The Spontaneous Music Ensemble, Karyobin, Chronoscope 2001

Reviewed by Scot Hacker

Atonal and fragile from start to finish, Karyobin tells the aural story of "the imaginary birds said to live in paradise." Indeed, there is much bird song here; also much pecking at the ground, flitting from branch to fence, and plenty of mysterious conversation. In fact, the album bears a certain resemblance to Dave Holland's much later "Conference of the Birds," though this recording is quite a bit less structured than that one. It would seem that this early work with the SME was very inspirational for him.

The group is heard here in an early incarnation (their first recording was in 1966), and at a time when the SME represented some of the most advanced free jazz of the time. There is a feeling of the Cagean "kitchen sink, bedpan and bicycle wheel" approach which was the M.O. of Parker, Braxton, and the AACM at the time, but they manage to pull it off without the kitchen sink. The fact that they are able to extract such a diversity of sounds from the instrumentation of a classic pianoless quintet is nothing short of amazing.

Each of the six parts which constitute the whole feeds out of the previous track, and though they are clearly divided, the record has the feel of a single unbroken recording, a series of variations on the theme of flightiness. There is also quit a bit of play with time lag -- almost an abstract rondo at times. Wheeler will start a line and Parker will echo two pulses later, to be followed by similar lines from the unpredictable strings of Bailey and Holland. It also seems at times that the instruments are trying to emulate not just the lines, but the sounds of the other instruments. Parker will brighten his tone to become almost trumpet-like; Wheeler will pluck at the air, as if his horn were a guitar.

In the liner notes, Robert Wyatt says that no single sopranoist has developed on Sidney Bechet's legacy with more authority than Parker. I'm not so sure about that (the lineage becomes so diffuse at this point in the game), but Parker's voice is a potent one, and stands out more clearly than the others here. Whether that's because the mix places him out in front of the others (Holland unfortunately is subsumed way back) or because his inventions stick in the ears like fish hooks, it's hard to say.

This is a trembling, spare recording, perched on the delicate edge between the density normally associated with free blowing sessions and the spaciousness of erudite European improvisation. Each member of this quintet has a deep reverence for silence, and plays the quiet between the notes as adeptly as their own instrument. The session posits each musician "as a part of a whole larger than himself, rather than as a separate attraction," according to founder John Stevens. This approach demands a deep appreciation for selflessness and sacrifice, and most of all, for deep listening. There is no more ego on this record than there is in birdsong itself.

Session details:

Kenny Wheeler, tpt, flgh; Evan Parker, ss; Derek Bailey, el gt; Dave Holland, b; John Stevens, d. Rec. 2/68.

Karyobin parts 1-6. 49:04

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