New Music From Dewar, Hughes & Popple, and Chen & Leidecker
Andrew Raffo Dewar / John Hughes / Chad Popple
Reflejo
(pfMENTUM)
In an essay, saxophonist and composer Andrew Raffo Dewar clarified that his work is about “setting processes in motion, both social and musical, not in creating discrete, fixed objects.” One could argue that, structurally, this is an extension of much of what’s classified as jazz, with the typical framework with a reoccurring head melody interspersed with improvisations and solos.
However, on Dewar’s new album Reflejo—half of which is devoted to the titular composition, and half of which is comprised of pure improvisation—that notion is taken to the next, more radical level, and it works on both an intellectual and a gut-feeling level.
As the listener takes in “Reflejo,” with Dewar on soprano saxophone, John Hughes on double bass and Chad Popple on percussion and vibraphone, it forces one to contemplate what a “pattern” exactly is, beyond a set of pitches and durations.
By the end of the three-part piece, simply having the trio play a sustained note in unison serves that function, which might be the result of a mental Pavlovian conditioning trick.
In the intervening spaces, improvisational journeys are like super-sonic flights into the stratosphere, untethered from patterns. Do the patterns serve as “frames” for the pictures—in this case, the improvisational moments—or palate cleansers? What is really under the spotlight? It depends on the listener.
On “Reflejo III,” there’s a remarkable moment when Dewar plays a note that wavers, with a high amount of control, between a discrete tone and an odd noise—one might mistake it for a fluke if it wasn’t so perfectly executed; in a way, this variation shows a fluctuation on the microscopic level between the familiar note and the unfamiliar noise.
The album’s second half could be subtitled “Extended Techniques on Parade,” with a bounty of foreign sounds, wrapped together with a thoughtful mind-meld between the players. Hughes offers moments of drifting notes, wispy crackles and harmonics, alongside Popple’s charged scurrying and rustling.
Dewar can play with the clarity of a tone generator and impressively play difficult multi-phonics, and the three performers can lock on together with nimble fluttering or high-frequency squeaking.
Between a path and its diversions, listeners have much to absorb with Reflejo, confronted by, what Dewar articulated in the aforementioned essay, “a shape, sound, or process I don’t quite grasp and can’t predict where it might lead.”
Tania Chen / Jon Leidecker
Live in Japan
(Eh?)
“Do you want me to use my voice? If I want to, right? <gasp> Oh we’re on!”
It’s perhaps ironic yet appropriate that Live in Japan begins with this fleeting moment with musician Tania Chen being caught off-guard, chatting with collaborator Jon Leidecker, as bubbling electronics begin a performance in Osaka; you see, with an album jam-packed with spontaneous mischief and playful synthetic excursions, it’s the listener who’s supposed to be caught off-guard.
Originally from London, Chen is currently based in San Francisco, and around twenty years ago, her career deviated from a traditional classical piano path toward one that explored free improvisation and indeterminacy, such as the work of John Cage and Morton Feldman.
Leidecker—also based in San Francisco—also goes by the moniker Wobbly for his sonic shenanigans, sometimes working with fellow sound plunderers including People Like Us and Negativland.
The cover photo of Live in Japan provides some clues regarding a few of the non-traditional sound-making methods, with what appears to be a Black & Decker rotary tool beside a pocket radio that’s wired to a child’s food container, modified with buttons and switches.
The album features highlights from performances from May 2017, with the majority of the release spotlighting pieces from a stint in Osaka. On these pieces, there’s a profusion of both frolicking jaunts and distress signals, and occasionally, distorted rhythm loops cut in and out, providing a bare semblance of regularity amid chaos.
“Osaka 3” features squeaking, rubbery noises amid ambient space sounds and glistening, bright tones; perhaps acknowledging the uncertainty of the proceedings, Chen sings softly “What’s happened? It’s gone to my head,” and a voice sample acts as a momentary background chorus.
The glorious mess continues with futuristic power tools, a sonic waterfall of polished chrome shards, accordion scamperings, treated robot vocals, synthetic psycho stabs and what sounds like cybernetic fleas and the aural sci-fi representation of supercomputers making incomprehensibly complex calculations.
The moods change with the locations, as the track recorded in Chiba offers an air of mystery with enigmatic piano and keyboard notes, with ample space to let moments resonate and be felt—it’s not all placid, though, as interference and distractions puncture the serenity.
Even more ambiguous is the closing piece recorded in Tokyo, with echoing keyboard wanderings and gently disquieting mutterings, complicating a nourishingly colorful album with one last nudge to keep the listener off-balance.