Recording review - Alain Johannes, Fragments & Wholes, Vol. 1 (2014)

Time-boxed creativity yields pearls of improvisation

Sometimes, it can be be excruciating to bring all the pieces together. Scattered and disjoint, they may not quite fit together into a coherent whole, but leave some out and some important facet is glossed over and missed. Fragments and Wholes, Volume 1, the latest solo project by multi-instrumentalist and producer Alain Johannes deals with this explicitly, drawing on roughed out sketches and nicely framed pieces alike. Where his 2010 release, Spark, sculpted the dynamic tension between genres and tone to create a beautiful love letter/eulogy to his late wife, Natasha Schneider, Fragments and Wholes sacrifices coherency in the interest of jump-starting creativity. Each of the 12 tracks rose out of small pearls of improvisation, fleshed out as much as possible in the short amount of time Johannes allowed himself to record the album. Like Jonathan Coulton’s Thing A Week series, the tight time constraint means that not every piece achieves the same impact, but the trade-off is that the momentum demands a quick, instinctive approach to writing and supports a feeling of immediacy.

Given Johannes’ work with Queens of the Stone Age, Them Crooked Vultures, and Eleven, along with his studio work with Chris Cornell and Soundgarden, it’s not surprising that several of these songs serve up some heavy drive and grungy darkness, but the twist is that he channels his other big influence, The Beatles, through a chain of psychedelic touchstones shared with Lenny Kravitz, Eric McFadden and Robyn Hitchcock. In fact, his vocals and arrangements often seem modeled on Kravitz, down to the DIY multi-track construction of auteur clones recording each instrumental nuance.

The first couple of tracks on Fragments and Wholes, “All the Way Down” and “Whispering Fields”, work that softer side with an airy folk-pop and a simple, late night acoustic moodiness. Like most of these tunes, they’re both relatively tiny morsels, but each packs a lot of flavor into the small space, with plenty of layers to support repeated listenings. While these two pieces show off Johannes’ lush side, he follows up with “Saturn Wheel”, which dives deeply into the shadows. Ending all too soon without real resolution, this is one of the “fragments”, but the brooding tension evokes Jethro Tull’s “Locomotive Breath” as interpreted by Soundgarden. The thick guitar and restless bass snake together, allowing glimpses of Dick Dale surf guitar fills to add some sinister glints. Even when the song slips into a dreamier interval, the relentless drive never sleeps. The solo is brief to help keep the song under three minutes, but it offers a hint of wicked depravity, barely contained within the pentagon that Johannes summoned it in.

In general, Johannes does a good job of filling out the smaller sketches, often creating miniaturized versions of the song ideas that trade off running time for packed plies of detail. Of these, the best may well be "Petal's Wish", which reminds me of Elvis Costello's classic jazz experiments blended with a taste of "Shipbuilding". Still, it’s the longer running tunes offer the most satisfaction. “Kaleidoscope” is a rich Beatlesque pastiche that manages to cross-pollinate elements of “Baby, You’re a Rich Man” with Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir”. The reedy melodies meander against a solid drone. At the same time, Johannes is able to bridge his influences here, bringing in grungy processional feel borrowed from “Black Hole Sun” and then dipping deeper into darkness with the chorus. The vocals are detached and dreamy, but the music has an obsessive immediacy that made it my favorite track on the album. The dynamic drop for the close is just icing to seal the deal. Later, the four minute “Jack of Wands” offers a sense of Queens of the Stone Age trying to tap into the disquiet of Jethro Tull’s "Aqualung", The bridge slides into a Lennonesque disorientation and the lyrics remain oblique and poetic, leaving little more to grasp than the dark mood and the threatening sense of totality, "From stick to leaves."

Spark was one of my favorite albums back in 2010, and while Fragments and Wholes doesn't achieve the same heights, it's clear that Johannes is working to push his creativity to its limits. Time-boxing his work on this project forced him to make tough artistic decisions and live with them, and I think the experiment was a success.

Recording review - Mystical Weapons, Mystical Weapons (2013)

Tiny dim sum tastes of improvisation

The spirit of improvisation allows that anything is possible, but in practice, players often play it too safe, meandering within the comfortable confines of blues and rock progressions or stultified jazz standards. Sure, there are experimental islands where the wild things are, but they’re often inhabited by self-absorbed madmen who flout convention like rebels without a cause. Mystical Weapons make a valiant effort and lay claim to a new utopian vision of instant composition. Even if they don’t fully distance themselves from self-indulgence, their new album features satisfying musical twists and fine playing.

The duo got their start in 2010 when Deerhoof opened for the Plastic Ono Band in Oakland. Sean Lennon had a show the next night in San Francisco and asked Deerhoof’s drummer, Greg Saunier, if he’d be interested in improvising a set. It went so well, they ended up in the studio trying to recapture the magic they found onstage. Mystical Weapons successfully conveys a sense of loose exploration and responsive playing as the pair riff from avant garde jazz to intense post-rock spectacle. Breaking the default jam band pattern, most of the tracks stick to pop song length or shorter, which either shows good judgment about audience patience or reflects a selective ear for editing. If anything, the shortest of these morsels seem too abbreviated, with promising ideas that don’t reach their potential. The two longer tracks maintain an interesting sense of direction, but they still keep it to the six minute range.

In a couple of brief interludes, the opening tracks ”Impossible Shapes” and “Mechanical Mammoth” provide a quick tour of the band’s wide ranging sonic map. Four simple measures of classic jazz piano on the first song offer no warning for progressive punch that follows; the soothing chords are buried under a quick roll and a snaking bass line takes over. Mystical Weapons channel an early period King Crimson intensity with bombastic drums and art rock chord changes. The spacy edges push the tune into a restrained psychedelic jam before the song beaches itself on a whining feedback tone crowned with shattered echo remnants. Those reverberations mutate and flow into the playful percussion of the second tune. Squeaks and tones punctuate a jazzy drumbeat like some of Frank Zappa’s experiments on Lumpy Gravy. The orchestration and odd rhythmic stutter conjure up a lumbering image of the title creature.

These initial gambits are like dim sum, sharing intriguing little tastes of improvised music. Mystical Weapons finally serves up a larger portion on “Whisper the Blue Tongue”. The trippy start balances Pink Floyd style psychedelia with a strong current of Miles Davis’ electric period jazz. The bass and drum backing evoke the groove behind Davis’ “Miles Runs the Voodoo Down”. Guitar and keys stand in for the horns, but the jam feels lively and open as Lennon and Saunier build on each others parts. An avant garde edge is there, but the flickers of sound are accents rather than a dominating presence. Like the best improv, the song evolves and adapts to its environment. It’s so satisfying to drift along with the piece, surrendering to its organic order and development. While I would have easily savored another 10 minutes of exploration, the band lets the song find closure far earlier.

That discipline gets heavy handed though. On “Goddess Curlers”, the band revisits the prog rock sound of King Crimson. The music swirls dark and heavy over the expressive drums. Then the roiling tension breaks, allowing a new melodic sense of purpose to seize control. Rather than follow this promising shift, they quickly abandon it and the song grinds to a halt. It’s an invigorating minute and a half, but the moment proves too ephemeral. The following snippets are similarly frustrating. What earlier seemed like judicious editing decisions begin to feel capricious. It’s one thing to avoid self-indulgence, but they could stand to indulge the audience more.

Still, a free form approach to music entails risk; paths can lead into circles or peter out. It requires a Zen mindset where the journey is the reward rather than perfection. The scattering of short tracks may be the band’s way of documenting their travels. On the other hand, they may just reflect a compromise, padding out the more developed pieces to reach a reasonable running time for the album. Either way, the richer worlds that are discovered make Mystical Weapons a treat even if it doesn’t satiate the audience’s full hunger. There’s magic in Saunier and Lennon’s mashup mix of jazz, quirky percussion jams and heady art rock.

(This review originally appeared on Spectrum Culture)