russell and bassist John Edwards, both members of different Burn aggregations add the string element to MOPOMOSO missing on MAHOUT. Using an old dance band acoustic, better suited for rhythm guitar backing than the temperate fancies of a folkie, Russell creates a more than 14 minute manifestation of slurred fingering and downstroked plunking with the spiky parts of the notes exhibited. Segmenting his attack with pauses of up to 10 seconds, he often sounds like someone who is determined to play a traditional ballad his own way and goes off on his own harsh tangents when the steel strings won’t cooperate. For a finale, he rasps out a folksy coda with his plectrum up against the bridge

Edwards balances col legno techniques with resonation from the other strings. Thrusting out augmented, squeaking door hinges tones and lower-pitched bowing, thumps and rumbles, at one point the bassist interrupts his collecting and releasing of the strings for a double-stopping walking portion -- then ends the piece with unison bowing that produces both cello-like and double bass tones.

Another addition to MOPOMOSO is veteran soundsinger Phil Minton, 63, who has performed with everyone present at one time. While his whirling, wiggling murmur and cries, not to mention throat retching are an acquired taste, he is one of the few so-called singers to produce simultaneous vocal split tones, one high-pitched like bird twitters and the other lower pitched like the braying of a large hound.

“Quintet ‘til the End of Time”, the aptly named group track, submerges Minton’s cries and murmurs into the general narrative. With warbles from Coxhill meeting wood-scraping arco exposition from Edwards, and steady strumming from Russell plus irregular piano patterns from Burn combining, Minton’s omni-directional cries help solidify the idea of free improvisation to which all subscribe.

These CDs define improv from an American and a British perspective. Both deserve to be heard on both sides of the Atlantic.

-- Ken Waxman

Track Listing: Mahout: 1. The Mahout 2. M.E.W. 3. Streams 4. Ancient Stars 5. The Varmint (for Jack Elam) 6. Dusk 7. Zircon

Personnel: Mahout: George Haslam (baritone saxophone, tarogato); Borah Bergman (piano); Paul Hession (drums)

Track Listing: Mopomoso: 1. Brush With Gravity 2. Pufff 3. ‘M 4. Woodcuts 5. Waiting for Lol 6. Speechless 7. Traps 8. Quintet ‘til the End of Time

Personnel: Mopomoso: Lol Coxhill ([tracks 6, 8] soprano saxophone); Chris Burn ([tracks 7, 8] piano, percussion); John Russell ([tracks 1, 5, 8] guitar); John Edwards (tracks 4, 8] bass); Phil Minton ([tracks 2, 3, 5, 8] voice)

June 28, 2004

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