MOSTER

To begin with, Vossa Jazz has the advantage of its tranquil, scenic setting by the large Vangsvatnet lake, surrounded by the misty, snow-capped mountains, looming up in the distance. The small town of Voss hosts one of Norway's longest running jazz festivals, inaugurated back in 1973. Most of the acts play
in the central Park Hotel, which has several suitable spaces in which to house stages of varying sizes. The programming stance of Vossa Jazz is quite adventurous, even by Norwegian standards, presenting artists that inhabit zones of free improvisation, electronica and extreme guitar mangling.

Krog-og-Surman 0063-FAV

The majority of the acts are indigenous, with many of these being key players who enjoy high international profiles. There are also a few out-of-towners involved, not least the New York beatnik singer Sheila Jordan, while English reedman John Surman was making a relatively rare appearance with longtime partner,
singer Karin Krog, surprisingly, now in her 80th year. This pair played early in the evening, in the converted cinema, Gamlekinoen, delivering the expected homely, intimate performance, their warm rapport spreading outwards across an attentive audience. In this setting, Surman eases back into a gentle backing role for much of the time, playing be-boppin' baritone runs, heading towards 'In A Sentimental Mood'. He chases Krog's lines with a silvery skipping fluidity, words and saxophone phrases holding hands closely. She recites a poem, and he whispers underneath, on bass clarinet, while both Surman and Krog are subtly tweaking their source sounds with soft echo and diaphanous synth-spirallings.

Pasborg Storlkken OD

Also in the cinema, this time in its foyer, Ståle Storløkken's mighty Hammond organ lay in wait, alongside Stefan Pasborg's drumkit. Storløkken is all over, but mostly known as a crucial element of Supersilent and Elephant9. The duo's set matched extreme grind with an almost ridiculous humour, as they dug
up rumbling churchy Black Sabbath riffs and scurried into a rat-infested Gothic crypt. The winding, stoned steps to melodramatic excess were traversed, up and down, several times before their load was shot. Storløkken's bass footwork thrummed beside Pasborg's scattering sticks, entering a creepy Twin Peaks forest, shuffling until the full force returns again, with piledriver drums and Phibes phibrilations. Storløkken can also be subtle, traipsing out thin pipe lines while Pasborg makes thin cymbal scrapes.

Mette R1

More raw power was imbibed straight afterwards, on the hotel basement stage, with alto saxophonist Mette Rasmussen (a Dane dwelling in Trondheim) attaining one of the weekend's plateaux, assisted by an all-star band of freedom fighters. With double trouble in the shape of Paul Lytton, Raymond Strid (drums),
Torbjörn Zetterberg and Ingebrigt Håker Flaten (basses), her own enraged soloing taking repeated wing amid their battling sides. This was some of the most inspired improvisation witnessed in a while, with natural, organic partnerships emerging, ranging from detailed near-silence into worrying confrontation, the entire quintet working as a single fevered brain. Unleashed, Rasmussen's high wails scrape the low ceiling, dispersed across the rubble of bass/drums scrabble, shot out with a fearsome power and accuracy.

At high noon, on Saturday, in the Ole Bull Akadamiet, just up the hill from the central church, we'd expect guitarist Kim Myhr to open the proceedings sensitively, with his ambient shimmering structures, but in reality, he's already off into another area, making simple open strums and doctoring these resonances via various table-top knob-adjustments, highlighting tones, refracting repeats into an accumulating clangour. When he does pick intricately, it's with the drooped claw manner of a Delta bluesman, before the avalanche of delays arrives. His fingering becomes percussive, aggressively ambient, openly strumming with his right hand, using his left to twiddle the dials. As his hour progresses, it becomes increasingly Terry Riley-ed, the 12 strings becoming so oppressively heightened that we attain the sound of helicopter blades by the fully industrial finale.

20170408 Jordan-and-Brown 0653-kopi

There couldn't be a more subtle follow-up than Sheila Jordan, partnered in intimacy by bassman Cameron Brown. She's slightly scatterbrained, but this is partly down to an informal stand-up act where she's closely in tune with the crowd. At the age of 88, Jordan is allowed to forget a few lines, and improvises
with scatting deftness, into 'The Very Thought Of You' and 'Yesterdays', inventing words about the old days with Lee Konitz and Lennie Tristano, back in the early 1950s. Jordan and Brown play 'Baltimore Oriole', propped up by a walking bassline, delivering in sprechgesang. Then Jordan dedicates a sequence of tunes to the memory of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, so the eras traversed are emphatically of a sepia vintage, as Jordan and Brown breeze through 'Cheek To Cheek' and 'Let's Face The Music And Dance'.

The Saturday high point was provided by Møster!, a band led by new-ish on-the-scene (at least outside Norway, as he's now freshly-40) saxophone voice Kjetil Møster, and also featuring Storløkken again. This guitar and synth-loaded line-up facilitates a titanic explosion of free-groove abandonment, with most
of their set operating at full-strength, another heady jump-cut to a radically altered universe. It was becoming apparent that such a shunt is an important aspect of the Vossa Jazz programming success. Straight afterwards, the old-guard trumpet star Nils Petter Molvær suffered by comparison. Strong though his set was, and operating on a similarly beyond-jazz level, his atmospheric creations sounded oddly dated, with the 1990s being too close for comfort, while Møster's acid-soaked 1960s visions are now safely beyond time, strangely more up to the moment than Molvær's 'ambient-dance-jazz', despite the sterling rock-pose efforts of his guitarist (and pedal steel-er) Geir Sundstøl.

Areve-001

Sunday's best set unwound early in the afternoon, with percussionist Terje Isungset leading a starry ensemble that included Arve Henriksen (trumpet), Morten Qvenild (keyboards), Nils Økland (fiddle) and Mats Eilertsen (bass). Even though they played the specially-commissioned 'Sildrande' piece for around
90 minutes, our attention was constantly gripped, even during the most environmental of openness. Isungset's bass drum fullness reverberated deeply, the twinned Hardanger fiddles bowed with dignified stateliness, and Henriksen revealed a deep desire to plunge his horns into an amplified fishtank, and rattle them around, always in search of previously unexplored aural possibilities. The conclusion came amid the sound of dripping cave-walls, dispersed around the cinema theatre via surrounding speakers, encouraging a poignant form of meditational contemplation.

Later, the trio In The Country, regularly keen on collaborations, presented a team-up with blues guitarist Knut Reiersrud and singer Solveig Slettahjell. Although the concept was to address the blues repertoire, in reality this seemed to be more specific, focusing on the gospel-inflected end of the street. The quintet made a fine balance between reflecting the idioms and impressing them with their own traits, subtly updating such chestnuts as 'Nobody Knows The Trouble I've Seen' and 'Trouble In Mind'. This was a satisfying way to finish the weekend, with a project that melded elements of genre tradition and wayward intervention, setting folks on their way with a springy steps and spiritually heavy hearts.

– Martin Longley

– Photos by Amalie Johannessen and Runhild Heggem/Vossa Jazz

The-Necks

Those fabulous folk at Dictionary Pudding Promotions and Brighton Alternative Jazz Festival continue to showcase many of the finest names in experimental music on the south coast, following barnstorming bookings for Sun Ra Arkestra and Wolf Eyes with a date from Jazzwise-featured masters of minimalism The Necks. The mesmeric trio stop-off during their highly intensive 30th anniversary touring schedule for a performance at St Luke's Church, Brighton on Monday 1 May.    

– Spencer Grady

For ticket information and more details visit www.dictionarypudding.co.uk 

 

 Orchestre

Since its inception in 2001 the Auand imprint has emerged as a key hub for jazz in Italy, providing an essential platform for new generations of improvisers such as Gianluca Petrella, Francesco Bearzatti and, latterly, Zeno De Rossi and Leonardo Rizzi. Its catalogue also boasts releases by Americans who always manage to be interesting, such as David Binney and Cuong Vu, which means that, despite its relatively low profile in the UK, Auand is very much a benchmark of quality whose distinctive luminous green hand-eye logo is the sign of music that is worth looking up and lending an ear to. Most impressively, the label is run by the one-man band of producer Marco Valente in the picturesque seaside town of Bisceglie in the Puglia region of southern Italy. His relentless dynamism is perhaps mirrored by the powerhouse achievements that have come to define the local cuisine and foodstuffs. In the 1920s and 1930s Bisceglie was the largest supplier of table grapes in Europe and the quality of cherries, olives, fish and 'sospiro', an iced sponge cake moulded into the shape of a breast, has been recognized by many 'Slow Food' evangelists.

WalkingSax

Over the eight days of the Auand Festival, Valente judiciously programmed events to give a vivid sense of the Bisceglian art de vivre and cultural richness, as well as the excellence of the musicians on his label. A walking tour of Palazzo Tuputti by Piero Bittolo Bon is the highpoint of the schedule. The alto saxophonist leads the audience through this exhibition centre housed in a medieval building of high ceilings and fine masonry where each room tells the story of a particular kind of local produce. Showing much creativity in his changes of timbre, attack and phrasing, from lyrical whispers to rugged overtones, Bittolo Bon keeps flawless time, and his use of the instrument's keys as a percussive, 'finger-drumming' device is quite electrifying to hear at high tempo. Required to play while almost constantly on the move Bittolo Bon proves an incisive and potent improviser who creates intriguing melodic vignettes that effectively soundtrack the texts and images that present a wealth of riches dalla terra et mare.

The other solo performance that greatly captures the imagination is guitarist Manlio Maresca's lunchtime set at Verde Matematico. The charming restaurant with a courtyard for al fresco dining provides a serene setting for a performance that is anything but. Pleasingly, there is a tightly calibrated violence in the performance that takes it far away from the timid sedations of any background music. As the patrons clink cutlery Maresca bangs out off-centre beats from a sampler while an effects unit enables him to mangle his tone with a somewhat acrid flavour that contrasts entirely with the finesse of the dishes on the menu. A worthy inheritor of the distortion-as-sonic-sculpture aesthetic of the likes of Marc Ducret and Jeff Parker, Maresca is nothing if not audacious in his blend of rhythmic zigzags, serrated themes and psycho-funk chords that create a danse macabre with much humour. 

Joyous cheers rather than coughs of indigestion are the tips thrown in his direction. If the intensity of the audience reaction says a lot about how well Auand Days works in small venues then further confirmation comes in the shape of trios at the very genial Make Art bar in the centre of town. Crammed into the corner of the heaving room The Storytellers offer a zestful take on the guitar-organ-drums combo, while Mirko Signorile leads a piano trio in which the Fender Rhodes rather than a Steinway takes pride of place, evoking post-Bitches Brew imagery as if to the manner born. More small groups appear at the Palazzo Tuputti, the pick of the bunch being the quartet in which Federico Pierantoni's trombone and Andrea Grillini's drums combine to produce a barreling low-end funk that occasionally loosens into more freeish abstraction. Several of the aforementioned players, along with the articulate guitarist Francesco Diodati, a noted young sideman to Enrico Rava among others, feature in the Piccolo Coro Elettroacoustico as well as the all-star Auanders. The former sees them stationed at laptops to create a shifting canvas of crunchy digital eruptions that has moments of intriguing tension and underwhelming tedium, which is to be expected given its wholly improvised nature, while the latter is an enjoyable demonstration of ensemble playing in which swirling horn lines as well as the hearty gurgles of Bittolo Bon's bass clarinet work well.

The climax of the festival though is Orchestre Specale Don Uva, which is a big band comprising patients from a nearby mental health hospital. The performance achieves the not inconsiderable feat of giving a degree of dignity to those that society might deem 'special needs', and allows them to express themselves all the while responding to the wily directions of conductor Stefano Tamborrino. In an age when mixed ability ensembles are in fashion it is very rewarding to see a concert that strikes such a winning balance between discipline and freedom, creating a deeply prevailing sense of humanity. Yet that is the defining theme of a festival in which music is presented as social cohesion within a warm, grande famiglia ambiance.

– Kevin Le Gendre
– Photos by Leonardo Todisco and Domenico Soriano

The passing of Allan Holdsworth on Easter day has robbed the world of jazz, rock and, damnit, the world in general of a unique voice. Few people are gifted to bring something new to the world of music, but it could be argued that Holdsworth contrived not once, but twice, to change the sound of guitar forever. Holdsworth, self-deprecating as ever, would have denied such hyperbole. He once declaimed to this correspondent, in his quiet Bradford tones that decades in Southern California never quite extinguished, that his initial musical ambition was only ever to play Scotty Moore's solo off 'Hound Dog', "but I never could bloody get it down" he sighed.

In fact, Holdsworth was never that keen on playing the guitar at all. His whole playing career, in a perversity that Holdsworth's dry humour doubtless appreciated, was probably predicated on his ambition to make the guitar sound nothing like a guitar. He wanted it to be a horn. Or, at least a violin. But his father, who deeply shaped Holdsworth's musical sensibility, playing him a mix of Coltrane and Ravel, jazz and classics, couldn't afford to buy the young Allan the sax he desired. Instead Holdsworth had to make do with the guitar an uncle brought him.

Holdsworth the tyro guitarist hardly set the world on fire, joining as he did at the end of the Blues Boom and the nascent Prog Scene. From the off, his idiosyncratic chordings and long legato lines didn't fit with Clapton-era histrionics. But having taken the inevitable road south, it wasn't until his mid-twenties that Holdsworth found a fellowship with a generation of jazzers who increasingly didn't see a schism between the worlds of jazz and rock. Having your own voice was what mattered. Ray Warleigh and Gordon Beck became particular colleagues and mentors, and it was with Ian Carr's Nucleus that Holdsworth first grabbed the world by its ears. Following 1972's Belladonna came associations with Tempest (occasionally playing alongside the equally unique but tragically short-lived Ollie Halsall), Soft Machine and ultimately Tony Williams' New Lifetime.

This was the first time Holdsworth changed the guitar world. John McLaughlin, a fellow Yorkshireman who never lost respect for Holdsworth, may have gone first, yoking jazz and rock together, but it was Holdsworth who created something new from their synthesis, essentially inventing his own colour coded chord notation which still leaves students of the guitar bedazzled, creating a heritage in rock through the likes of Van Halen and Satriani or in jazz that has led to the likes of Ant Law and Alex Hutchings.

Holdsworth loved Tony Williams the musician – 'The Drums Were Yellow' being his tribute to Miles' 'little genius'. But his days with the drum man also summed up the fragile nature of the jazz world. When a tour with Williams collapsed, Holdsworth found himself broke in the USA and he literally had to hock his guitar to get home again. Again, when the adoring Van Halen wangled Holdsworth a Warners deal which should have won him the kind of superstar status that the likes of Bill Bruford always felt he deserved, it all fell through in what Holdsworth called a 'miserable experience' when the label rejected his choice of drummer and singer.

Holdsworth it seemed was always meant to plough a lone furrow, doomed to carry that ambiguous accolade of a 'musician's musician'. But that freedom from corporate moulding, his blithe ignorance of 'commercial potential' (it's no surprise Zappa was another soul brother) liberated Holdsworth, even if it never put cash in the bank. In the mid 1980s a series of albums, notably Metal Fatigue, Atavachron and Sand found him discovering a whole new voice, with songs like 'Non Brewed Condiment' bringing the SynthAxe to the fore. Not everyone loved the new vibe, but again this was Holdsworth changing the very sound of the guitar. Suddenly on songs like 'Distance v Desire' Holdsworth could be both orchestra and clarinet yet be playing guitar. Lush harmonies blossomed around eerie melodies, voiced in ways still yet to be understood. When he found he could add a blow tube, his ambition to breathe the guitar was finally achieved, and it was kind of fitting that his last solo album, Flat Tire in 2001, was almost entirely produced on synth guitar, with his ability to recreate 'fake' clarinets being as satisfying for him as anything in his previous 30 years of recording.

In the years since, Holdsworth grew quieter, his health more fragile. He kept up his interest in road cycling for as long as possible, and relished his own hand-pumped home brews, employing the swan necks he wanted to sell to US micro-breweries. Long-time associate and fellow Yorkshireman Gary Husband got him to play on his Dirty and Beautiful Vols 1 and 2, but even Husband couldn't get McLaughlin and Holdsworth together simultaneously in a studio.

But coming out from the pain of divorce that underwrote Flat Tire, with his solo catalogue re-issued by Manifesto, a new album being recorded and his first tour in years recently begun, it looked as if Holdsworth was about to bring pleasure to a whole new generation. But sadly it's not to be. Rest in peace, Allan Holdsworth, The Man Who Changed Guitar Forever.

– Andy Robson

Kamasi

Hot-shot saxophonist and bandleader Kamasi Washington has announced the release of his first new music since 2015's critically acclaimed The Epic. His forthcoming Harmony Of Difference EP, an original six-movement suite that premiered as part of this year's Whitney Biennial, will be out later this summer and represents the first fruits of his recently-penned global deal with the London-based Young Turks label.

'Truth', A 13-minute track from that record, can already be heard in accompaniment to a film by AG Rojas (check it out below).

– Spencer Grady

 

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