Jeff Crompton Trio, The Magnetic Fields
Jeff Crompton Trio
Magic Word
(Southern Crescent)
Although Atlanta saxophonist/composer Jeff Crompton has been at it for over 30 years, it seems like lately he has been particularly unstoppable; among his most recent accomplishments are the outstanding 2014 album Snake Nation from his Edgewood Saxophone Trio, his solo “Tutwiler Depot” 7-inch vinyl from last year, his project with Chattanooga poet Laurie Perry Vaughen entitled “Billie Holiday on the Radio,” and his adventurous and often challenging “Creative Music in Hapeville” music performance series.
His excellent new release Magic Word continues that streak in the jazz realm, created with two Chattanoogans—double bassist Evan Lipson and percussionist Bob Stagner—as the Jeff Crompton Trio.
In a way, this album spans Crompton’s creative life, with several of his compositions from the ‘80s and others that were written just before the recording session. Tracks like “October Song” and “Magic Word” sport memorable and infectious head melodies that exude a playfulness, channeling the spirit of, say, Ornette Coleman in the ‘60s.
Stagner, a co-founder of the free improvisation group Shaking Ray Levis, adopts an urgent free bop style that sometimes evokes the fluidity and dynamics of Tony Williams, and Crompton seems to sculpt every note with care, with an inclination to inject a little bending flair when he glides between notes, reminiscent of what one might hear a New Orleans jazz clarinet play.
Lipson, a member of several free improv groups including Wrest and Psychotic Quartet, uses that background when playing his idiosyncratic, restlessly inventive, genre-busting solos that push the album far beyond the jazz idiom.
Two numbers are completely improvised with explosive creativity, on which the trio darts between free jazz and free improv eccentricities, including bass string scrapes and swift drumstick clicks, suggesting scampering movements.
Magic Word has a healthy mix of styles—“The Death of Reason” starts out sporting a funk rhythm, while “Big Nine Blues” offers a cool and poised swagger from Crompton, adorning his melodies with expertly executed ornaments. The smoky balladry of “What We Are Now” is another highlight, where everything is exposed with nothing to hide behind, and Crompton’s tone is practically flawless, with a tendency to hold each note steady until applying vibrato at the right moment for the optimum emotional effect.
Typically, one might expect a jazz album of this caliber coming from New York or Chicago rather than the South, and it tackles jazz with vigor delivered with deliberate, nuanced energy, with ample opportunities to fly off into the stratosphere.
The Magnetic Fields
The Wayward Bus / Distant Plastic Trees
(Merge)
A friend who shall remain nameless once said to your humble narrator/reviewer, “I’ve never loved anything as much as you love The Magnetic Fields.” A few years ago, when asked to compile a “favorite albums” list, this writer put Distant Plastic Trees—the first Magnetic Fields album, originally released 25 years ago—at the number one position.
Merge Records has recently remastered and released Distant Plastic Trees and the second album The Wayward Bus on vinyl for the first time ever, packaged together; these are albums that this writer knows by heart—all the lyrics, all the notes. Still, he admits to feeling giddy and shivery when hearing these songs on vinyl, with all its crackles and surface noise, simply because it’s a different experience than the digital one with which he’s so familiar.
The songwriter and main force behind the operation, Stephin Merritt, himself described Distant Plastic Trees as “intentionally small” and the Magnetic Fields as playing “bubblegum and experimental music and nothing in between.” The pop side is felt on The Wayward Bus with several electro-pop tributes to Phil Spector’s girl-group material using synth-heavy arrangements that embrace artificiality plus cello and tuba counterpoint.
As for the “experimental” side, Distant Plastic Trees has a number of odd details and approaches, like the bizarre “Kings” (originally a song by the pre-Magnetic Fields band The Zinnias) with heavily treated digital piano, white noise blasts and surreal lyrics, such as “Whale embryos filled your enormous room”; note that the band name “The Magnetic Fields” was taken from the title of a classic French surrealist book.
Taking inspiration from the band Young Marble Giants, Distant Plastic Trees also has several moments of stunning simplicity, like the second-person narratives “Josephine” and “Smoke Signals” that have a delicate intimacy and stripped-down arrangements.
These albums are unique in the Magnetic Fields catalog for being the only ones featuring lead singer Susan Anway—the former vocalist of the post-punk band V—whose versatile, angelic voice can deliver over-the-top-depressing lyrics unflinchingly.
“100,000 Fireflies,” an early indie-pop “hit” for the group, contrasts bleak pessimism (“You won’t be happy with me / But give me one more chance / You won’t be happy anyway”) with bright, ringing piano chords. Her faux, exaggerated Southern accent on “Tar-Heel Boy” helps form an unusual amalgam of comedy and tragedy, with lyrics about murder and child sweatshop labor.
There’s a lot of music that we may like, but how much of it is music that we truly love? We feel lucky when we discover that album with which we profoundly connect that provides endless joy and comfort and even commiseration. If you haven’t found your musical soulmate—try harder.