The pairing of Colin Stetson and Mats Gustafsson is extremely compelling in theory, not only because of the relative scarcity of saxophone duos, but because the pair's opposing musical traits are potentially highly complementary. Stetson is known for building long musical structures steeped in minimalist repetition; Gustafsson for demolishing them with explosive free rhythms. But Stones, recorded live at the 2011 Vancouver Jazz Festival, feels like a missed opportunity to exploit the natural tension between Stetson's methodical nature and Gustafsson's chaotic one. Instead, they both unleash their full artillery, easily bombarding the listener into submission. There are flashes of coherence and grace in all the furious noodling, but overall, you probably had to be there, bathed in the glory of mortal combat. Man and comically large sax are set against each other like rival armies, desperately vying for the same portion of breath. Stetson and Gustafsson overplay as if their lives were at stake, but these spectacular feats did not leave behind a very durable piece of recorded music.
When you think of free jazz featuring dual saxophone soloists, you might think of John Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders on Meditations. Unlike that 1965 LP, Stones doesn't even give us rhythmic accompaniment to decode its mayhem, which makes the overblown notes of its landmark precursor sound quaint. Compass spinning crazily, Stetson and Gustafsson plow through a wilderness of harsh extended techniques recalling Peter Brötzmann's classic Machine Gun. But the fact that saxes can make unusual, abrasive sounds instead of groovy, mellow ones is no longer fresh news. Here, horns creak, barf, skitter, and spit, but seem perpetually in search of an overriding shape or thought. Anyone looking for the softening melodies of Stetson's solo work will be left clutching at scraps in the multiphonic splatter, such as the the tattered Dixieland drifting through "Stones That Can Only Be". To free jazz atheists, the album may sound parodically bad, like carnage in a barnyard full of balloon animals periodically interrupted by chalkboard scribbling. More sympathetic listeners might wonder exactly what doesn't work.
The issue for me is a general top-heaviness that runs from the music's style, which can seem all embellishment and no structure, to the album's sequence. The first and longest of four tracks, "Stones That Rest Heavily", panic-sprints through what seems like the whole scorched playbook of unorthodox intonation for over 12 minutes. The overstuffing doesn't do it any favors. Soft, seductive passages and unison surges are hardly able to build any momentum before someone starts screaming through a reed and everything falls apart. More energy is spent than gathered, which makes the music feel slack and enervated, and the necessity to play every which way but normal bottoms out in unbearable goose-honks around the 10-minute mark. Not only does it make for an unwieldy opener, it leaves few new tricks for the rest of the album-- and little energy for us to invest in it.
Most of all, Stones is top-heavy with soloists. Between them, Stetson and Gustafsson make enough noise for five. What's missing is a drive shaft, and Stetson would have been the ideal person to provide it. Steady, powerful torque is what he does best. Who knows why he went off the rails, playing against his own strengths as well as the needs of the music. Perhaps the well-known Arcade Fire sideman and solo auteur felt pressure to adapt to this very jazz context. Perhaps he wanted to show that he can also roam free, contrary to his reputation as a blinkered marathoner. Or maybe it just worked out that way in the moment. Regardless, the result is two musicians chasing each other around like squirrels, playfully yet rather pointlessly, going everywhere to get nowhere. But I can still imagine a tantalizing version of this collaboration where Stetson owns his lane, laying down a winding labyrinth of cool stone, and lets Gustafsson play the snorting, bucking Minotaur, a role that comes naturally to him.
