New Music From Greyes, and Davis, Mitchell, Ortiz, Shipp
Greyes
Space Eater
(greyes.bandcamp.com)
The new album Space Eater from the Chattanooga project Greyes is the result of a love of sounds and sound-creation; the album’s instrumentation exclusively uses analog synthesizers, and for the most part, the tracks were recorded in real-time, direct to a 4-track cassette recorder in a home studio.
The musician behind Greyes, Gabe Barrett, is best known as the guitarist of the intricate, driving rock band Monomath, and the wandering, calming pieces on Space Eater may be a surprise to those familiar with Monomath’s tight, interlacing melodies and rhythms.
Rather than starting with song structures, Greyes seems to use a method similar to N. Senada’s “Theory of Phonetic Organization,” popularized by The Residents, where a musician begins with the sounds themselves to build up a song.
The gentle, gradually shifting 9-minute track “1B” uses warm, beacon tones and looped melodies that occasionally change speed but eventually settle in with synchronized tempos.
It’s followed by “3A,” which overlays sustained tones atop pulsing notes that lock into formation—the attitude is generally hopeful yet with a slight air of uncertainty, and a few moments are reminiscent of synth pioneer Raymond Scott’s 1964 three-volume set Soothing Sounds for Baby, with placid and comforting repetition.
With a veil of mystery, “2B” could serve as the soundtrack for a ‘70s television show about paranormal investigations, with eerie, floating tones that hover over pacing bass notes.
Perhaps moving chronologically forward, the tracks “6A” and “4B” use a sinister atmosphere that brings to mind John Carpenter’s synth soundtracks from his ‘80s films, with the latter providing some of the most dramatic moments on Space Eater.
The enigmatic “7A (Out of Practice)” distinguishes itself by featuring echoing vocal samples that are electronically manipulated, and the album concludes with the ambient, kosmische “4A,” with sonic contrasts between lurking, thick tones and clear, ringing bell-like notes.
Although the album notes state, “Hopefully it will put you [to] sleep,” Space Eater goes beyond being an aural sedative, as not every element here is placid and light—it’s a warm blanket accompanied by a vague note that keeps you up at night, wondering.
Davis, Mitchell, Ortiz, Shipp
New American Songbooks, Volume 2
(Sound American)
Produced by Nate Wooley, New American Songbooks, Volume 2 brings together solo piano tracks from four distinguished modern jazz players, guided by a challenge to use selections that expand the idea of the “American Songbook” canon beyond familiar jazz-standard territory.
The album—available on vinyl and as a digital download—begins with Matthew Shipp’s take on two hymns, “Let Us Break Bread Together” and “I Need Thee Every Hour,” which are stirring renditions delivered with conviction.
Shipp interrupts the “correct” chords of the familiar melody of the former track with bold, non-obvious and sometimes discordant chords, powerfully played with confidence, with commanding left-hand notes that reverberate with an imposing presence.
On the latter track, Shipp plows forth with a locomotive momentum, sometimes reducing the rhythm to a continuous stream of eighth notes.
Shipp is not an artist you want to follow, and Matt Mitchell’s two contributions sound abruptly conventional in comparison; his first is a take on Ryan Power’s “Identity Picks,” originally a keyboard/vocal smooth jazz track, and his second is a cover of Christopher Weisman’s “You Made a Drawing.”
While transmuting the lyrical to the instrumental, Mitchell’s strength is in his flow, at times creating tender, touching moments; however, in the company of more daring players here, his tracks seem a bit overshadowed.
Kris Davis tackles “Sing Me Softly of the Blues” from Carla Bley’s Dinner Music, using a John Cage-style prepared piano for a novel and interesting take on a jaunty, big-band number; facsimiles of gong and bell sounds provide a vague East Asian flavor, while Davis’ left-hand notes sometimes sound like plucked contrabass strings but with an unusual timbre.
Closing the album is Aruán Ortiz’s rendition of the piece “Sketches Set Seven” by the overlooked composer Ed Bland; while the prevailing recording is Althea Waites’ scampering, breathtakingly nimble version, Ortiz’s interpretation—while not as physically demanding—seems to savor the notes more and brings another dimension to the piece, making it a worthy companion.
The predominant feeling of this album is that one should challenge and question everything—not only what should be considered part of the “American Songbook,” but also the manner in which one is expected to play it.
