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Jazziz...
Larry Blumenfeld May 2001
Not long ago, the film Being John Malkovich explored the darker
sides of some basic human themes (consciousness, individual
will, the balancing act of desire and prudence) largely through
the vehicle of Craig Schwartz (John Cusack), a puppeteer,
and his marionettes. The device worked well to advance the
film's odd, paranormal plot in part because of the enduring
wonder inspired by a well-worked marionette „ an elaborate
creation made from simple materials imbued with life through
a mixture of technical skill and intent.
Trumpeter
Baikida Carroll sees the depth in such a metaphor. He's entranced
with the idea of marionettes, with their loose-limbed fluidity
and openness to impulse. Only he imagines them perched on
a high wire, not only responding to direction from above,
but also balancing precariously to avoid a steep fall below
„ and making it look nonchalant.
"Marionettes On a High Wire," the third track on Carroll's
new disc of the same name, very nearly captures the scene.
With Michael Formanek's shuddering bass supporting the weight
and Pheeroan akLaff's press rolls shining the spotlight, Carroll
and saxophonist Erica Lindsay seem utterly exposed and tethered
only to the tune and to their individual muses.
The
sense of grace that comes with real balance and a sense of
direction are what undergird this disc's authority and elevate
its creative leaps. "Velma," the most sumptuous melody on
the disc, spins on the head of a swirling piano figure. The
introduction to "Flamboye" finds Carroll and Lindsay's meandering
horn lines mirroring and inverting one another. Adegoke Steve
Colson's splashes of piano and akLaff's powerful thwacks offset
one another on "Griot's Last Dance," a dedication to the late
trumpeter Don Cherry, whom Carroll knew well.
Like
Cherry was, Carroll is a seeker and a storyteller. Whereas
Cherry traveled far and experimented with different instruments
and cultures, Carroll has explored collaborative spaces with
adventurous choreographers and directors of theater, film,
and television. And while some of these compositions have
embraced broad social and political themes owing to Carroll's
roots in St. Louis' Black Artist Group, more often than not,
Carroll's task has been to underscore an actor's line or a
dancer's gesture „ to tell the stories of implication and
interior spaces.
For
this, his first disc as a leader in six years, Carroll reworked
some of his stage compositions and wrote new music for his
quintet. "Miss Julie" was originally composed for a play,
to be performed by a string quartet. Here, it's a beautiful,
slow-flowing quintet ballad, with Carroll's choked-off notes
at its core. Carroll's assured work owes in large part to
his band's personnel. Colson and Lindsay are distinctive and
rarely heard voices. Formanek and akLaff anchor much of what
occurs along the outer edge of New York's current scene. These
are musicians who lean into tonality, who imply rhythms, who
challenge the harmonics around them without disrupting the
group's overall flow. And that's what rounds off the contours
of Carroll's not-so-unconventional music in interesting ways
that make it neither inside nor out. (Plus the fact that,
musicologically speaking, the complex rhythmic tensions and
chord voicings are a whole lot harder than they sound.) But
the coup de grace, the showstopper, comes just before the
curtain falls. Track 10, "Cab," was originally penned for
Broadway's Having Our Say. Here, it dances in on Colson's
stride piano work and gains momentum through horn work that's
inspired by early Ellington (Carroll reaches for his plunger
mute). Wait „ a few distinctly modern harmonies slip in. Stride
slips into swing, then morphs to post-bop, then slowly, gradually,
back to stride „ all in less than two minutes, and all perfectly
balanced, as if it was easy.
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Larry Blumenfeld
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