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AllAboutJazz-New York www.aaj-ny.com - Jazz Singers.com

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46 November 2010 | ALLABOUTJAZZ-NEW YORK<br />

(HUMANOISE CONTINUED FROM PAGE 13)<br />

Pritchard’s Fluxus-oriented dramatics - which<br />

included emptying containers filled with plastic balls<br />

or European coins onto the ground; unrolling black<br />

electrical tape from one side of the stage to another as<br />

she sang; repeating nonsense syllables as she applied<br />

clown-like make-up and vocalizing from different<br />

parts of the auditorium - were often aped by Bieler-<br />

Wendt, who didn’t confine himself to the performance<br />

surface either. Not only did he wander the stage while<br />

improvising, but during some of the climactic allhands-on-deck<br />

daily tuttis, he was often found<br />

harmonizing in another corner of the two-level,<br />

enclosed former courtyard of the Musik Kulturforum<br />

or, like Pritchard, contributing strident textures while<br />

positioned at the top of the staircase leading to the<br />

upper level. Notwithstanding that the most <strong>com</strong>mon<br />

timbres arising from his fiddle were horizontallysawed,<br />

ehru-like shrieks or spiccato runs pulsated<br />

with one hand as the other separated strings with<br />

clothespins, revealingly he and Pritchard were also<br />

both sensitive team-players.<br />

A quintet consisting of the two and Tupa plus<br />

local laptopist Ulrich Böttcher and German percussion<br />

Bernd Bleffert was particularly notable. Pritchard’s<br />

multiphonic evisceration of a single syllable blended<br />

with the string section sounds to provide layered<br />

framing for Bleffert’s rhythmic display on his mostly<br />

self-created instruments. Moving purposely among his<br />

percussion collection at this time and in other<br />

collaborations during the HNC, Bleffert stroked giant<br />

chopsticks against metal plates, struck a set of<br />

rectangular slate, steel and wooden blocks placed<br />

marimba-like on a stand, whomped metal plates glued<br />

onto a wooden plank and whooshed leather switches<br />

through the air. Böttcher’s resonating bangs<br />

underlined the set’s unselfconscious humor.<br />

Face-offs between Bleffert and Nakatani, backed<br />

by either fluttering peeps from the flute of Margret<br />

Trescher or Böttcher’s disconnected pulses, were more<br />

illustrative of how both innovative percussionists<br />

perfected unique styles on unconventional setups. If<br />

Nakatani popped a ti<strong>ny</strong> drum, sawed on a ride cymbal<br />

or spanked his snare before outputting a collection of<br />

ruffs, drags, rebounds and bass-drum whacks with his<br />

full kit, Bleffert rubbed stiff paper against an upright<br />

bicycle wheel producing harsh resonations, crunched<br />

then ripped apart an aluminum beer can and finally<br />

lobbed the shards through the wheel, producing<br />

reverberations as they hit the snare drum below. On<br />

the final day when both men played the German’s<br />

equipment the differences were even starker.<br />

Nakatani’s stick pressure against the rotating wheel<br />

for instance, seemed less assured than the butohdancer-like<br />

grace he brought to his conga and kettle<br />

drum pressures. Meanwhile Bleffert’s wheel-stroke<br />

vibrating achieved the desired effect less muscularly<br />

and when he stroked the kettledrum it was with a<br />

wooden container that muted the results.<br />

Another double-threat was Norwegian French<br />

hornist and electronics manipulator Hild Sofie Tafjord,<br />

a member of the rock-electro-improv quartet Spunk.<br />

As a hornist, her roughened pumping and extended<br />

bellowing kept the improvisations from be<strong>com</strong>ing too<br />

flighty, especially when Trescher’s lyrical puffs were<br />

involved. Tafjord was helped immeasurably by<br />

Nakatani’s sonorous gong echoes plus Rowe’s<br />

gurgling and repetitive electronic pulse on one quartet<br />

outing. Similarly, her rounded grace notes seemed to<br />

encourage Tupa to convert his atonal string-sawing to<br />

harmonizing connective portamento. At points her<br />

instrument’s alpine-horn-like characteristics took on<br />

further echoes as she processed its tones with<br />

electronics.<br />

In fact, one of the HNC’s most dazzling sets<br />

unrolled on Day Two from a trio of Tafjord and<br />

Phillipp using live electronics, plus the distinct<br />

timbres of Rowe’s prepared guitar. A mélange of<br />

blurred crackles, hollow-wooden pops and staccato<br />

recoils, the electrified sluices contained traces of<br />

sampled sounds emanating from Rowe’s radio. With<br />

textures reflecting back onto one another, the piece<br />

reached a climax of ring-modulator-like clangs and<br />

rhythmic static before downshifting into rubbery,<br />

connective drones.<br />

Although some other encounters didn’t work as<br />

well and a few suffered from low-energy, another<br />

paradigm of this sort of pure improvisation is the<br />

potential for mismatches and even musical failures.<br />

Like late guitarist Derek Bailey’s now defunct<br />

Compa<strong>ny</strong> Week, it’s this unpredictability that keeps<br />

the music at events such as the HumaNoise Congress<br />

so fascinating and ultimately so rewarding. K<br />

For more information, visit humanoise.de<br />

(ANGEL CITY CONTINUED FROM PAGE 13)<br />

The heaviest jolt hit midway with the trio of Tim<br />

Berne, Jim Black and Nels Cline, sometimes called BBC<br />

but now cunningly dubbed Sons of Champignon (ie,<br />

hippie prog meets benevolent shrooms). An<br />

electrocuted Cline fanned, feedbacked, stroked and<br />

burped his guitar without restraint, encouraged by<br />

Black’s violent surges and strategic retreats; Berne’s<br />

alto sax spun white <strong>com</strong>ets of strange logic around the<br />

ionosphere. Long association in various contexts has<br />

made for big, big payoffs in this group.<br />

On Monday at Culver City’s Royal-T, a privileged<br />

few experienced a multimedia improvisational<br />

spectacle - music, video, dance and food - whose<br />

ambition and execution couldn’t have been duplicated<br />

in the loftiest palaces of world culture. Wringing his<br />

hands with trepidation at the beginning, Somazzi was<br />

soon beaming with delight as everything fell together.<br />

First, a Nels Cline guitar decorated by artist Yoshitomo<br />

Nara was auctioned off (the event was a fest fundraiser)<br />

for $70,000. Then pianist Myra Melford set the<br />

tone with a graceful <strong>com</strong>position lent even deeper<br />

beauty by the sensitive multilogue of bassist Mark<br />

Dresser, guitarist Nels Cline, percussionist Alex Cline,<br />

keyboardist Yuka Honda and violinist Jeff Gauthier.<br />

More remarkable, the ensemble maintained the<br />

delicate balance for two hours of the most joyfully<br />

grave elevation and psychedelic samadhi blues as<br />

butoh dancer Oguri slowly edged between tables<br />

channeling fiery ghosts and Carole Kim’s video<br />

projections on a gauze screen provided clean, everchanging<br />

frameworks and instant portraits of the<br />

musicians in transport. Chef Paul Canales, meanwhile,<br />

struck an ideal counterpoint with multi-course<br />

presentations, from infernal peppers to a red-andbrown<br />

vegetable mélange on a bed of green melon. In<br />

Morocco, they have a word for this kind of extended<br />

healing conjuration: a lila.<br />

The festival continued three more nights. On<br />

Thursday at LA County Museum, Nels Cline<br />

interacted with seminal artist Ed Ruscha’s paintings<br />

and David Breskin’s poetry in an event christened<br />

“Dirty Baby”. On Friday at Barnsdall Gallery Theater,<br />

ethereal pianist Motoko Honda set up the planetranging<br />

music documentaries of filmmaker Steve<br />

Elkins. And on Saturday, at the Musicians Institute,<br />

flowing guitarist John Abercrombie’s quartet<br />

refreshed one of the non-swing, non-bebop streams<br />

that helped inspire all this extrapolation back in the<br />

‘70s.<br />

Having multiplied in scope each year, the Angel<br />

City <strong>Jazz</strong> Festival dared a<strong>ny</strong>one to call it just another<br />

bunch of concerts. It was a dare only a true fool would<br />

take.<br />

For more information, visit angelcityjazz.<strong>com</strong>

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