January 26, 2012

William Gibson

Distrust That Particular Flavor (Putnam)

by Phil Freeman

I first found William Gibson‘s writing when I was in high school, and my small New Jersey town had two bookstores, one of which seemed determined to be the hip alternative to the other. They stocked George Carlin, and William Burroughs, and John WatersShock Value, and Gibson. I bought the Ace mass market paperback edition of Neuromancer, the one with the white cover, in about 1987. I tore through it like I was being timed, and as soon as I had more money went back to the same bookstore and picked up the other book available at that time, the slim short story collection Burning Chrome, which I devoured with equal avidity. Since then I have read every one of Gibson’s books, except for The Difference Engine, which was a) co-written by Bruce Sterling, a writer who leaves me cold, and b) set in Victorian times, so no thanks.

“Here is the William Gibson Plot, as iterated in every book from Neuromancer through Pattern Recognition: Young-ish but jaded person with some preternatural but utterly mediaverse-related skill/talent/ability is roped into a quest for some mysterious objay dart or cyborg critter that’s loping about the net causing disruption. Dark forces chase said young skilled/talented person, and ethically gray-area forces assist. By the end, multiple plotlines converge as young skilled/talented person comes face to face with the creator(s) of the objay dart, and everything winds down kinda ambiguously, but happily.”

I put that in quotes because I wrote it in 2007, somewhere else. But it’s still true, and its parameters can be expanded to include the two novels that have followed Pattern Recognition: 2007′s Spook Country, and 2011′s Zero History, which together finish out Gibson’s latest trilogy. There are three trilogies: the first one, Neuromancer/Count Zero/Mona Lisa Overdrive, was published in the ’80s; the second, Virtual Light/Idoru/All Tomorrow’s Parties, in the ’90s; and the most recent one in the 2000s.

In each case, the first book in the series is thrilling and pathbreaking, finding Gibson in new territory. Neuromancer, obviously, was a breakthrough for science fiction; Virtual Light is his funniest book; and Pattern Recognition is his most emotionally affecting, suffused with a genuine melancholy. The second book expands on the methods of the first, frequently with unwieldy results: Count Zero was Neuromancer lite, with one plotline too many; Idoru was a little too baroque for its own good; and Spook Country was a spy thriller with rock ‘n’ roll and art-scene skin-grafts. The third book of each trilogy is anticlimactic and undercooked: Mona Lisa Overdrive was so stripped-down it felt like a screenplay; All Tomorrow’s Parties was maybe Gibson’s only truly forgettable novel; and Zero History is literally about pants.

Distrust That Particular Flavor is a collection of Gibson’s nonfiction writing, most of which has appeared in glossy magazines, commissioned as it was after he’d already made a name for himself as a novelist. The pieces are frequently very short, and don’t say much. Reading them, I’m reminded of two characters in Richard Brautigan‘s novel Willard and His Bowling Trophies, who read to each other from an anthology of ancient Greek poetry. The poems are not always preserved in their entirety; some are just a few lines, and all that remains of one is the word “cucumbers.”

Some of the pieces chosen seem like particularly egregious attempts at padding: why is this piece (“Since 1948“) present, when it’s been the bio page on his website for years? Even the packaging reveals the slightness of the project; the hardcover is an inch or so shorter than the last three novels, and each piece is bracketed by colored pages, to grant heft to what would otherwise be an extremely slim volume indeed.

I continue reading Gibson because his characters and plots (even if they are variations of the same plot) are consistently interesting, and because his prose has the quality of sharpened crystals strung on fine wire—his sentences are beautiful. But this is easily the least essential book he’s ever published. If it was a CD, it would be subtitled “B-Sides and Rarities,” the better to ward off all but the most committed fans. Which I guess I am, since I went to the bookstore specifically seeking out an autographed copy (he’d been through two weeks earlier on tour), and got one.

January 24, 2012

Free Shipping From Lulu Until 1/31

Lulu.com, manufacturers of the print edition of Burning Ambulance, are offering free ground shipping until January 31. Just enter the discount code WHOASHIPPING305 at checkout, and make sure you select ground shipping.

If you’re missing any of the first five issues, now’s the perfect time to pick them up!

January 20, 2012

Listen To Steve Hicken Some More

Steve Hicken is not just a Burning Ambulance contributor; he’s also a composer. His essay in issue #3 goes into his creative process in some detail, and is well worth your time. We’ve previously posted two of his pieces, which were performed at the Western Illinois University New Music Festival last year; now we present a third piece, from the same festival. Click the link below to listen.

American Song (solo trombone, performed by John Mindeman)

January 19, 2012

Monarch

French doom metal band Monarch are releasing a new album, Omens, on February 28. It’s their first for the At A Loss label, and it features three songs (“Blood Seeress,” “Transylvanian Incantations” and “Black Becomes the Sun”) in 34 minutes. That’s the cover art above, and the group has also put together this short promotional video:

Monarch have never made a bad record (my favorite is their most recent release, the one-track, 28-minute CD Sabbat Noir), and I’m extremely excited to hear this one.

January 17, 2012

Winter Jazzfest 2012

by R. Emmet Sweeney

videos courtesy bbsoundandvision

Attending Winter Jazzfest is akin to stumbling into an alternate universe. It’s a world where masses of enthusiastic youths drop money to see live jazz, as if it were still topping the charts. Five clubs in NYC’s West Village were overflowing with people eager to see the 60+ bands spread out over two nights. Presented alongside the Association of Performing Arts Presenters (APAP) conference, the festival is a showcase for musicians to earn future bookings, but also acts as a righteous post-New Year’s bender, a beer-soaked affair where the vibrancy of the music is matched by the enthusiasm of the crowds. Where these enthusiasts hibernate the rest of the year is unclear, but for two nights, it feels like the music matters more than ever. If it’s all an alcohol-induced illusion, at least it’s a mightily entertaining one.

The most intimate sets of the festival are always inconveniently early or stumblingly late, before and after the crushing crowds change the vibe into every-man-for-himself savagery. The first set I caught was an expanded version of Curtis Hasselbring’s New Mellow Edwards, a brightly grooving septet that unspooled rollicking melodies reminiscent of spy-thriller soundtracks. Hasselbring’s suite of compositions, entitled “Number Stations”, were inspired by shortwave radio transmissions, the past’s technology of the future. Ches Smith’s propulsive drum clattering and Mary Halvorson’s jaggedly spacey guitar fills would be the perfect soundtrack for a deconstructed version of Moonraker.

A recent labor agreement with the musician’s union mandated longer sets (45 min.), along with more downtime in-between, which allowed for more club-hopping between the five venues hosting the festival. After seeing Hasselbring, I nabbed a stage-lip seat for The Joel Harrison String Choir, which continued their own engagement with the past, this time with the music of drummer Paul Motian, who died in November at the age of 80. This is not a new tribute project, but one that Harrison has been cultivating for a decade, and the set was a tightly hypnotic set of Motian originals (and one Thelonious Monk tune). This drummerless sextet is made up of two guitars, two violins, a viola and a cello, perfect for investigating the mysterious, shifting undertows of Motian’s repertoire. “It Should Have Happened a Long Time Ago” was plangent and gorgeous, anchored by a rumbling solo from cellist Dave Eggar. Then the playful dissonances of Monk’s “Misterioso” were elucidated by Liberty Ellman’s chimingly precise guitar runs and a dazzling violin duologue between Christian Howes and Sam Bardfeld. The whole set was equally rapturous, from the swirling “Owl of Cranston” to the high-lonesome beauty of “Etude.”

Nels Cline offered a different kind of string music with his Nels Cline Singers, an experimental noise rock quartet that rides waves of sound, creating different atmospheres until they break through with a few crushing riffs. While seeming to get lost in their aural fog at times, Cline still elicited a ferocious sound out of his guitar, speaking an entirely different language than Halvorson’s juddering deconstructions and Ellman’s bell-like lucidity. Cline is also a member of Jenny Scheinman’s Mischief and Mayhem, who played immediately after the Singers. Plucked from his leading role and slotted into a more balanced set of players, including the maniacal Jim Black on drums and Trevor Dunn on bass, and working within Scheinman’s spring-loaded compositions, his shredding took on shape and texture, bouncing off the walls.

Saturday night continued the profusion of strings with Stephan Crump’s Rosetta Trio, which is made up of Crump on bass, Liberty Ellman on acoustic guitar and Jamie Fox on electric guitar. Their set was a gentle, lyrical suite of pastoral tunes anchored by Crump’s warm tone. Completing the familial atmosphere was “He Runs Circles,” a loping melody based on the way Crump’s son shows affection, which his band-mates reciprocated in kind. Intimacy gave way to grandiosity with Fabian Almazan, who (of course!) brought strings along (including Scheinman on violin). When I wandered in, he was starting a Shostakovich composition, which kept layering levels of sound until it peaked in glissandos of shimmering beauty.

Mostly Other People Do the Killing are not after beauty, but humor. The snot-nosed brats of the current jazz scene, this ferociously talented band speeds through swing, bop and free playing in frenetic, helter-skelter compositions. Trumpeter Peter Evans can seemingly play anything, from emotive plaints to guttural squawks (I highly recommend Ghosts, the album with his own quartet), while Kevin Shea attacks his kit with loose-limbed abandon. Their jokey approach to the music is divisive, as it can easily be interpreted as condescending to the jazz tradition, but it provided a spike of adrenaline when my night needed it most, so I choose to interpret their tunes as lovingly parodic rather than shallowly ironic.

No such charges can be brought against Vijay Iyer, whose Trio played in advance of the release of their new album, Accelerando, due out in March. Playing to an air-tight crowd at the Le Poisson Rouge, Iyer, Crump, and drummer Marcus Gilmore played a groove-heavy set that built up waves of sound. The trio was tight, but the set was spinning in place for me until the thunderous ballad “Optimism” and the herky-jerky ode to electronic music pioneer Robert Hood (entitled “Hood”). The David Murray Cuban Ensemble is also a tribute of sorts, to the two Spanish-language albums Nat King Cole made in 1958 and 1962. Murray created new arrangements for many of these tunes (which can be heard on his album Plays Nat King Cole—En Español), adapting that cool swing to his bracingly dissonant soloing. This is a productive tension that made for a thrilling show—Cuban dance music broken up by Murray’s impassioned squalls, which only seems to spur the band on to swing even harder.

After that piece of consummate showmanship, my Jazzfest wound down with the spiky trade-offs of the Steve Lehman Trio, a group of elemental power and no wasted motions. Their attacking interpretation of John Coltrane’s “Moment’s Notice” encapsulated their set—focused, raw and to the point. Lehman said they would be releasing an album later this year, which is now my most anticipated title of 2012. It was a bracing and brilliant end to the evening, and the perfect way to shock me out of Jazzfest-verse hypnosis and back into bitter reality—where no one knows who the hell Paul Motian is.

January 14, 2012

Interview: Taylor Deupree

By Izalia Roncallo

Approaching Storm

Culturally speaking, it can be overwhelming to absorb the enormous number of images we are exposed to in a given day. Nevertheless, countless of these images do capture our attention for a fleeting moment, though they are easily forgettable. Too often, they look like a simple imitation of iconic images from photography’s rich history, but don’t equate in mood, so they fall short for the viewer.

The instantaneous gratification of seeing an image online, where the whole world can view it, does sound appealing, but just because it gets millions of hits doesn’t mean it is a good image. In a way, technology has made things too easy, just look at cameras that provide automatic focusing and framing. However, sharpness alone doesn’t make a photograph unforgettable; for instance, the photographer Uta Barth uses blurriness as a device to question what constitutes a subject in photography. Thus, the blurriness is what makes Barth’s images memorable.

So what makes a photograph remarkable? One view is that it provides a window into the world of both subject and photographer. This is a lot to figure out from a frozen moment, but a good photograph opens a portal to not only the formal aspects but also the psychological, technological and epistemological underpinnings.

Coming across the photographs of Taylor Deupree online is inspirational, although his images have been featured on dozens of CD covers from his record label 12k. It is fascinating to see how substantial his photographs are, removed from their context as design elements, and yet the images retain an essential graphic quality, possibly inescapable based on Deupree’s work as a graphic designer. Deupree is also a sound artist, and has collaborated with many other artists in that field.

Primary subjects in Deupree’s photography are architecture and nature. The overall treatment of the subjects is to transform the banal into something completely unknown, or to focus on the altered landscape. In Window Study, February 29, an abstract minimalist depiction of the condensation on a window with a bluish hue, except there is no uniformity to the condensation; in fact, there is a section where no water has formed. Within this area, one can see shadows of unknown objects. Shadows also exist behind the condensation, which indicates that the beauty exists in the shadows. This photograph says a few things about Deupree, especially from an aesthetic angle. Clearly, his sensibilities are attuned to minimalism, nature and imperfection.

Consequently, it is possible in this image-filled world to find an antidote to the growing numbness created by the endless parade of non-thought-provoking photographs. There is no denying the camera is a great social instrument, but it doesn’t come close to exposing everything visually and imaginatively possible. Furthermore, the potential is still growing, with some individuals exploring cameraless techniques. Another way photography is developing in a different way is through the work of individuals who are involved in other creative channels as well, like Deupree.

Taylor Deupree shared his views on photography and his creative process with Burning Ambulance in the interview below.

Window Study, February 29

Can you please describe the category of “empty spaces” in your portfolio, and why do you use that phrase when all your images are barren of people?

The idea of “empty spaces” probably sums up the whole of my photography the best… be it nature or architectural. To me “empty spaces” implies quietude, a sense of silence and breath. It also talks about humanity, not just the simple lack of (i.e., rarely any people in my photos) but more specifically the fact that when humans are gone, when people abandon a place, nature always prevails. Nature always wins. I love decayed and abandoned spaces for this reason. There is much beauty in these places that nature has reclaimed, while the ghosts of human presence still hover. You get these uncomfortable moments where nature and civilization are at battle, but everything returns to nature. It is about life, death, and time.

Several of your subjects are related to nature, emphasizing its sublimity, but in the atmospheric images there seems to be an unnerving quality to them. Is this a contrast you want to emphasize, in your portrayal of nature?

I think this may be related to the points above. I am really after quiet spaces and the power of nature displayed in the subtlest of ways. I definitely don’t want my nature photos to simply just be “pretty” or border on the trite. Even in nature photography I tend to find open spaces, stark, empty, quiet… tactile… while still being beautiful and powerful. And often the vastness of nature, to show how it overpowers humanity. That can be unnerving.

Things usually considered mundane, like the window studies or the sky photographs, are not typical subject matter for most individuals. Another photographer who also explored these kinds of subjects was Minor White, but he fostered a spiritual connection to his interest in these themes. Do you have the same aims White had for exploring these motifs?

While I’ve heard of Minor White, I can’t say I’m familiar with his work. In fact, I’m not familiar with many photographers’ work at all, but I’ll get to that in detail below. However, as a photographer, I am always looking. Just as I’m always listening as a musician. My eyes are always cameras and I tend to seek out the beauty and simplicity in everything. So while something may seem mundane… yes, we look out windows every day… but the drops of condensation that may be on those windows, look how they distort the reality beyond the glass. Or the blue sky. It’s not just blue, there are hundreds of shades of blue and then perhaps when taken with a Polaroid, this process creates artifacts from technical flaws or shortcomings which may enhance or alter part of that simple image, thus rendering something more cerebral. Sometimes, as with images of the sky, it’s about a grouping as well. Perhaps as individual images they can be bland, but if you see a dozen blue fields of sky it can be quite special. It’s influenced by the colorfield and minimalist artists.

Some of your photographs are abstract to the point that the subject vanishes, in particular the ones under the category of “occur.” What sorts of objects did you start with, and why did you alter them the way you did?

Occur was an old project of mine that went along with music I did at the time and that I created a CD release for. It was about capturing fleeting moments. Singular happenings in time. The photographs and effects were all done in camera, nothing in Photoshop. Simple over-exposing. The subjects were not important to the project because the process rendered them fairly abstract, but they were mostly, and obviously, city images. It was a project about the rush of the city, the things that happen in a flash all around us and then are gone and forgotten.

Fireflies (For Sawako)

When it comes to photography, who are your influences, and has your background in other forms of creative endeavors shaped your photographic work?

Even though I have a bachelor’s degree in photography and spent four years of university studying photography, I am not knowledgeable on many photographers. I didn’t take many historical classes at college, instead opting for alternative process and more technical classes… as well as having the majority of my time focused outside of school on my music career. It’s not until after school that I discovered maybe my biggest photographic influence which is Hiroshi Sugimoto, and in particular his Seascapes series. Seascapes, to me, is very similar to what my work is about, photographic and musical: stillness, repetition, emptiness, quietness. When I was introduced to this work of his it was really profound, not because it felt new to me, but because it felt so familiar. Because I felt like I was approaching art in the same ways, so he felt like a kindred spirit. I am also quite fond of the winter photography of Michael Kenna, who also follows a similar aesthetic in black and white photography. Other than those two I don’t follow names so much.

Besides using Polaroid and a Holga, what other equipment or techniques are you using? Any cameraless techniques?

No cameraless techniques. I did experiment with that in school when I had access to the darkrooms and equipment. But now, along with the Holga and Polaroid cameras, I use a digital SLR as well as my iPhone quite a bit. The iPhone I use for snapshots (which can sometimes be good enough to use on an album cover for someone) but I stick to the bigger Nikon for most of my “serious” work. Having worked in the graphic design field for the better part of 20 years, I know a lot of Photoshop so I tend to use that for color correction and post editing. I don’t manipulate subject matter with Photoshop, that’s not what my work is about.

The act of photography has become so instantaneous nowadays that everyone is a photographer, and almost no craft is required with digital technology; is this something that you contemplate when you look through the viewfinder?

Absolutely… especially when I’m using the iPhone. There are so many iPhone apps to simulate Polaroid and other vintage techniques… and I love these, I think they’re great… but they’re also cheating to me and I don’t take them as seriously as I do work created by more organic and traditional means. It’s true that everyone is a photographer and I think that’s a great thing (better than everyone being a “musician” which is also true these days and I don’t think it’s such a great thing). Photography is such an important part of humanity and as well can be so instant and permanent. However, just because everyone is carrying a capable camera in their pockets doesn’t make them a “photographer” to me. There is still an eye to be had, still a talent and grace that separates the lovers, artists and craftsmen from the casual photographer. Not that great images aren’t taken by casual snapshot photographers (my father, in fact, does a lot of work in this field of collecting and archiving fantastic snapshot photographers from decades ago).

taylordeupree.com

12k.com

January 13, 2012

Thelonious Monk

Who better to feature, on Friday the 13th?

Thelonious Monk: piano; Charlie Rouse: tenor saxophone; Larry Gales: bass; Ben Riley: drums, live in Copenhagen, 1966. I have always liked Monk’s Columbia albums featuring this band (or the earlier iteration with John Ore on bass and Frankie Dunlop on drums) better than his Riverside or Blue Note recordings.

Set list:

Lulu’s Back in Town

Don’t Blame Me

Epistrophy

January 10, 2012

Nicolas Masson

Departures (Fresh Sound New Talent)

by Phil Freeman

Buy it from Amazon

Listen to “Amber”

Nicolas Masson is a Swiss tenor saxophonist who studied with Frank Lowe, Ken McIntyre and Chris Potter; this is his fourth album as a leader. The band includes guitarist Ben Monder (whose work I’ve liked before), bassist Patrice Moret, and drummer Ted Poor. The recording was made in Switzerland, midway through a string of live performances in late February 2010.

This is slow, considered music. Masson and Monder are co-lead voices throughout; the guitarist is never reduced to mere background chording. On “The Faun,” he takes a scorching, distorted solo that, as he’s done in the past, reminds me of Bill Frisell‘s louder work. At other times, though, Monder is quiet, gracefully picking out melodies of thoughtful beauty.

Masson, too, is an unhurried player. He doesn’t chase his tail, or buy time with broad gestures. Instead, he demonstrates the discipline of Stan Getz or Mark Turner, working his way around a central idea like a spider slowly encasing a fly. His lines unfold slowly, floating over the rhythm section like a paper kite, mostly hovering but occasionally catching a draft and spinning and flipping in wild arcs, only to return to its previous pattern after a mesmerizing moment.

And speaking of the rhythm section: They get theirs on “Off Rhyme,” a nearly nine-minute track late in the album. (Departures is longish—nine tracks in an hour—but never really feels that way, possibly because of the sustained mood.) Drummer Poor seems to take a Paul Motian-esque approach, choosing to adorn the music rather than drive it, which leaves bassist Moret to do most of the heavy lifting. His tone is thick and resonant, with no buzz or twang; most of the time, he seems to create notes by rubbing them out of the strings with patient gentleness, rather than plucking. Thus, when he launches an outburst of somewhat wild strumming five minutes into “Off Rhyme,” and Monder begins to go all skronk-rock on the guitar, and Masson gets into this tunnel-vision solo that’s almost totally disconnected from what the rest of the band is doing, it’s the kind of thing that’ll stop your breath in your chest.

Departures lives up to its title. It’s never exactly what you expect, but it’s internally consistent. Masson—who wrote all the pieces—knows what he wants, he brought these three other men together to help him achieve it, and they did so. Listening to it is almost like watching one of those heist movies where a disparate crew arrives, pulls a job, and goes their separate ways, and the thrill comes from watching people demonstrate competence and self-possession, as though the successful performance of the task is more important than the object or money to be stolen. This album is a demonstration of (individual and collective) intelligence, craft, and skill. It’s dispassionate, in the best possible way.

Here’s a clip of the quartet performing “Yurei,” a track not included on Departures, a few days prior to the recording session:

January 9, 2012

Derek Bailey & Evan Parker

Here’s some video of guitarist Derek Bailey and saxophonist Evan Parker from April 22, 1985.

Up first, here’s some solo footage of Bailey; Part 1 of a long piece:

And Part 2 of the same piece:

And a second piece:

Now here’s some duo work by both men; here’s the first piece:

A second:

And a third:

Two years later, in 1987, Bailey and Parker would have a major falling out, resulting in the Incus label (which they’d run collaboratively since the early ’70s) remaining entirely in the guitarist’s hands until his death in 2005. It’s still around today, run by his former partner, Karen Brookman.

January 6, 2012

Charles Gayle

Charles Gayle has a new album coming out next month—his first studio recording in five years, and the first album to feature his tenor saxophone playing in quite a few more years than that; he’s been focusing on the alto sax, and the piano, for a while now. The album’s called Streets, and its cover art (above) shows him garbed as the clown character by that name that he sometimes performed as in the 1990s. Streets hasn’t made an appearance in a while, either.

You can hear a track from the new album right here; it’s called “Compassion I,” and features Larry Roland on bass and Michael TA Thompson on drums.

Below is some video of Gayle performing (in Streets makeup, and backed by bassist Gerald Benson and drummer Gerald Cleaver) at the Knitting Factory in 1996.

 

 

 

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