This Week: Bailey's free-jazz standards, Belle & Sebastian's forgettable soundtrack and Gardony's stately piano jazz
Derek Bailey
Ballads (Tzadik)
Had Jackson Pollock unveiled a still-life circa 1954, we'd have a fair analog to this album. Avant-guitarist Bailey rendering standards after years spent in the free-improv underworld is a startling anomaly, but he did start out, way back when, playing by the rules. (Ditto Pollock.) Bailey's liner note comment addresses the inevitable question: "I thought maybe there's something there." All right, then.
The fundamental "something" that Bailey finds in the likes of "Stella by Starlight" and "Body and Soul" is hardly new—an impetus to play, a launching pad for individual invention. And Bailey's inventions, as always, defy custom. His faithful theme readings give way to spiky harmonics, microtonal dissonances, and isolated cells of rhythmic activity; any hint of chord-cycling or melodic development is in the next aisle, filed under Jim Hall. Bailey can sound like a random noise generator, but his playing is appreciable as an off-the-cuff study in density, shapes, intervals, and texture. These solo improvisations have a logic that becomes more apparent with each listen, although they shed little light upon the source material.
Ballads is not an about-face, neither is it a sly send-up, courtesy of exec producer John Zorn. It's a chance to hear Bailey's guitar (acoustic, did I mention?) up close, accessing tradition but shunning its methods. It is simply a fun experiment, unlikely to be repeated. Free-improv converts, lend an ear; purists, give it a miss. —Chris Mitchell
Belle & Sebastian
Storytelling (Matador)
In the liner notes of the CD, members of Belle and Sebastian question their place in the Storytelling soundtrack process. The director, Todd Solondz, seemed to have had trouble conveying to the band what he wanted, what he wanted it for, and, apparently, how much of it he wanted to use. "What ended up being right for the movie amounted to about 6 minutes of music. What wasn't right, we developed, and all of it is on this LP," Stevie Jackson writes.
Fortunately, the soundtrack evokes no memory of the atrocious cinematic abortion it was written for. Instead, the instrumental score brings other things to mind. When listening to the harmonica-guided "Fuck This Shit," my co-workers commented, "This reminds me of drinking root beer," and, "This reminds me of John Denver on Sesame Street." Those descriptions seem more appropriate to the instrumentals than even the titles themselves.
My favorite track is the jaunty "Storytelling." The aseptic instructions for telling a story are illustrated, "Now you're a storyteller you might think you're without/ responsibility/ But in directions, actions and words/ Cause and effect/ You need consistency," resolves itself in a typically B&S reflective moment: "It's a mighty big world/ Some of it I've seen/ But mostly I've only heard/ And stories are all fiction from their moment of birth."
Belle and Sebastian's polite little songs are best when they're relating the hidden joys and tragedies in everyday life, sensitive to small poetic moments. Besides the six songs on this CD with actual lyrics, the rest of the album isn't nearly as exciting as their previous work. I'm guessing that in a few years, Storytelling will hold the distinction of being the first Belle and Sebastian CD to go out of print.
—Travis Gray
Laszlo Gardony
Behind Open Doors (Sunnyside)
If a single word could be used to characterize a pianist's style, say "inventive" for Donald Brown, "pensive" for Bill Evans, or "pugilistic" for Don Pullen, on the basis of this recording "stately" would be the word for Laszlo Gardony.
Such a characterization reflects the selection of tunes as much as Gardony's technique. Certainly the authority of Gardony's sound results from the liberal application of sustained as well as uncluttered lines, but equally significant are the medium-tempo and anthem-like melodies that predominate.
Most representative of the whole are the title cut and "The March of 1848," both originals. In the case of the former, what begins as a simple ballad develops into ponderous reverence, Gardony's left hand playing drone to the right hand's contemplative lyricism. "March of 1848," commissioned in celebration of the 150th anniversary of the Hungarian revolution, draws from Hungary's diverse Middle Eastern-influenced musical heritage, its dignified homage significantly enlivened by percussionist Jamey Haddad's eclectic inventions.
A similarly sober approach is brought to other tunes recorded here, with even Monk's "Round Midnight" granted an uncharacteristic degree of obeisance. Only on "There Will Never Be Another You" does the blood pressure find reason to increase, and even then only slightly.
Certainly bandmates John Lockwood (bass) and Haddad (drums) are essential to this recording's enjoyment, what with the latter's free-ranging imagination and the former's Mraz-like sensitivity. As a consequence, enduring sleepy pleasantness is interrupted by moments of sharp interest. —Jonathan B. Frey
June 20, 2002 * Vol. 12, No. 25
© 2002 Metro Pulse
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