New Music from Anteloper, D.A. Stern
Anteloper
Kudu
(International Anthem)
While some music is clearly the result of smashing genres together (“It’s Tuvan throat singing mixed with reggae!” reads a quote from a press release that doesn’t exist), when it comes to Anteloper—the duo of trumpeter Jaimie Branch and drummer Jason Nazary—things aren’t so clear.
It actually feels like expectations are confounded at nearly every turn on the duo’s debut album Kudu, released on cassette and digitally; it’s not a conventional jazz album by any measure and not just because of its frequent use of electronics and synths.
Funk rhythms are sometimes used, but it doesn’t feel like a funk album; there’s a bit of free-playing (unconstrained by genre) but then also patterns sometimes emerge—is it possible to break a rule by not breaking a rule, if the rule is to break rules?
Take the opener, “Oryx,” which starts with glitchy, beeping-satellite electronics and gradually unfurls with a penetrating trumpet call, simple keyboard melodies that evoke a triumphant positivity and funk-inflected rhythms from Nazary; it feels confident in its approach, yet it’s homeless—not really at home being jazz, funk or electronica.
Branch and Nazary have collaborated since 2002, when they met at the New England Conservatory of Music, and now both are based in NYC; Branch’s superb solo album Fly or Die was a highlight of 2017, and Nazary stays busy with off-center projects such as Bear in Heaven and the brutal free-jazz quartet Little Women.
“Lethal Curve” tosses curveballs as it hurtles to completion, beginning with frothing, bubbling electronics and irregular drumming that proves to be prickly; eventually, Nazary locks into a groove, and Branch alternates between brazen melodies and high squeals.
The track collapses into choreographed confusion about two-thirds of the way through, as Branch blows trumpet raspberries as the drum rhythm slows to a crawl, perhaps resembling a dying horse stumbling and trying to find its footing.
The sprawling 15-minute “Ohoneotree Suite” is even more disorienting—space-age, gurgling electronic showers and sheets of sound mingle with free drums, leading to quick, jungle-esque beats and studio-processed stretched drums; Branch’s long, sustained trumpet notes glide through a whirling storm of synthetics.
Adventurous listeners may find Kudu simultaneously appealing and vexing, often darting between melody and abstraction, rhythms and disruptions.
D.A. Stern
Isn’t It Obvious?
(Slumberland)
As someone who confesses to periodically listening to Todd Rundgren’s “Couldn’t I Just Tell You” on repeat for absurdly long durations, this writer can attest that power-pop is powerfully addictive stuff, with an ostensible aim of quickly delivering as much pleasure as possible, balancing a rock throb with pop sweetness.
Right now, the new 4-song burst of joy from D.A. Stern is hitting the spot; while Stern’s excellent new album Aloha Hola is the more diverse and ambitious release, tapping into more moods and approaches in the loose world of power-pop, Isn’t It Obvious? is more immediate and, minute-for-minute, more vital and fun.
David Aaron Stern—the Los Angeles-based multi-instrumentalist and recording engineer—wastes no time getting fired up on the new digital release, unleashing a barrage of snare-drum beats on the toe-tapping title track, which is a true solo effort, with Stern playing all of the instruments.
Yes, there are pop clichés here with tried-and-true chord progressions—and there’s a self-awareness at play—but it doesn’t come across as pandering, because the outcome is so satisfying. There’s a subtle call-and-response between vocal melodies and guitar licks, and there’s a split-second moment when all the music drops out and starts back up again, with Stern being a puppet master pulling those pleasure strings.
Insistent beats provide a ramping intensity right before the end, which leaves the listener like a person right after a roller coaster ride who wants to immediately get back in line.
Next is a cover of “Art School” originally by Frankie Cosmos (a.k.a. Greta Kline) with churning guitars and a citrus-flavored organ poking out with pinprick chords; it’s an outline of the protagonist’s high-school anxiety contrasted with free and wild art school students.
A rendition of Mannequin Pussy’s “My Baby (Axe Nice)” is next, with irresistible Farfisa organ chords and charged punk-pop, leading without interruption right into the one-minute “Tenafly Cop”; from its “Wipe Out” drums and staccato rockabilly vocals (think Alan Vega), an insane amount of energy is crammed into that short duration—and the same can be said for the entirety of Isn’t It Obvious? which will appeal to fans of garage rock and early Elvis Costello.