Musical fruitfulness doesn’t come easy. But in an improvisation
between two men who are playing together for the first time, something
incredible can happen: the instantaneous poignancy of the just-generated
material, the visible sparks of the respective imaginations, the
concrete explanation behind that fundamental instinct which pushes
gifted humans to attempt a creative act to look into themselves to begin
with, and communicate with fellow talented specimens later on.
Zone De Memoire is the result of one of those born-in-heaven
encounters. Reedist Gilad Atzmon and pianist Hubert Bergmann recorded
these magnificent seven tracks in an afternoon, prior to a concert of
the British artist with Sarah Gillespie at Überlingen, on Lake
Constance. Already in the opening exchanges of the initial “Roof Of
Clouds” it is quite evident that there was no mâitre around to make sure
that the champagne was being served. Straight away, the couple enters
the areas where there is nothing else besides those intelligible
figurations, significance distilled from an alternance of passionate
inflexions and softened accents, occasionally leaving room to precious
instants where riveting intuitions and an impressive sense of
anticipation prevail on a potentially damaging paroxysm, turning
impromptu gestures into a contrapuntal logic of the highest order.
Piano, alto and soprano saxophones, clarinet. Well known
colours, both in jazz and free music at large, appearing all the more
familiar when there’s no need of radical disruptions to hit the right
spots in a listener. Bergmann’s touch and physical mastery on the
keyboard are decisively solid despite a lingering romantic aura; Atzmon
seems to exhale melancholy even when the fire in his tone burns hot,
sheltering hopes and fears under hundreds of melodic insights. You are
not going to experience the kind of inner laceration caused by the
harshest types of sonic message; and yet, ATZBE belong to that category
of unstained virtuosos that manage to appear noble and unpretentious at
once. The ones who suggest us to leave whatever we’re doing, and get the
instrument in our hands again for the few inestimable minutes of
wordless contentment that life still reserves beyond bogus cosmic
connections and ever-torn nets.
Keine Kommentare:
Kommentar veröffentlichen