posted by Ben Hogwood, with text from the press release
Since first meeting in 2009, Shame sees Bibio and Dorian Concept explore a shared language across sound and moving image, through a process rooted in experimentation, improvisation and exchange.
Shame arrives alongside a music video, created by the pair:
Akusmi, the vehicle of London-based French composer Pascal Bideau, looks to match the impact and ambition of its first two albums with a third instalment.
The press release promises a great deal, namely an invitation to “seven faraway sonic imaginariums fusing global and spiritual jazz with life affirming minimalism into a hypnotic, polyrhythmic odyssey”.
Joining Bideau on this odyssey are a host of musicians, even though he himself is something of a one-man band. Terra Incognita features Sarathy Korwar (tabla), Dudú Kouate (percussion, ngoni and flutes), Levitation Orchestra’s Marysia Osu (harp) and Lluís Domènech Plana (flutes) and Daniel Brandt, providing electronics on Anima.
What’s the music like?
Richly colourful. There is a lot going on in Akusmi’s music, a hive of activity that rewards repeated listening, where the intricate inner parts and the freedom of the outer voices can be fully appreciated. The methods and techniques have deepened since previous album Fleeting Future, so the sound is more intricate, but the joy and warmth that make his music so attractive are here again in generous measures.
A Waking Dream is indeed like the start of a new day, starting with nocturnal rustlings but settling into a groove of crossrhythms and bright instrumental colours. Anima and Pleine Lune build on this, the latter especially a riot of colour, with the saxophone flying free up above. Rain Dance is even more propulsive, the ensemble swaying in a dazzling show of unity, while everything comes to a head in Dawning Dusk, an exhilarating track topped by Dudú Kouate’s multi-layered vocal. Kouate it is who secures the swagger to Drongo’s Flute, where the saxophone enjoys further freedom above the groove set by the Senegalese percussionist.
While jazz and Afrobeat are obvious influences here the musical processes Bideau uses are aligned closer to Reich or Glass, taking minimal riffs and developing them through communal means that build the musical intensity. The instrumental colours charm and bewitch, the musical equivalent of throwing open the windows on a sunny day.
Does it all work?
It really does, as Terra Incognita becomes an album of enduring positivity.
Is it recommended?
Yes, wholeheartedly. This is music with the most vibrant colours, reflecting its cover through grooves that sing and dance in unity. A life-affirming album reaffirming Pascal Bideau as a composer who knows no boundaries.
For fans of… Floating Points, Brandt Brauer Frick, Christian Prommer, Philip Glass, Terry Riley
by Ben Hogwood. Picture of Berwald used courtesy of Wikipedia, unknown author
On this day in 1796, the Swedish composer Franz Berwald was born.
Berwald has gained something of a cult following for his four symphonies, which are rightly popular for their poise and elegance, complementary to those who like the music of Schubert and Mendelssohn. Such qualities extend to his chamber music, an output headed by the bright Grand Septet in B flat major:
To that can be added an early Piano Quintet no.1 in C minor, headed by an effervescent tune on the piano:
Berwald’s first published piece, his Quartet for piano and winds, is for the unusual combination of clarinet, horn, bassoon and piano – and as you might expect explores some very attractive instrumental colours:
This is the first collaboration between John Berndt, the Baltimore band leader, and M.C. Schmidt, one half of the celebrated duo Matmos. Both have pooled their considertable expertise in avant garde and experimental music in celebration of the comic books of Jean Giraud (aka Moebius) and “the beautiful miniatures of the SKY Records Cluster/Eno/Conny Plank collaborations”.
The result is an electronic record looking simultaneously backwards and forwards.
What’s the music like?
Packed with incident across an eventful three-quarters of an hour. There is so much going on here that repeated listening is essential to absorb and appreciate the sheer scale of the pair’s inventions.
At times their music sounds like an update of Anton Webern or John Cage, so compressed is its thinking, while the pair cast the net ever wider in search of extra instrumental colour. Humour abounds, with witty thoughts bubbling under the surface as the music ebbs and flows. Especially notable are Our Theme, which behaves like the tuning process of an analogue radio, the descriptive Gecko Lazzaro, featuring trombonist Patrick Crossland and guitarist Owen Gardner, and The Analysis of Joel, a playful and colourful shredding of lines from guitarist Joel Knispel.
3000 is typical of the warmth coursing through the album, its percussion suggesting African influences.
Does it all work?
Yes, in a way that makes you want to return often to Cloud Machines to see what else you can spot. There are so many musical happenings it can be difficult to keep up at first, but as the secrets reveal themselves so too does the pair’s full invention.
Is it recommended?
Yes, without a doubt – fans of the pair’s previous work will lap this up. Be assured, the music is every bit as colourful and as far out as the wonderful cover art!
Cultural historian, concert producer and author Joseph Horowitz issues his latest novel. On one level a prequel to The Marriage, The Disciple heads from the early 20th to the late 19th century and a New York as the New World emerges from the cultural dominance of the Old.
What’s the book like?
The book centres on Anton Seidl (1850-1898), Hungarian-born conductor whose association with Richard Wagner at Bayreuth during the latter’s final decade saw him progress from copyist, via stage-advisor, to conductor; in which capacity, he introduced the Ring tetralogy to Berlin and London. New York brought his greatest triumphs – first as conductor of German opera at the Metropolitan for six seasons then, after new management reasserted the supremacy of Italian opera, as music director of New York Philharmonic for seven seasons until his untimely death.
Against a backdrop of artistic success and public acclaim that reached adulatory heights in New York, Seidl evinced a persona on which that of Wagner left its indelible and unerasable stamp. His latter years were spent in frequent transit across the Atlantic, while he sought to further the Teutonic tradition through a Wagnerian aesthetic to which he was knowingly and ever more reluctantly in thrall. Yet he took a keen interest as to the evolution of an inherently American music, directing the world premiere of Dvořák’s New World Symphony and even following its precepts with an attempt at opera that his demise left unrealized. Unlike others among his peers, not least the unashamedly ambitious Walter Damrosch, an inward reserve mirrored his dislike of publicity at odds with the commercial dictates of American society.
It is in elucidating this gulf between personal achievement and self-knowledge that Horowitz is at his most enlightening. Already in the aftermath of Parsifal’s emergence is the realization that Wagner’s legacy was liable to atrophy given the mutual antagonisms of a family headed by the gaunt eminence of Cosima, for whom the dominance of Wagner over German culture outweighed all other considerations. Such thinking was uppermost in the minds of those who lauded Wagner as the saviour of high-art and Seidl as his representative on earth, though the latter himself saw this as a passing phase which, in the event, barely outlived his own demise. Little more than a quarter-century following his death, the triumphal premiere of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue underlined the seismic changes in American culture that had taken place.
Does it all work?
It does, and not necessarily as a fable of disillusion with regard to New York’s ‘Gilded Age’. Horowitz encompasses these cultural shifts with the assured sense of an era playing itself out in inevitable fashion; Seidel and his contemporaries on both sides of the Atlantic increasingly confronted by their own temporality. That those vaunted monuments to his memory failed to materialize appears hardly surprising, let alone shocking, is a tribute to the thoroughness with which Horowitz prepare his readers for this conductor’s and this era’s passing into obscurity.
Is it recommended?
It is. The Disciple should be read by all those for whom Wagner’s music and ‘thinking’ might earlier have been considered off-limits. Divided into numerous assimilable chapters, with an extensive glossary of relevant persons, it affords an engrossing and thought-provoking read.