Tapestry
8.5/10
Whether it is fans banging heads on a Metallica stage or tears streaming down faces at a Shostakovich concert, no other art form shakes us up like music. It alone can cast a spell that takes control of your central nervous system. In the case of Vazesh, that spell is multifaceted. So intimate are the musical interactions between Jeremy Rose (saxophones and bass clarinet), Hamed Sadeghi (tar) and Lloyd Swanton (bass), that we seem to be eavesdropping as we are drawn deep into the swirling cross currents where melodic and rhythmic pearls are passed between them, polished and embellished. Then there are the inherently exotic textures: the clash of the tar’s metallic ring with the woody warmth of the double bass and bass clarinet, while Rose’s tenor and soprano saxophones occupy a mid-ground.
As with their first album, The Sacred Key, Tapestry was recorded live, and, as with all their concerts, the music was entirely improvised. This time the (presumably edited) pieces are much more concise, so every improvisation instantly darts into focus and stays there for its duration, as the band cycles through solo, duo and trio segments. Each player’s instincts for entry and exit points are acute, this being a key tool in the quest for contrast and drama.
And there’s no shortage of drama. On Demitasse, Swanton sculpts monolithic pizzicato figures, while Rose’s soprano tells a story of almost desperate beauty (sometimes reminiscent of my favourite of all soprano players, the great John Surman), and on Calabash the tar sings its urgent song against keening arco bass. Swanton extensively uses his bow throughout the album, cloaking the music in a darkness akin to entering a forest so dense that the sky is suddenly obliterated. Rose’s marvellously ominous bass clarinet, meanwhile, creates a matching sense of foreboding. Against such sounds, the tar is almost supernaturally bright, and certainly no less dramatic.
Another wonder of the band how they sustain tension when the music is rubato – that is, without a rhythmic pulse. But micro-rhythmic ideas are constantly being passed between them like coded messages, so the results never merely float, but are constantly insinuating themselves: connecting, engaging, affecting, moving – even when the music is at its sparsest, as on the echoing dialogue between arco bass and tar on Divan.
At the other extreme come subtle grooves, when two instruments might unite to underpin the other, or the three of them might immerse themselves in a dialogue about the nuances of that rhythm.
Perhaps what I love most about Vazesh is that it is in no sense self-consciously cross-cultural. Yes, inevitably (especially to western ears) Sadeghi’s sound, lines and harmonic constraints speak of the ancient tradition of greater Persia, but ultimately the three players just find common ground on which to express a collective musicality that is all their own – one that seems limitless in its potential scope, and is a soul-enriching experience.