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(From Down Beat Vol. 32, No. 20, September, 1965) - US Albert Ayler
BELLS—ESP Disk 1010: Bells.
Personnel: Albert Ayler, tenor saxophone; Charles Tyler, alto saxophone; Donald Ayler, trumpet; Lewis Worrell, bass; Sonny Murray, percussion. Rating.: no stars Pharaoh Sanders
PHARAOH—ESP Disk 1003: Seven by Seven; Bethera.
Personnel: Stan Foster, trumpet; Sanders, tenor saxophone: Jane Getz, piano; William Bennett, bass; Marvin Pattillo, drums. Rating: * * * ½ The Ayler performance was recorded at the concert of avant-garde music held May 1 at New York’s Town Hall under the aegis of Bernard Stollman and ESP Disk, which Stollman owns. Just why it was recorded is difficult to conjecture, for what is preserved on this one-sided LP is perhaps the most formless, incoherent, and quite possibly the most ineptly stated pronunciamento from the outer (and outre) reaches of the “new thing” I have heard.
The first half of the work is a sprawling, turbulent devil’s brew of unrelated sounds, squawks, bleats, cries, whinnyings, etc.—a musical gobbledygook that is almost impossible to describe. It sounds like a henhouse gone berserk.
Ay1er surely is capable of wresting a wide variety of effects from his instrument, but music is more than a catalog of effects. The mere airing onstage of a sequence of unrealized emotions through a musical instrument does not in itself amount to the creation of a coherent musical design. Granted the importance in today’s music of the act of creating, still that which has been created through that conscious act must be directed by a musical intelligence and must be fully capable of standing (and being judged) on its own terms—as a finished artifact—aside from the act.
And this is the flaw of the Ayler work; repeated listening reveals no design, no intelligence, no coherence—no art, if you will. (The fact that one can reproduce at will the sequence of sounds that was produced on the stage of Town Hall that evening through the simple expedient of placing this recorded memorial on a turntable does not, of course, amount to anything approaching the existence of a design or musical unity. The unity must be central to the musical experience itself and must be directed by the consciousness of the artists involved.)
The second half of the composition employs a number of simple, folkish motifs to which the participants return from time to time (so there was a plan, at any rate). What bridges these segments, however, is more of the inchoate, feverish disorder that marks the first part; again, no coherence.
Perhaps the high premium these musicians place on the role of intuition in this music can have meaningful results; one can only hope they are right. But it would seem to call for more accomplished and sensitive musicians than were gathered on stage at Town Hall this evening. Either that or they just had a bad night.
The recording is a bit muddy at times; in the ensemble, for example, it is difficult to hear the bass, though this is not a problem in the passages featuring the rhythm section.
What a pleasure it is to turn to the music of the Sanders quintet. It has, among other things, a strong sense of musicality; both pieces, in fact, are quite lyrical in their way. The two performances are ordered, sensitively executed (to the demands of the music), and quite accessible. (True, they are quite a bit more conventional than the free-for-all character of the Ayler piece.)
This was my first exposure to the playing of saxophonist Sanders, and he’s not at all the perfervid iconoclast the writings of LeRoi Jones, among others, had led me to believe. He’s more a modern mainstreamer, if I may use such a term, than anything else, with his strong, sure, muscularly lyrical playing firmly rooted in that of John CoItrane. He has made one of the most wholly successful working syntheses of Coltrane’s mode of playing than anyone I’ve yet heard (with the possible exception of the excellent Booker Ervin); but I would scarcely say, as has Jones, that Sanders’ approach represents a significant extension of Coltrane’s. If anything, Sanders is much more spare and conjunct, much less complicated and rhythmically simpler, than is the current Coltrane.
Sanders’ playing soars with a songlike simplicity that is most attractive, and his tone is very like Coltrane’s in its pain-tinged ardor. He has a pair of beautifully constructed, flowing solos on Seven; toward the end of his first one he employs very effectively a rhythmic figure to which he returns from time to time, imparting a nice sense of continuity to his improvisation.
On Bethera he is much more patently “new thing” in his playing, employing in his solo a sequence of cries and harsh-sounding wails. But they are not gratuitous, being, instead, integral to the mood of the song. Foster enters as from a great distance with a solo that is equally restless and “tortured.” The trumpeter seems quite at home in this music, and his playing, though occasionally tentative and meandering, is generally strong and assertive. The free interplay of the two horns at the end of the piece comes off quite well.
The rhythm section is very good. Miss Getz’ piano is full and complements the playing of the two horns more than adequately; in solo she holds her own. Her right-hand lines are coherent and lyrically spare though not at all dry. Bennett’s bass participates actively, and drummer Pattillo generates an appropriately sprung rhythm.
It’s a most promising group that has much to say and which says it authoritatively and ungrudgingly—and with no polemics either.
One niggling quibble: there seems to have been a bit of print-through on the tape, with the result that one hears a faint pre-echo of the music a split second before it is played on the disc. (P.W.)
Pete Welding. *** (From Jazz Monthly December, 1965.) - UK BELLS:
Donald Ayler (tpt); Albert Ayler (ten); Charles Tyler (sax); Lewis Worrell (bs); Sonny Murray (d)
Town Hall, New York City—May 1, 1965
Bells
ESP Disk 1010 (45/3d.)
Note:This is a single sided LP. PERHAPS IT would be best to deal first with the most obvious features of this album—its drawbacks—all apparent before putting the disc on the turn-table. As many will know, for the record is sure to achieve some notoriety, it is a one-sided pressing on colourless transparent material; the second side is taken up by the art-nouveau title design. I’m not against experiments in presentation but it is certainly a lot to expect people to pay a relatively high price for only one side of music, playing time 19 minutes, and this with the added injury of near complete absence of information and no discussion of the unfamiliar music and musicians. The quality of the contents must be very considerable to transcend these barriers.
As it happens Ayler’s music is the most strikingly original to have arisen in the post-Coleman era, indeed he is one of a very few artists who are completely within the new music. Free jazz is slowly confirming its validity by the production of major talents; it is becoming clear that Coleman and Taylor will not remain isolated figures and that there is room beyond. Ayler at 29 is beginning to create his own circle of influence—as can be seen from a chronological study of his recordings—as well as the expected reflex of misunderstanding and scathing attacks, though behind even these the unique atmosphere of the tenorist’s music has clearly left an impression.
The present recording contains Ayler’s section of the New York Town Hall concert that included Bud Powell, Byron Allen and Guiseppi Logan and it is incredible that the other side of this disc was not devoted to performances by the other avant-gardists—instead Logan also has an album to himself. Although there is mention on the sleeve of only one title there appear to be two distinct compositions—though a “two part work” is possible—the first, fast and tumultuous, lasting some 5½ minutes and a more varied piece which I assume is Bells itself. It is probably the most internally consistent example of the artist’s work on record, for the other musicians have obviously steeped themselves in his individual concept. Indeed Tyler is so close to his mentor that one must rely on an eye-witness to inform us that he is playing alto—despite this dependency the powerful solo preceding the trumpet on the second piece indicates great potential. Don Ayler is the most compatible trumpeter his brother has recorded with, though Don Cherry’s partnership also proved fruitful, and Lewis Worrell is another wonderful bassist and one who will listen. Murray, a frequent colleague, is completely adapted to the independent rhythm of Ayler’s solo style and provides the jazz equivalent of the noise elements in this neo-gothic world.
For Ayler himself one can hardly summarise the nature of his unique style in the course of a review. He is a gifted fantasist, his incredibly powerful and coarse tone shaping a soundscape of gryphons and gargoyles, a weird contorted landscape broken by passages of black comedy. Structural development does not play much part in this essentially static style, yet the emotive power and perverse humour combine with technical consistency to produce a unified art. His themes are equally part of the expression, strange often brilliant fusions of half-remembered folk-tunes or common martial airs that underline the child-like aspect of his approach and call forth a nostalgic response to complicate the trenchant darkness. In the second piece suggestions of The Bells of St. Clemens, Frere Jacques etc. combine with the basic military call to arms—played at an edge of chaos that takes the brass band parody into a new dimension. Technically he has continued the constant expansion of the saxophone’s range to hitherto unheard extremes—one wonder on hearing the dynamic and timbral possibilities now available (note the trumpet-like passages here) if soon the reed instruments will satisfactorily replace all other horns in jazz usage—not a purely speculative idea as a glance at jazz history will bear out.
All in all this writer finds it difficult to offer a final recommendation; short playing time, irresponsible presentation, and dubious sound quality, or strikingly original musical thought capable of immense rewards if given the opportunity—the reader must decide for himself. TERRY MARTIN *** (From Jazz Hot 1966) - France BELLS Albert Ayler (ts), Don Ayler (tp), Charles Tyler (as), Lewis Worrell et Gary Peacock (b), Sonny Murray (dms).
Bells.
Mai 1965, Town Hall, New York City.
ESP 1010. “Bells”, comme tout le monde l’a bien compris, c’est vraiment le manifeste de la Nouvelle Musique. C’est à partir de ce disque que lui, Albert Ayler, et tous les autres sont devenus ce qu’il sont; soit en s’y opposant, soit en se croyant enfin libres d’aller jusqu’au bout d’eux-mêmes. Albert est sans doute le premier musicien depuis Bird à ne pas se soucier sincèrement de son art, ou mieux, de son expression. Il sait, parce qu’il les a expérimentés, que les seuls vrais sommets de l’intelligence et de la perception sont formés (obtenus) par la multiplication des accidents-événements et que l’unicité est devenue un centre trop inutile pour ne pas être condamnée à se balancer stérilement d’avant en arrière de la création. Le ventre de la phrase, le coeur de toutes les syntaxes est en fait (médiocre soleil) une donnée trop facilement réductible à la notion matricielle de vecteur; quand ces vecteurs sont déclarés informels, il en profite pour se détourner et regarde hypocritement vers la vie (les marches militaires), le rêve peut alors se contenter d’être lui-même. Pendant les époques limites, le seul point de fuite, la seule planche de salut, se trouvent du côté de la brûlante succession des climats. Mais une succession en boucle: recommencer le déjà énoncé, s’engloutir dans son point de départ, réamorcer l’acte qui s’achève, s’enrouler autour de son propre projet, c’est l’arme unique que nous possédions pour nous opposer au silence (on parle trop du silence); ce silence où nous pensions nous enfoncer, épuisés, battus par l’inhumaine et fulgurante rapidité du défilé des antinomies en liberté. La cercle: règle d’action des positifs et des négatifs organisés en chaine... La structuration des matérieux est-elle donc si vaine quand elle se fait pour elle-même? La musique d’Albert est une réponse impérative et injuste. Un beau matin, il se retrouvera sans nécessités, debout au milieu de son magnifique espace comblé de fleurs mortelles qu’il n’aura pas voulu (désiré) engendrer; il feindra la surprise, jouera la carte de la maturité; il sera alors lui aussi bel et bien confronté avec l’inepte futilité de toute musique... Il croira au personnage qu’il sera devenu at au vocabulaire qui se mettra tout à coup à sa disposition, c’est ce dernier coup qui lui sera fatal... Ce sont les professionnels du son qui recherchent les grands dialogues à l’intérieur de leurs oeuvres, Albert n’aura qu’entrepris la quête du matériel sans qualité (sans jamais chercher à réussir, cela aurait déjà été une forme, son manque de lucidité le protège: il voit clair). “Découverte”: ne plus faire de fausses notes mais des mauvaises notes. Tout au long des cultures, à intervalles réguliers, apparaissent de ces sortes d’antiprogressistes qui font toucher le but; Albert doit se savoir condamné: il nous laisse un récit déjà presque complet et sans l’ombre d’une faiblesse ou d’un doute. La ligne — ou le son — se dissocie, s’arrache de la forme, de la couleur, du dessin, elle se précipite vers son propre jeu (d’implication sociales); et c’est par dessus ou au creux de ces énormes entrelacs qu’il capture ces minuscules unités de lumière qu’il avait laissé s’échapper. La force sans muscle de sa musique, quand elle se déploie, appelle la fragilité de son destin. La MUSIQUE qu’il émet par l’intermédiaire de son instrument est la seule à être plus férocement constante que lui-même. Le grotesque dont parlent ceux qui “écoutent” Albert représente presque trop parfaitement la manière dont ils en sont environnés, pris au piège. Après lui, les nouvelles inventions seront difficiles car le sexe de sa musique appartient à ceux qui pourront lui répondre malgré tout sans montrer trop de panique. Cette course aux atmosphères marque l’affaiblissement irrémédiable de toute “perfection”. Cependant il y a encore Marion Brown... Alain Corneau Back to: Record Reviews Discography: Bells |
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